The clouds that tower in storm, that beat
Arterial thunder in their veins;
The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet,
Their perfect faces from the plains,-
All high, all lowly things of Earth
For no vague end have had their birth.
Low strips of mist that mesh the moon
Above the foaming waterfall;
And mountains, that God's hand hath hewn,
And forests, where the great winds call,-
Within the grasp of such as see
Are parts of a conspiracy;
To seize the soul with beauty; hold
The heart with love: and thus fulfill
Within ourselves the Age of Gold,
That never died, and never will,-
As long as one true nature feels
The wonders that the world reveals.
The Age Of Gold
Madison Julius Cawein
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Poem topics: beauty, birth, god, heart, moon, nature, perfect, world, soul, earth, sweet, long, tower, great, storm, true, gold, thunder, hold, high, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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