To a Poet on his Marriage. Madison Cawein

Ever and ever, on and on,
From winter dusk to April dawn,
This old enchanted world we range
From night to light -- from change to change --
Or path of burs or lily-bells,
We walk a world of miracles.

The morning evermore must be
A newer, purer mystery --
The dewy grasses, or the bloom
Of orchards, or the wood's perfume
Of wild sweet-williams, or the wet
Blent scent of loam and violet.

How wondrous all the ways we fare --
What marvels wait us, unaware! .
But yesterday, with eyes ablur
And heart that held no hope of Her,
You paced the lone path, but the true
That led to where she waited you.