Ah! sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller’s journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire; Where my sunflower wishes to go.
William Blake, 1757 - 1827
by Maya Angelou We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its high holy temple and comes into our sight to liberate us into life. Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls. We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love’s light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.
Those Winter Sundaysby Robert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices?
[Excerpt from Collected Poems of Robert Hayden, edited by Frederick Glaysher.]PHOTO: Eugenia Falls 2006 - remnants of an old settlement, now gone.
“There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends.” ― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
In The Seven Woods
I have heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile Tara uprooted, and new commonness Upon the throne and crying about the streets And hanging its paper flowers from post to post, Because it is alone of all things happy. I am contented, for I know that Quiet Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer, Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.
Written by: William Butler Yeats
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterwards, in an Oak I found the arrow, still unbroken; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.by Henry Woodsworth Longfellow
as transcribed in The Peerless Loose Leaf Note Book~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think will thou let it Slip useless away?
Out of Eternity This new day is born. Into Eternity At night will return.
Behold it aforetime No eye never did So soon it forever From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, will thou let it Slip useless away?by Thomas Carlyle [as copied from my Great Aunt Lex's 'Peerless Loose Leaf Note Book']
The Enkindled Springby D. H. Lawrence This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green, Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes, Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes. I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration, Faces of people streaming across my gaze. And I, what fountain of fire am I among This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed About like a shadow buffeted in the throng Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost. [from Poets.org]
from ‘THE TESTING-TREE’ In the recurring dream my mother stands in her bridal gown under the burning lilac, with Bernard Shaw and Bertie Russell kissing her hands, the house behind her is in ruins; she is wearing an owl’s face and makes barking noises. Her minatory finger points. I pass through the cardboard doorway askew […]More
A BLESSING FOR SUNDAYThe following was part of a speech given by Tolkien in Holland, "organized by a Rottendam bookseller", the spring of 1958;
Tolkien made a lively speech in English interspersed with Dutch and Elvish. It was in part a parody of Bilbo's party speech at the beginning of The Lord of the Rings, and it concluded with Tolkien recalling 'that it is now exactly twenty years since I began in earnest to complete the history of our revered hobbit-ancestors of the Third Age. I look East, West, North, South, and I do not see Sauron; but I see that Saruman has many descendants. We Hobbits have against them no magic weapons. Yet, my gentlehobbits, I give you this toast: To the Hobbits. May they outlast the Sarumans and see spring again in the trees.'from: [ J.R.R Tolkien: A biography, Humphrey Carpenter, UNWIN PAPERBACKS, London, Boston, Sydney, c1977 ]
Tolkien was heavily influenced by the Viking Sagas, and Old Norse, and both these excerpts from his poems speak to that heritage within the words.
[ Photo's: August 9th, 2009, Grey County ]
I am off down the road Where the fairy lanterns glowed And the little pretty flittermice are flying: A slender band of grey It runs creepily away And the hedges and the grasses are a-sighing.
The Shores of Fairy
No stars come there but one alone
That hunted with the Moon,
For there the Two Trees naked grow
That bear Night's silver bloom;
That bear the globed fruit of Noon
There are the shores of Faery
With their moonlit pebbled strand
Whose foam is silver music
On the opalescent floor
Beyond the great sea-shadows
On the margent of the sand
That stretches on for ever
From the golden feet of Kor ~