A Midsummer Noon in the Australian Forest
A MIDSUMMER NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST
Not a bird disturbs the air!
There is quiet everywhere;
Over plains and over woods
What a mighty stillness broods.
Even the grasshoppers keep
[All the birds and insects keep]
Where the coolest shadows sleep;
Even the busy ants are found
Resting in their pebbled mound;
Even the locust clingeth now
In silence to the barky bough:
And over hills and over plains
Quiet, vast and slumbrous, reigns.
Only there's a drowsy humming
From yon warm lagoon slow coming:
'Tis the dragon-hornet - see!
All bedaubed resplendently
With yellow on a tawny ground -
Each rich spot nor square nor round,
But rudely heart-shaped, as it were
The blurred and hasty impress there,
Of vermeil-crusted seal
Dusted o'er with golden meal:
Only there's a droning where
Yon bright beetle gleams the air -
Gleams it in its droning flight
[Tracks it in its gleaming flight]
With a slanting track of light,
Till rising in the sunshine higher,
[Rising in the sunshine higher,]
Its shards flame out like gems on fire.
[Till its shards flame out like fire.]
Every other thing is still,
Save the ever wakeful rill,
Whose cool murmur only throws
A cooler comfort round Repose;
Or some ripple in the sea
Of leafy boughs, where, lazily,
Tired Summer, in her forest bower
Turning with the noontide hour,
Heaves a slumbrous breath, ere she
Once more slumbers peacefully.
0 'tis easeful here to lie
Hidden from Noon's scorching eye,
In this grassy cool recess
Musing thus of Quietness.
two versions of this poem have been located. The relevant changes are included in the text in square brackets, i.e. "[...]".
poem by Charles Harpur
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The Song of the Red Man
When the palefaces came in their whitewing'd canoes,
Long ago, from the sun-rising sea
When they ask'd for a lodge, and we did not refuse
Happy then was the red man, and free.
He could then choose a spot for his wigwam to stand,
Where the forest was crowded with game;
For the blue-rolling lake and the ever smiling land
Were his own till the palefaces came
For the broad grassy plains and the forests deep and grand,
Were his own till the palefaces came.
They came! they came! like the fierce prairie flame,
Sweeping on to the sun-setting shore:
Gazing now on its waves, but a handful of braves,
We shall join in the the chase nevermore
Till we camp on the plains where the Great Spirit reigns,
We shall join in the chase nevermore.
We receiv'd them with gladness, as Sons of the Sky
We believ'd them of heavenly birth;
But alas! to our sorrow we found by and by,
That like us they were born of the earth.
By their false traders wrong'd, by their firewater craz'd,
There was no one our braves to restrain;
So the swift flew, and the tomahawk was raise'd
While we both mourn'd the blood of our slain;
So the smoke-wreath did cease from the calumet of peace,
While we both mourn'd the blood of our slain.
When the oaks, pines and cedars were fell'd to the ground,
'Twas a sight that with sorrow we saw;
For the game fled affrighted, and no food was found
For the old chief, the papoose and squaw.
Driven westward we came, but the paleface was here,
With his sharp axe and death-flashing gun;
And his great iron horse is rumbling in the rear
"O, my brave men!" your journey is done.
Like the beaver and elk like the buffalo and deer
"O, my brave men!" your journey is done.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Aileen
A splendid sun betwixt the trees
Long spikes of flame did shoot,
When turning to the fragrant South,
With longing eyes and burning mouth,
I stretched a hand athwart the drouth,
And plucked at cooling fruit.
So thirst was quenched, and hastening on
With strength returned to me,
I set my face against the noon,
And reached a denser forest soon;
Which dipped into a still lagoon
Hard by the sooming sea.
All day the ocean beat on bar
And bank of gleaming sand;
Yet that lone pool was always mild,
It never moved when waves were wild,
But slumbered, like a quiet child,
Upon the lap of land.
And when I rested on the brink,
Amongst the fallen flowers,
I lay in calm; no leaves were stirred
By breath of wind, or wing of bird;
It was so still, you might have heard
The footfalls of the hours.
Faint slumbrous scents of roses filled
The air which covered me:
My words were low -- "she loved them so,
In Eden vales such odours blow:
How strange it is that roses grow
So near the shores of Sea!"
A sweeter fragrance never came
Across the Fields of Yore!
And when I said -- "we here would dwell," --
A low voice on the silence fell --
"Ah! if you loved the roses well,
You loved Aileen the more." "Ay, that I did, and now would turn,
And fall and worship her!
But Oh, you dwell so far -- so high!
One cannot reach, though he may try,
The Morning land, and Jasper sky --
The balmy hills of Myrrh.
"Why vex me with delicious hints
Of fairest face, and rarest blooms;
You Spirit of a darling Dream
Which links itself with every theme
And thought of mine by surf or stream,
In glens -- or caverned glooms?"
She said, "thy wishes led me down,
From amaranthine bowers:
And since my face was haunting thee
With roses (dear which used to be),
They all have hither followed me,
The scents and shapes of flowers."
"Then stay, mine own evangel, stay!
Or, going, take me too;
But let me sojourn by your side,
If here we dwell or there abide,
It matters not!" I madly cried --
"I only care for you."
Oh, glittering Form that would not stay! --
Oh, sudden, sighing breeze!
A fainting rainbow dropped below
Far gleaming peaks and walls of snow
And there, a weary way, I go,
Towards the Sunrise seas.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Fire in the Heavens
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,
and fire made solid in the flinty stone,
thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills
the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.
This valley, long ago the patient bed
of floods that carv'd its antient amplitude,
in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,
endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.
Behind the veil of burning silence bound,
vast life's innumerous busy littleness
is hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of sound
that dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unless
some dazzling puncture let the stridence throng
in the cicada's torture-point of song.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Summer Noon
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,
and fire made solid in the flinty stone,
thick-massed or scattered pebble, fire that fills
the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.
This valley, long ago the patient bed
of floods that carved its antient amplitude,
in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,
endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.
Behind the veil of burning silence bound,
vast life's innumerous busy littleness
is hushed in vague-conjectured blur of sound
that dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unless
some dazzling puncture let the stridence throng
in the cicada's torture-point of song.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grace Under Fire
I've seen them run, I've seen them broken
I've seen them fold without a word even spoken
Oh, all it takes is a little fire
Well, they watch your eyes, they learn your weakness
They turn it up, and you know
The lean is on, the lean is on
Oh, sooner or later, you're gonna catch heat
There's no use running away
Everything hurries to eat or be eaten, they say
Oh, Papa was right, nothing rates higher
The coolest of cool is grace under fire
Back in the shadows there's the law of the city
Work on the one who shows the first sign of pity
I know, I know
Well, they knock on your door, and they call out your number
And your legs won't move, and you heart starts running
You'll know, you'll know
Oh, Papa was right, nothing rates higher
The coolest of cool is grace under fire
You've got to be the diamond, you've got to be the steel
The lucky have ice in their veins,
They laugh at the devil
And burn like a torch in the rain
Oh, The Jesus was cool, no one bet higher
The measure of heart is grace under fire
song performed by by Quarterflash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What The Captain Said
They made the fire so they want it to spread
the fire, the fire, the fire
They fan the flame to the forest bed
and the flames grew
higher, and higher, and higher
Remember what the captain said by the oceanside
where we took our ride
'We want no more soldiers dead, so come see us by the fire; '
Prometheus desire, the fire
by the fire, as the flames grow higher
We lay upon our riverbed, upon the Styx
the mosh pit Styx upon the pyre
Eyes wide, quartered dry, heads to the sky
and they watch the flames grow higher, and higher,
the fire
poem by Jay Bradley
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Comfort of the Fields
What would'st thou have for easement after grief,
When the rude world hath used thee with despite,
And care sits at thine elbow day and night,
Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief?
To me, when life besets me in such wise,
'Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain,
And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth,
To roam in idleness and sober mirth,
Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain
The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes.
By hills and waters, farms and solitudes,
To wander by the day with wilful feet;
Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat;
Along gray roads that run between deep woods,
Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine,
Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred,
And only the rich-throated thrush is heard;
By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine
In bouldered crannies buried in the hills;
By broken beeches tangled with wild vine,
And long-strewn rivers murmurous with mills.
In upland pastures, sown with gold, and sweet
With the keen perfume of the ripening grass,
Where wings of birds and filmy shadows pass,
Spread thick as stars with shining marguerite:
To haunt old fences overgrown with brier,
Muffled in vines, and hawthorns, and wild cherries,
Rank poisonous ivies, red-bunched elder-berries,
And pièd blossoms to the heart's desire,
Gray mullein towering into yellow bloom,
Pink-tasseled milkweed, breathing dense perfume,
And swarthy vervain, tipped with violet fire.
To hear at eve the bleating of far flocks,
The mud-hen's whistle from the marsh at morn;
To skirt with deafened ears and brain o'erborne
Some foam-filled rapid charging down its rocks
With iron roar of waters; far away
Across wide-reeded meres, pensive with noon,
To hear the querulous outcry of the loon;
To lie among deep rocks, and watch all day
On liquid heights the snowy clouds melt by;
Or hear from wood-capped mountain-brows the jay
Pierce the bright morning with his jibing cry.
To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains,
The thresher humming from the farm near by,
The prattling cricket's intermittent cry,
The locust's rattle from the sultry lanes;
Or in the shadow of some oaken spray,
To watch, as through a mist of light and dreams,
The far-off hayfields, where the dusty teams
Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay,
And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low,
With drowsy cadence half a summer's day,
The clatter of the reapers come and go.
Far violet hills, horizons filmed with showers,
The murmur of cool streams, the forest's gloom,
The voices of the breathing grass, the hum
Of ancient gardens overbanked with flowers:
Thus, with a smile as golden as the dawn,
And cool fair fingers radiantly divine,
The mighty mother brings us in her hand,
For all tired eyes and foreheads pinched and wan,
Her restful cup, her beaker of bright wine:
Drink, and be filled, and ye shall understand!
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Hot
How hot shall it get?
It is very early in the morning and it
Seem as if a fire has been lit
This summer weather
I shall not forget
Just how hot?
We shall see
It feels like fire is near
With scorching flames burning me
Hot hot is even the water pots
The ice I get; I shall waste not
The dial on the thermometer has moved not
As if the thermostat has forgot.
Nevertheless it is so very warm
Simply hot
For me
A quiet cool resting place
Would certainly just hit the spot
Whew!
It's sure hot
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Square Peg, Round Hole
He's a square peg in a round hole
Misfit in a slick world
Don't play the game
Don't do what he's told
He's a square peg in a round hole
Square peg don't care
The bright lights he's not there
Catch the shadows see him slip away
Square peg that's what they say
Square peg, Suare peg
Square peg, you have got to be strong
Square peg, he's got his own song
Square peg, I'll see you around
Square peg, face down
Square peg, round hole
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking With Katherine
"come walk we two
across flame red sky
two birds soar flying
silent solitary shadows
would clip our wings
in home ominous flight
blood red flame sunsets
bathe glorious horizons
bruised epic bleed rivers"
"All day
the triumphant
sun with yellow banners
Warred and warred
with the earth,
and when she yielded
Stabbed her heart,
gathered her blood
in a chalice,
Spilling it over
the evening sky.
When the dark
plumaged birds
go flying, flying,
Quiet lies the earth
wrapt in her
mournful shadow,
Her sightless eyes
turned to the red sky
And the restlessly
seeking birds."
exceptionally exquisite
a vibrant emotive poem
sadly not appreciated
KM by random critics
lacking sunset visions
reverent appreciation
come walk we soar
across flame red sky
free birds soar flying
First three stanzas quotation, the poem ‘Home Ominous Flight' by Terence George Craddock.
Stanzas four to ten, quoted lines in changed format, from the exquisite poem ‘Across The Red Sky' by Katherine Mansfield.
Dedicated to Katherine Mansfield.
Copyright © Katherine Mansfield, Terence George Craddock
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Venevil
Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"
And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue:
"My eyes for you!"
He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend:
"Good-by, my friend!"
And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant end:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care
For my golden hair?"
She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare
Her red lips' pair;
He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed as she did there.
She twined one all white as a lily-band:
"'T is my right hand."
She twined one blood-red, with her love in each strand:
"'T is my left hand."
He took them both and kept them both, but would not understand.
She twined of the flowers that bloomed around
"Every one I found!"
She gathered and twined, while tears would her eyes fill:
"Take them you will!"
In silence then he took them, but to flight he turned him still.
She twined one so large, of discordant hue:
"My bride's-wreath true!"
She twined it and twined, till her fingers were sore:
"Crown me, I implore!"
But when she turned, he was not there, she never saw him more.
She twined yet undaunted without a stay
At her bride's-array.
But now it was long past the Midsummer Day,
All the flowers away:
She twined it of the flowers, though they all were now away!
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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A Noon Song
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!
How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!
Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!
There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Fire and Ice Nature
Day and night poles apart flaming flame
Moods of the contrast to carry here on
Flowing their times until they are done
Something of feral for life to tame
Sunshine brings day but moon gleams the twilight
The moods to the dreams and fun at the sea
Everything's turning epoch's to be
Glowing of evenings and stars in bright
Icily cold till spring is green and tanned
With precious small flowers some blue and red
And golden sunshine from pure azure sky
Each wave from deep oceans on black beach sand
Weaving erosion to wilderness bed
To this fire and ice nature I can't say goodbye
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Gift
She paces
By his side
On a quiet street,
Leafy and wide.
The evening air is balmy
And a golden half moon
Of August
Hangs high
In the sky.
"How beautiful is the Moon",
She says,
"Brighter than in June.
"A pity it is not full tonight".
"You know",
He tells her smiling,
"This thing may sound
Really puzzling,
But,
The part missing
From the Moon,
Is actually hidden
In a lagoon.
Nevertheless,
I offer it to you as a gift,
Before the scene
Would alter and shift,
And for good measure,
Fortune and luck,
I will pluck
For you
The other half, too,
So that you will possess
And own quite soon
The complete moon".
"Oh, no", she says,
"I don't want the moon,
Neither half,
Nor the whole of it,
I don't want it soon
Nor in next June.
Not even a small part.
Just give me, instead,
Your uncut heart".
poem by Paul Hartal
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Steve Miller sings
I heat up, I can’t cool down
You got me spinnin’
’round and ’round
’round and ’round and ’round it goes
Where it stops nobody knows
Every time you call my name
I heat up like a burnin’ flame
Burnin’ flame full of desire
Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher
Abra-abra-cadabra
I want to reach out and grab ya
Abra-abra-cadabra
Abracadabra
You make me hot, you make me sigh
You make me laugh, you make me cry
Keep me burnin’ for your love
With the touch of a velvet glove
Abra-abra-cadabra
I want to reach out and grab ya
Abra-abra-cadabra
Abracadabra
I feel the magic in your caress
I feel magic when I touch your dress
Silk and satin, leather and lace
Black panties with an angel’s face
I see magic in your eyes
I hear the magic in your sighs
Just when I think I’m gonna get away
I hear those words that you always say
Abra-abra-cadabra
I want to reach out and grab ya
Abra-abra-cadabra
Abracadabra
Eve ry time you call my name
I heat up like a burnin’ flame
Burnin’ flame full of desire
Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher
I heat up, I can’t cool down
My situation goes ’round and ’round
I heat up, I can’t cool down
My situation goes ’round and ’round
I heat up, I can’t cool down
My situation goes ’round and ’round
The Nature Of Love. (From The Italian)
To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly,
As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade;
Love was not felt till noble heart beat high,
Nor before love the noble heart was made.
Soon as the sun's broad flame
Was formed, so soon the clear light filled the air;
Yet was not till he came:
So love springs up in noble breasts, and there
Has its appointed space,
As heat in the bright flames finds its allotted place.
Kindles in noble heart the fire of love,
As hidden virtue in the precious stone:
This virtue comes not from the stars above,
Till round it the ennobling sun has shone;
But when his powerful blaze
Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars impart
Strange virtue in their rays;
And thus when Nature doth create the heart
Noble and pure and high,
Like virtue from the star, love comes from woman's eye.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Mountain Sprite
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
'Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite.
As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er
The golden sands of that Island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight --
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.
He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled! -- and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took.
And, guided only by memory's light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.
"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried
A voice, low whispering by his side,
"Now turn and see," -- here the youth's delight
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.
"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"
Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"
poem by Thomas Moore
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Love in Flames
In the quiet of the night
Before dawns revealing light
Love is flame that lights the sky
She is the only reason why.
She rests safe in night's repose
Flames dance above and below
Out of reach but still in sight
She is the quiet of my night
Breaking dawn becomes the light
Love in flames has taken flight
Lost within the light of day
Morning truth holds love at bay
Bring the quiet of the night
When love's bright fire is my light
Islands
(mike oldfield)
Producer for bonnie: mike oldfield
Recorded in 1987 for mike oldfields album islands, lyrics taken from careful listening.
Islands
From the first time we saw
We could wait for this moment
Like rocks on the shore
We could never be closer somehow
For the moment that lasts
Is this moment now
When the nights on fire
Oh, will you keep the candle-light burning
Hold onto your hearts desire
(hearts on fire)
When you see one bird into the wind
Another ones turning
And the two can fly much higher
(higher)
Chorus:
We are islands
But never too far
We are islands
And I need your light tonight
And I need your light tonight...(x2)
Islands
Never been to before
And we climb so high
To where the wild birds soar
Theres a new path
That we found just today
I was lost in the forest
And you showed me the way
When the nights on fire
Oh, will you keep the candle-light burning
Hold onto your hearts desire
(hearts on fire)
When you see one bird into the wind
Another ones turning
And the two can fly much higher
(higher)
Chorus x 4
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wish
I'd like to show your eyes the plains
And a forest green and ruddy,
Far off and soft
Under clear skies on the horizon,
Or some hills
With lovely slopes
So changing and supple and misty,
Seeming to melt in the sweetness of the air,
Either hills
Or forest.
I'd like
For you to hear
Strong, vast, deep, and tender,
The great dull voice of the sea
That moans
Like Love;
And once in a while
Right next to you,
In the interval,
I'd like you to hear
Right next to you
A dove
In the silence
Both soft and weak
Like Love a trifle in the shadows,
I'd like you to hear
The gushing of a spring
For your hands I'd like some flowers,
And for your steps
I'd like a little path, grassy and sandy
Going up a bit and coming down,
Turning and seeming
To approach the limits of silence.
A very little sandy path
Where your steps would leave faint marks,
Our steps
Together.
poem by Henri de Regnier
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