Poem by Madison Julius Cawein

Prototypes

 Whether it be that we in letters trace
 The pure exactness of a wood bird's strain,
 And name it song; or with the brush attain
 The high perfection of a wildflower's face;
 Or mold in difficult marble all the grace
 We know as man; or from the wind and rain
 Catch elemental rapture of refrain
 And mark in music to due time and place:
 The aim of Art is Nature; to unfold
 Her truth and beauty to the souls of men
 In close suggestions; in whose forms is cast
 Nothing so new but 'tis long eons old;
 Nothing so old but 'tis as young as when
 The mind conceived it in the ages past.

1. In the Mountains
2. The Iron Cross
3. Semper Idem
4. The Battle
5. Night and Rain

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