The Winds.
Light and Wind.
Enchantment.
Abandoned.
After Long Grief.
Mendicants.
The End of Summer.
November.
The Death of Love.
Unanswered.
The Swashbuckler.
Old Sir John.
Uncalled.




THE POETRY OF MADISON CAWEIN

When a poet begins writing, and we begin liking his work, we own willingly
enough that we have not, and cannot have, got the compass of his talent.
We must wait till he has written more, and we have learned to like him
more, and even then we should hesitate his definition, from all that he
has done, if we did not very commonly qualify ourselves from the latest
thing he has done. Between the earliest thing and the latest thing there
may have been a hundred different things, and in his swan-long life of a
singer there would probably be a hundred yet, and all different. But we
take the latest as if it summed him up in motive and range and tendency.
Many parts of his work offer themselves in confirmation of our judgment,
while those which might impeach it shrink away and hide themselves, and