Friday, April 25, 2014

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822

The fountains mingle with the river
   And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
   Why not I with thine? - 

See the mountains kiss high heaven
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
   If thou kiss not me?

-o0o-

THE SKYLARK
James Hogg 1770=1835

Bird of the wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place -
O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place -
O to abide in the desert with thee! 

-o0o-

THE LITTLE VAGABOND
William Blake 1757-1827

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold,
But the Ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm;
Besides I can tell where I am use'd well,
Such usage in heaven will never do well.

   But if at the Church they would give us some Ale. 
And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale; 
We'd sing and we'd pray, all the live-long day; 
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray, 

   Then the Parson might preach and drink and sing. 
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring: 
And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church,
Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch.

   And God like a father rejoicing to see, 
His children as pleasant and happy as he: 
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel 
But kiss him and give him both drink and apparel.

-o0o-

EVERYTHING COMES
Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

"The house is bleak and cold
Built so new for me!
All the winds upon the wold
Search it through for me;
No screening trees abound,
And the curious eyes around,
Keep on view for me."

"My love I am planting trees
As a screen for you
Both from winds, and eyes that tease
And peer in for you.
Only wait till they have grown,
No such bower will be known
As I mean for you."

"Then I will bear it, Love,
And will wait,'"she said.
- So, with years, there grew a grove.
"Skill how great!" she said
"As you wished, Dear?" - "Yes, I see!
But - I'm dying; and for me
'Tis too late," she said.

From now on each post here will include a poem by Thomas Hardy

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Friday, April 18, 2014

Four Spring Poems

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING
William Wordsworth 1770-1859

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:-
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

-o0o-

SPRING QUIET
Christina Rossetti 1830-94

Gone were but the Winter,
  Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
  Where the birds sing.

Where in the whitethom
  Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
  In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents
  Are the budding boughs
Arching high over
  A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents,
  And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
  “We spread no snare;

“Here dwell in safety,
  Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
  And a mossy stone.

“Here the sun shineth
  Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
  Of the far sea,
  Though far off it be.”

-o0o-

IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS
William Shakespeare 1564-1616

It was a lover and his lass,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green cornfield did pass,
   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
Those pretty country folks would lie,
   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower
   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

And therefore take the present time,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crownèd with the prime
   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

-o0o-

LOVELIEST OF TREES
A.E. Housman 1859-1936

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

-o0o-


Friday, April 11, 2014

A TOWN WINDOW
John Drinkwater 1882-1937

Beyond my window in the night  
  Is but a drab inglorious street,  
Yet there the frost and clean starlight  
  As over Warwick woods are sweet.  
  
Under the grey drift of the town          
  The crocus works among the mould  
As eagerly as those that crown  
  The Warwick spring in flame and gold.  
  
And when the tramway down the hill  
  Across the cobbles moans and rings,   
There is about my window-sill  
  The tumult of a thousand wings.  

-o=0=o-

MY BONNIE MARY
Robert Burns 1759-96

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,  
  An' fill it in a silver tassie,  
That I may drink, before I go,  
  A service to my bonnie lassie.  
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,          
  Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,  
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,  
  And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.  

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,  
  The glittering spears are rankèd ready;   
The shouts o' war are heard afar,  
  The battle closes thick and bloody;  
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore  
  Wad mak me langer wish to tarry;  
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar -  
  It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!

 -o=0=o-

CHANGED
Charles Stuart Calverley 1831-84

 I know not why my soul is rack'd:
 Why I ne'er smile as was my wont:
I only know that, as a fact,
 I don't.
 I used to roam o'er glen and glade
Buoyant and blithe as other folk:
 And not infrequently I made
 A joke.

 A minstrel's fire within me burn'd.
 I'd sing, as one whose heart must break,
 Lay upon lay: I nearly learn'd
 To shake.
 All day I sang; of love, of fame,
 Of fights our fathers fought of yore,
 Until the thing almost became
 A bore.

 I cannot sing the old songs now!
 It is not that I deem then low;
 'Tis that I can't remember how
 They go.
 I could not range the hills till high
 Above me stood the summer moon:
 And as to dancing, I could fly
 As soon.

 The sports, to which with boyish glee
 I sprang erewhile, attract no more;
 Although I am but sixty-three
 Or four.
 Nay, worse than that, I've seem'd of late
 To shrink from happy boyhood - boys
 Have grown so noisy, and I hate
 A noise.

 They fright me, when the beech is green,
 By swarming up its stem for eggs:
 They drive their horrid hoops between
 My legs: -
 It's idle to repine, I know;
 I'll tell you what I'll do instead:
 I'll drink my arrowroot, and go
 To bed.

-o=0=o-

POEM BY A PERFECTLY FURIOUS ACADEMICIAN
Shirley Brooks 1816-74

I takes and paints,
Hears no complaints,
And sells before I'm dry;
Till savage Ruskin
He sticks his tusk in,
Then nobody will buy.

-o=0=o-


Friday, April 4, 2014

CARPE DIEM
William Shakespeare 1564-1616

O mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming 
That can sing both high and low; 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
Journey's end in lovers' meeting-
Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 
What's to come is still unsure: 
In delay there lies no plenty,-
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty, 
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

-o=0=o-

A CHARACTER
William Wordsworth 1770-1850

I marvel how Nature could ever find space 
For so many strange contrasts in one human face: 
There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom 
And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom. 

There's weakness, and strength both redundant and vain; 
Such strength as, if ever affliction and pain 
Could pierce through a temper that's soft to disease, 
Would be rational peace - a philosopher's ease. 

There's indifference, alike when he fails or succeeds, 
And attention full ten times as much as there needs; 
Pride where there's no envy, there's so much of joy; 
And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy. 

There's freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare 
Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she's there, 
There's virtue, the title it surely may claim, 
Yet wants heaven knows what to be worthy the name. 

This picture from nature may seem to depart, 
Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart; 
And I for five centuries right gladly would be 
Such an odd such a kind happy creature as he. 

-o=0=o-

THE LISTENERS
Walter de la Mare 1873-1956

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head: -
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

-o=0=o-

HAVE A NICE DAY
Spike Milligan 1918-2002

"Help, help," said a man. "I'm drowning."
"Hang on," said a man from the shore.
"Help, help," said the man. "I'm not clowning."
"Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please."
"How long," said the man who was drowning. "Will it take for the Doc to arrive?"
"Not very long," said the man with the disease. "Till then try staying alive."
"Very well," said the man who was drowning. "I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote."
"Help, help," said the man with the disease, "I suddenly feel quite ill."
"Keep calm." said the man who was drowning, "Breathe deeply and lie quite still."
"Oh dear," said the man with the awful disease. "I think I'm going to die."
"Farewell," said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, "goodbye."
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day.

-o=0=o-