Autumn
I dwell alone - I dwell alone, alone,
Whilst full my river flows down to the sea,
Gilded with flashing boats
That bring no friend to me:
O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats,
O love-pangs, let me be.
Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone
And spices bear to sea:
Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes,
Love-promising, entreating -
Ah! sweet, but fleeting -
Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails.
Hush! the wind flags and fails -
Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand -
Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone;
Their songs wake singing echoes in my land -
They cannot hear me moan.
One latest, solitary swallow flies
Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tossed,
Poor bird, shall it be lost?
Dropped down into this uncongenial sea,
With no kind eyes
To watch it while it dies,
Unguessed, uncared for, free:
Set free at last,
The short pang past,
In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast.
Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks,
Some rent by thunder strokes,
Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze;
Fair fall my fertile trees,
That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease.
A spider's web blocks all mine avenue;
He catches down and foolish painted flies,
That spider wary and wise.
Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew
Betwixt boughs green with sap,
So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap:
I will not mar the web,
Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb.
It shakes - my trees shake - for a wind is roused
In cavern where it housed:
Each white and quivering sail,
Of boats among the water leaves
Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale:
Each maiden sings again -
Each languid maiden, whom the calm
Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm
Miles down my river to the sea
They float and wane,
Long miles away from me.
Perhaps they say: ‘She grieves,
Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower.’
Perhaps they say: ‘One hour
More, and we dance among the golden sheaves.’
Perhaps they say: ‘One hour
More, and we stand,
Face to face, hand in hand;
Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!’
My trees are not in flower,
I have no bower,
And gusty creaks my tower,
And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Where Go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating -
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Paper Boats
Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.
In bid black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Jacobite's Exile
The weary day runs down and dies,
The weary night wears through:
And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
And never a flower wi' dew.
I would the day were night for me,
I would the night were day:
For then would I stand in my ain fair land,
As now in dreams I may.
O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,
And loud the dark Durance:
But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne
Than a' the fields of France;
And the waves of Till that speak sae still
Gleam goodlier where they glance.
O weel were they that fell fighting
On dark Drumossie's day:
They keep their hame ayont the faem
And we die far away.
O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,
But night and day wake we;
And ever between the sea banks green
Sounds loud the sundering sea.
And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep
But sweet and fast sleep they:
And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them
Is e'en their country's clay;
But the land we tread that are not dead
Is strange as night by day.
Strange as night in a strange man's sight,
Though fair as dawn it be:
For what is here that a stranger's cheer
Should yet wax blithe to see?
The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,
The fields are green and gold:
The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,
As ours at home of old.
But hills and flowers are nane of ours,
And ours are over sea:
And the kind strange land whereon we stand,
It wotsna what were we
Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame,
To try what end might be.
Scathe and shame, and a waefu' name,
And a weary time and strange,
Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing
Can die, and cannot change.
Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,
Though sair be they to dree:
But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,
Mair keen than wind and sea.
Ill may we thole the night's watches,
And ill the weary day:
And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,
A waefu' gift gie they;
For the songs they sing us, the sights they bring us,
The morn blaws all away.
On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,
The burn rins blithe and fain:
There's nought wi' me I wadna gie
To look thereon again.
On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:
There sounds nae hunting-horn
That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat
Round banks where Tyne is born.
The Wansbeck sings with all her springs
The bents and braes give ear;
But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings
I may not see nor hear;
For far and far thae blithe burns are,
And strange is a' thing near.
The light there lightens, the day there brightens,
The loud wind there lives free:
Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me
That I wad hear or see.
But O gin I were there again,
Afar ayont the faem,
Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed
That haps my sires at hame!
We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,
And the sweet grey gleaming sky,
And the lordly strand of Northumberland,
And the goodly towers thereby;
And none shall know but the winds that blow
The graves wherein we lie.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Winter With a Question
The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.
The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.
Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?
poem by Ronny Self
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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To
AH, often do I wait and watch,
And look up, straining through the Real
With longing eyes, my friend, to catch
Faint glimpses of your white Ideal.
I know she loved to rest her feet
By slumbrous seas and hidden strand;
But mostly hints of her I meet
On moony spots of mountain land.
I’ve never reached her shining place,
And only cross at times a gleam;
As one might pass a fleeting face
Just on the outside of a Dream.
But you may climb, her happy Choice!
She knows your step, the maiden true,
And ever when she hears your voice,
She turns and sits and waits for you.
How sweet to rest on breezy crest
With such a Love, what time the Morn
Looks from his halls of rosy rest,
Across green miles of gleaming corn!
How sweet to find a leafy nook,
When bees are out, and Day burns mute,
Where you may hear a passion’d brook
Play past you, like a mellow flute!
Or, turning from the sunken sun,
On fields of dim delight to lie—
To close your eyes and muse upon
The twilight’s strange divinity!
Or through the Night’s mysterious noon,
While Sound lies hushed among the trees,
To sit and watch a mirror’d moon
Float over silver-sleeping seas!
Oh, vain regret! why should I stay
To think and dream of joys unknown?
You walk with her from day to day,
I faint afar off—and alone.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Fairies On The Sea Shore. By Howard
FIRST FAIRY.
MY home and haunt are in every leaf,
Whose life is a summer day, bright and brief,--
I live in the depths of the tulip's bower,
I wear a wreath of the cistus flower,
I drink the dew of the blue harebell,
I know the breath of the violet well,--
The white and the azure violet;
But I know not which is the sweetest yet,--
I have kiss'd the cheek of the rose;
I have watch'd the lily unclose,
My silver mine is the almond tree,
Who will come dwell with flower and me?
CHORUS OF FAIRIES.
Dance we our round, 'tis a summer night,
And our steps are led by the glow-worms' light.
SECOND FAIRY.
My dwelling is in the serpentine
Of the rainbow's colour'd line,--
See how its rose and amber clings
To the many hues of my radiant wings;
Mine is the step that bids the earth
Give to the iris flower its birth,
And mine the golden cup to hide,
Where the last faint hue of the rainbow died.
Search the depths of an Indian mine,
Where are the colours to match with mine?
CHORUS.
Dance we round, for the gale is bringing
Songs the summer rose is singing.
THIRD FAIRY.
I float on the breath of a minstrel's lute,
Or the wandering sounds of a distant flute,
Linger I over the tones that swell
From the pink-vein'd chords of an ocean-shell;
I love the sky-lark's morning hymn,
Or the nightingale heard at the twilight dim,
The echo, the fountain's melody,--
These, oh! these are the spells for me!
CHORUS.
Hail to the summer night of June;
See! yonder has risen our ladye moon.
FOURTH SPIRIT.
My palace is in the coral cave
Set with spars by the ocean wave;
Would ye have gems, then seek them there,--
There found I the pearls that bind my hair.
I and the wind together can roam
Over the green waves and their white foam,--
See, I have got this silver shell,
Mark how my breath will its smallness swell,
For the Nautilus is my boat
In which I over the waters float,--
The moon is shining over the sea,
Who is there will come sail with me?
CHORUS OF FAIRIES.
Our noontide sleep is on leaf and flower,
Our revels are held in a moonlit hour,--
What is there sweet, what is there fair,
And we are not the dwellers there?
Dance we round, for the morning light,
Will put us and our glow-worm lamps to flight!
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Lost Embassy
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees--
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
'White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh--in the sun--with me!'
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown--
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire--
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay--
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
'Bright wings, light wings, white wings,' he cried
'You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free--
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes--
But no live butterflies come my way!'
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Madona Mia
UNDER green apple-boughs
That never a storm will rouse,
My lady hath her house
Between two bowers;
In either of the twain
Red roses full of rain;
She hath for bondwomen
All kind of flowers.
She hath no handmaid fair
To draw her curled gold hair
Through rings of gold that bear
Her whole hair’s weight;
She hath no maids to stand
Gold-clothed on either hand;
In all the great green land
None is so great.
She hath no more to wear
But one white hood of vair
Drawn over eyes and hair,
Wrought with strange gold,
Made for some great queen’s head,
Some fair great queen since dead;
And one strait gown of red
Against the cold.
Beneath her eyelids deep
Love lying seems asleep,
Love, swift to wake, to weep,
To laugh, to gaze;
Her breasts are like white birds,
And all her gracious words
As water-grass to herds
In the June-days.
To her all dews that fall
And rains are musical;
Her flowers are fed from all,
Her joy from these;
In the deep-feathered firs
Their gift of joy is hers,
In the least breath that stirs
Across the trees.
She grows with greenest leaves,
Ripens with reddest sheaves,
Forgets, remembers, grieves,
And is not sad;
The quiet lands and skies
Leave light upon her eyes;
None knows her, weak or wise,
Or tired or glad.
None knows, none understands,
What flowers are like her hands;
Though you should search all lands
Wherein time grows,
What snows are like her feet,
Though his eyes burn with heat
Through gazing on my sweet,
Yet no man knows.
Only this thing is said;
That white and gold and red,
God’s three chief words, man’s bread
And oil and wine,
Were given her for dowers,
And kingdom of all hours,
And grace of goodly flowers
And various vine.
This is my lady’s praise:
God after many days
Wrought her in unknown ways,
In sunset lands;
This was my lady’s birth;
God gave her might and mirth
And laid his whole sweet earth
Between her hands.
Under deep apple-boughs
My lady hath her house;
She wears upon her brows
The flower thereof;
All saying but what God saith
To her is as vain breath;
She is more strong than death,
Being strong as love.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Camp of Souls
1 My white canoe, like the silvery air
2 O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls
3 When the moons of the world are round and fair,
4 I paddle back from the 'Camp of Souls.'
5 When the wishton-wish in the low swamp grieves
6 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
7 Two hundred times have the moons of spring
8 Rolled over the bright bay's azure breath
9 Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle's wing,
10 And painted my face with the 'paint of death,'
11 And from their pipes o'er my corpse there broke
12 The solemn rings of the blue 'last smoke.'
13 Two hundred times have the wintry moons
14 Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white;
15 Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
16 Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
17 Of the first sweet dawn, when the summer weaves
18 Her dusky wigwam of perfect leaves.
19 Two hundred moons of the falling leaf
20 Since they laid my bow in my dead right hand
21 And chanted above me the 'song of grief'
22 As I took my way to the spirit land;
23 Yet when the swallow the blue air cleaves
24 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
25 White are the wigwams in that far camp,
26 And the star-eyed deer on the plains are found;
27 No bitter marshes or tangled swamp
28 In the Manitou's happy hunting-ground!
29 And the moon of summer forever rolls
30 Above the red men in their 'Camp of Souls.'
31 Blue are its lakes as the wild dove's breast,
32 And their murmurs soft as her gentle note;
33 As the calm, large stars in the deep sky rest,
34 The yellow lilies upon them float;
35 And canoes, like flakes of the silvery snow,
36 Thro' the tall, rustling rice-beds come and go.
37 Green are its forests; no warrior wind
38 Rushes on war trail the dusk grove through,
39 With leaf-scalps of tall trees mourning behind;
40 But South Wind, heart friend of Great Manitou,
41 When ferns and leaves with cool dews are wet,
42 Bows flowery breaths from his red calumet.
43 Never upon them the white frosts lie,
44 Nor glow their green boughs with the 'paint of death';
45 Manitou smiles in the crystal sky,
46 Close breathing above them His life-strong breath;
47 And He speaks no more in fierce thunder sound,
48 So near is His happy hunting-ground.
49 Yet often I love, in my white canoe,
50 To come to the forests and camps of earth:
51 'Twas there death's black arrow pierced me through;
52 'Twas there my red-browed mother gave me birth;
53 There I, in the light of a young man's dawn,
54 Won the lily heart of dusk 'Springing Fawn.'
55 And love is a cord woven out of life,
56 And dyed in the red of the living heart;
57 And time is the hunter's rusty knife,
58 That cannot cut the red strands apart:
59 And I sail from the spirit shore to scan
60 Where the weaving of that strong cord began.
61 But I may not come with a giftless hand,
62 So richly I pile, in my white canoe,
63 Flowers that bloom in the spirit land,
64 Immortal smiles of Great Manitou.
65 When I paddle back to the shores of earth
66 I scatter them over the white man's hearth.
67 For love is the breath of the soul set free;
68 So I cross the river that darkly rolls,
69 That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
70 Of thine who wait in the 'Camp of Souls.'
71 When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves,
72 Come the dusky plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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A Fisherman's Baby
Oh hush, little baby, thy papa's at sea;
The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee.
He hastes to his dear ones o'er billows of foam;
Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home.
Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby;
Papa is coming, no longer to roam.
The shells and the pebbles, all day tossed about,
Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.
The tired shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand,
While the waves hurry off at mid-ocean's command.
Then hush, little darling; sleep, little darling;
Sleep, baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand.
The winds that have rollicked all day in the west
Are hushed into sleep on the calm evening's breast.
The boats that were out with the wild sea at play
Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay.
Then rest, little baby; sleep, little baby;
Papa will come at the break of the day.
Sleep, little darling; too soon thou wilt be
A man like thy father, to sail o'er the sea.
Then sleep will not come at thy bidding or prayer,
For thou wilt be harassed by danger and care.
Then sleep, little darling; rest, little baby;
Rest whilst thou may, dear, and sleep whilst thou dare.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Ballad Of The Mad Ladye
The rowan tree grows by the tower foot,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead feel joy or pain?_)
And the owls in the ivy blink and hoot,
And the sea-waves bubble around its root,
Where kelp and tangle and sea-shells be,
When the bat in the dark flies silently.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
The ladye sits in the turret alone,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead--can they complain?_)
And her long hair down to her knee has grown,
And her hand is cold as a hand of stone,
And wan as a band of flesh may be,
While the bird in the bower sings merrily.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
Sadly she leans by her casement side
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead arise again?_)
And watcheth the ebbing and flowing tide,
But her eye is dim, and the sea is wide;
The fisherman's sail and the cloud flies free
And the bird is mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
The moon shone in on the turret stair
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead are bound with a chain._)
And touched her cheek and brightened her hair,
And found naught else in the world so fair,
So ghostly fair as the mad ladye,
While the bird in the bower sang lonesomely.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
The weary days and the months crept on,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The words of the dead are vain_)
At last the summer was over and gone,
And still she sat in her turret alone,
Her white hands clasping about her knee,
And the bird was mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
Wild was the sound of the wind and the sleet,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea.
The dead--do they walk again?_)
Wilder the roar of the surf that beat;
Whose was the form that it bore to her feet
Swayed with the swell of the unquiet sea,
While the raven croaked in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
Oh Lady, strange is the silent guest--
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
Can the dead feel sorrow or pain?_)
With the sea-drenched locks and the pulseless breast
And the close-shut lips which thine have pressed
And the wide sad eyes that heed not thee,
While the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
The tower is dark, and the doors are wide,
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
The dead are at peace again._)
Into the harbour the fisher boats ride,
But two went out with the ebbing tide,
Without sail, without oar, full fast and free,
And the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)
poem by Kate Seymour Maclean
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The Fisher's Widow
The boats go out and the boats come in
Under the wintry sky;
And the rain and foam are white in the wind,
And the white gulls cry.
She sees the sea when the wind is wild
Swept by a windy rain;
And her heart's a-weary of sea and land
As the long days wane.
She sees the torn sails fly in the foam,
Broad on the sky-line gray;
And the boats go out and the boats come in,
But there's one away.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Boats To Build
It's time for a change
I'm tired of that same ol' same
The same ol' words the same ol' lines
The same ol' tricks and the same ol' rhymes
Days precious days
Roll in and out like waves
I got boards to bend I got planks to nail
I got charts to make I got seas to sail
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It'll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
Sails are just like wings
The wind can make 'em sing
Songs of life songs of hope
Songs to keep your dreams afloat
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It'll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
Shores distant shores
There's where I'm headed for
Got the stars to guide my way
Sail into the light of day
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It'll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Autumn Wind
I.
HUSH, moaning autumn wind! be still, be still!
Thy grieving voice forbiddeth hearts to rest;
We hear thee sweeping down the lonely hill,
And mournful thoughts crowd o'er the human breast.
Why wilt thou haunt us, with thy voice unkind,
Sadd'ning the earth? Hush, moaning autumn wind!
II.
Toss not the branching trees so wildly high,
Filling the forest with thy dreary sound:
Without thy aid the hues of summer die,
And the sear leaves fall scatter'd to the ground.
Thou dost but hasten, needlessly unkind,
The winter's task, thou moaning autumn wind!
III.
Sweep not thro' Ocean's caves with hollow roar,
Driving our fair ships to some rock-bound strand!
While the vex'd sea foams wrathful to the shore,
The seaman's wife looks shuddering from the land,
And widow'd hearts for many a year shall find
Death in thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
IV.
Round our calm dwellings, when our hearths are gay,
Roam not, oh howling spirit of Despair!
As tho' thou wert a creature seeking prey,
And where the land look'd richest, found it there.
We have enough of memories unkind
Without thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
V.
Thee the sad mourner lists, and turns to weep,
In the blank silence of her lonely home;
The sick man hears, and starts from broken sleep,
And the night-wanderer sighs--compell'd to roam;
While the poor shiver, for their huts unkind
Bar thee not out, thou searching autumn wind!
VI.
Back to the barren hill and lonely glen!
Here let the wandering of thy echoes cease;
Sadly thou soundest to the hearts of men,--
Hush thy wild voice, and let the earth have peace;
Or, if no chain thy restless will can bind,
Sweep thro' the desert, moaning autumn wind!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boats To Build (feat. Alan Jackson)
It's time for a change
I'm tired of that same ol same
The same ol words the same ol lines
The same ol tricks and the same ol rhymes
Days precious days
Roll in and out like waves
I got boards to bend I got planks to nail
I got charts to make I got seas to sail
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
Itll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
Sails are just like wings
The wind can make em sing
Songs of life songs of hope
Songs to keep your dreams afloat
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
Itll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
Shores distant shores
Theres where I'm headed for
Got the stars to guide my way
Sail into the light of day
I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
Itll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I've got boats to build
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Year of the Rose
From the depths of the green garden-closes
Where the summer in darkness dozes
Till autumn pluck from his hand
An hour-glass that holds not a sand;
From the maze that a flower-belt encloses
To the stones and sea-grass on the strand
How red was the reign of the roses
Over the rose-crowned land!
The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death.
In the red-rose land not a mile
Of the meadows from stile to stile,
Of the valleys from stream to stream,
But the air was a long sweet dream
And the earth was a sweet wide smile
Red-mouthed of a goddess, returned
From the sea which had borne her and burned,
That with one swift smile of her mouth
Looked full on the north as it yearned,
And the north was more than the south.
For the north, when winter was long,
In his heart had made him a song,
And clothed it with wings of desire,
And shod it with shoon as of fire,
To carry the tale of his wrong
To the south-west wind by the sea,
That none might bear it but he
To the ear of the goddess unknown
Who waits till her time shall be
To take the world for a throne.
In the earth beneath, and above
In the heaven where her name is love,
She warms with light from her eyes
The seasons of life as they rise,
And her eyes are as eyes of a dove,
But the wings that lift her and bear
As an eagle's, and all her hair
As fire by the wind's breath curled,
And her passage is song through the air,
And her presence is spring through the world.
So turned she northward and came,
And the white-thorn land was aflame
With the fires that were shed from her feet,
That the north, by her love made sweet,
Should be called by a rose-red name;
And a murmur was heard as of doves,
And a music beginning of loves
In the light that the roses made,
Such light as the music loves,
The music of man with maid.
But the days drop one upon one,
And a chill soft wind is begun
In the heart of the rose-red maze
That weeps for the roseleaf days
And the reign of the rose undone
That ruled so long in the light,
And by spirit, and not by sight,
Through the darkness thrilled with its breath,
Still ruled in the viewless night,
As love might rule over death.
The time of lovers is brief;
From the fair first joy to the grief
That tells when love is grown old,
From the warm wild kiss to the cold,
From the red to the white-rose leaf,
They have but a season to seem
As rose-leaves lost on a stream
That part not and pass not apart
As a spirit from dream to dream,
As a sorrow from heart to heart.
From the bloom and the gloom that encloses
The death-bed of Love where he dozes
Till a relic be left not of sand
To the hour-glass that breaks in his hand;
From the change in the grey garden-closes
To the last stray grass of the strand,
A rain and ruin of roses
Over the red-rose land.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Land Of Nod
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
Your head like the golden-rod,
And we will go sailing away from here
To the beautiful land of Nod.
Away from life’s hurry, and flurry, and worry,
Away from earth’s shadows and gloom,
To a world of fair weather we’ll float off together
Where the roses are always in bloom.
Just shut up your eyes, and fold your hands,
Your hands like the leaves of a rose,
And we will go sailing to those fair lands
That an atlas never shows.
On the North and the West they are bounded by rest,
On the South and the East by dreams;
‘Tis the country ideal, where nothing is real,
But everything only seems.
Just dropp down the curtains of your dear eyes,
Those eyes like a bright blue-bell,
And we will sail out under starlit skies
To the land where the fairies dwell.
Down the river of sleep our barque shall sweep,
Till it reaches the mystical isle
Which no man has seen, but where all have been,
And there we will pause for awhile.
I will croon you a song as we float along,
To that shore that is blessed of God,
Then ho! for that fair land, we’re off for that rare land,
That beautiful Land of Nod.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasonable Retour-Knell
SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
Author notes
A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000
In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.
For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.
Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.
One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.
Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
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For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER
Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.
Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.
AUTUMN WINTER
Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.
Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,
Autumn dismays, While Winter grieves
Sun drifting down. Over our lives.
26 March 1975
Enjoy!
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Seasonable Retour-Knell I
Spring burgeons, breeze blows blossom, bees,
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
cloudless and clear, life full of song.
To draw dear near, young lovers long,
sure, know no fear, symphony strong.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
fruit heavy lays bending the bough,
each leaf decays, each life must bow,
Fall’s salad days all ending now.
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives,
Trees stripped of leaves, Jack Frost has knives.
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives.
____ _____ ___
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives.
Trees stripped of leaves, Jack Frost has knives.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives,
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Fall’s salad days all ending now,
each leaf decays, each life must bow,
fruit heavy lays bending the bough,
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Sure know no fear, symphony strong,
to draw dear near, young lovers long.
Cloudless and clear, life full of song,
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long.
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
Spring burgeons, breeze blows blossom, bees …
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Seasonable Retour-Knell II
Spring burgeons, breeze blows blossom, bees,
days fair and long, Summer sends cheer.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
Over our lives white Winter grieves.
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
life full of song, cloudless and clear,
To draw dear near, young lovers long, -
symphony strong - sure, know no fear.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
bending the bough, fruit heavy lays.
each leaf decays, each life must bow,
all ending now Fall’s salad days.
White Winter grieves over our lives.
hibernate hives, Harvested sheaves,
trees stripped of leaves, - Jack Frost has knives.
Onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves.
____ _____ ___
Onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves.
Trees stripped of leaves, - Jack Frost has knives.
Hibernate hives, Harvested sheaves,
White Winter grieves over our lives.
All ending now, Fall’s salad days.
Each leaf decays, each life must bow,
bending the bough, fruit heavy lays.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Sure know no fear, symphony strong,
young lovers long to draw dear near,
Cloudless and clear, life full of song,
days fair and long, Summer sends cheer.
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow,
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
Spring burgeons, breeze blows blossom, bees …
.
© Jonathan Robin 25 January 2007
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SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
Seasonable Role Reversal Part I
Life is at ease, land under plough
whispers, receives free-grazing cow.
Spring wave-wakes tree’s burgeoning bough,
soft-scented breeze, bees, blossom, now.
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
cloudless and clear, life full of song.
To draw dear near, young lovers long,
sure, know no fear, symphony strong.
Each leaf decays, each life must bow,
Fall’s salad days all ending now.
Fruit heavy lays bending the bough,
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives,
trees stripped of leaves, Jack Frost has knives.
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives,
white Winter grieves over our lives.
_ _ _ _ _
White Winter grieves over our lives.
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives.
trees stripped of leaves, Jack Frost has knives.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Fruit heavy lays bending the bough.
Fall’s salad days all ending now,
Each leaf decays, each life must bow.
Sure, know no fear, - symphony strong -
to draw dear near, young lovers long,
Cloudless and clear, life full of song.
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long.
Soft-scented breeze, bees, blossom, now,
Spring wave-wakes tree’s burgeoning bough
whispers, receives free-grazing cow.
Life is at ease, land under plough.
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Seasonable Role Reversal Part II
Land under plough, Life is at ease,
free-grazing cow whispers receives.
Burgeoning bough, Spring wave-wakes trees.
Bees, blossom; Now, soft-scented breeze.
Days fair and long, Summer sends cheer,
life full of song, cloudless and clear,
Young lovers long to draw dear near, -
symphony strong - sure, know no fear.
Each life must bow, each leaf decays,
All ending now. Fall’s salad days,
bending the bough, fruit heavy lays.
Sunsets which wow Autumn displays.
Hibernate hives, harvested sheaves,
Jack Frost has knives. Trees stripped of leaves.
Onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves,
over our lives, white Winter grieves.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Over our lives white Winter grieves,
onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves,
Jack Frost has knives. Trees stripped of leaves,
Hibernate hives, harvested sheaves.
Sunsets which wow Autumn displays.
Bending the bough, fruit heavy lays,
all ending now, Fall’s salad days.
Each life must bow, each leaf decays.
Symphony strong - sure know no fear –
young lovers long to draw dear near.
Life full of song, cloudless and clear,
days fair and long, Summer sends cheer.
Bees, blossom. Now, soft-scented breeze,
burgeoning bough, Spring wave-wakes trees.
Free-grazing cow whispers receives.
Land under plough, Life is at ease.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllll
Seasonable Role Reversal Part III
Life is at ease, land under plough,
free-grazing cow whispers, receives.
Spring wave-wakes tree’s burgeoning bough,
bees, blossom, now, soft-scented breeze.
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long,
life full of song cloudless and clear.
To draw dear near, young lovers long, -
symphony strong sure, - know no fear.
Each leaf decays, each life must bow,
All ending now, Fall’s salad days.
Fruit heavy lays bending the bough,
Sunsets which wow Autumn displays.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives,
Jack Frost has knives, trees stripped of leaves.
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives,
over our lives white Winter grieves.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Over our lives white Winter grieves.
Time, Prince of thieves, onward he drives.
Jack Frost has knives, trees stripped of leaves.
Harvested sheaves, hibernate hives.
Sunsets which wow Autumn displays.
Fruit heavy lays bending the bough.
All ending now, Fall’s salad days,
Each leaf decays, each life must bow.
Symphony strong. Sure, know no fear,
to draw dear near, young lovers long.
Life full of song cloudless and clear,
Summer sends cheer, days fair and long.
.
Bees, blossom, now, soft-scented breeze.
Spring wave-wakes tree’s burgeoning bough.
Free-grazing cow whispers, receives.
Life is at ease land under plough.
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Seasonable Role Reversal Part IV
Land under plough, life is at ease,
whispers receives free-grazing cow
Spring wave-wakes trees, burgeoning bough,
soft-scented breeze Bees, blossom, - now.
Days fair and long, Summer sends cheer,
cloudless and clear, life full of song,
Young lovers long to draw dear near,
sure, know no fear, - symphony strong.
Each life must bow, each leaf decays,
Fall’s salad days all ending now.
Bending the bough, fruit heavy lays.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Hibernate hives, harvested sheaves,
Jack Frost has knives. Trees stripped of leaves.
Onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves,
over our lives, white Winter grieves.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Over our lives white Winter grieves
onward he drives, Time, Prince of thieves,
Jack Frost has knives. Trees stripped of leaves,
Hibernate hives, harvested sheaves.
Autumn displays sunsets which wow.
Bending the bough, fruit heavy lays, -
Fall’s salad days all ending now.
Each life must bow, each leaf decays.
Sure, know no fear, - symphony strong -
young lovers long to draw dear near.
Cloudless and clear, life full of song,
Days fair and long, Summer sends cheer.
Soft-scented breeze, bees, blossom, now,
Spring wave-wakes trees, burgeoning bough.
Whispers receives free-grazing cow.
Land under plough, life is at ease.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllll
Seasonable Role Reversal Part V
Life is at ease, soft-scented breeze
whispers, receives. Spring wave-wakes tree’s
burgeoning bough. Bees, blossom, now.
Land under plough, free-grazing cow.
Summer sends cheer, cloudless and clear.
Sure, know no fear, to draw dear near,
young lovers long symphony strong.
Life full of song, days fair and long.
Autumn displays Fall’s salad days.
Each leaf decays, fruit heavy lays
bending the bough, each life must bow,
Sunsets which wow all ending now.
Harvested sheaves, trees stripped of leaves,
White Winter grieves. Time, Prince of thieves,
onward he drives over our lives.
Hibernate hives. Jack Frost has knives.
_ _ _ _ _
Hibernate hives. Jack Frost has knives,
onward he drives over our lives.
White Winter grieves Time, Prince of thieves.
Harvested sheaves, trees stripped of leaves.
Sunsets which wow all ending now.
bending the bough, each life must bow,
Each leaf decays, fruit heavy lays
Autumn displays Fall’s salad days.
Life full of song, days fair and long.
Young lovers long symphony strong.
sure, know no fear to draw dear near.
Summer sends cheer, cloudless and clear.
Life is at ease, soft-scented breeze.
Land under plough, free-grazing cow,
burgeoning bough, bees. Blossom now
whispers, receives. Spring wave-wakes trees.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllll
Seasonable Role Reversal Part VI
Bees, blossom, now, burgeoning bough,
free-grazing cow, land under plough.
Spring wave-wakes trees, whispers, receives,
life is at ease, soft-scented breeze.
Cloudless and clear, Summer sends cheer.
To draw dear near, sure, know no fear,
symphony strong young lovers long.
Days fair and long, life full of song.
All ending now - sunsets which wow -
each life must bow. Bending the bough,
fruit heavy lays. Each leaf decays.
Fall’s salad days Autumn displays.
Jack Frost has knives, onward he drives
over our lives. Hibernate hives,
trees stripped of leaves, harvested sheaves.
Time, Prince of thieves. White Winter grieves.
_ _ _ _ _
Time, Prince of thieves! White Winter grieves -
trees stripped of leaves, harvested sheaves -
over our lives. Hibernate hives.
Jack Frost has knives, onward he drives.
Fall’s salad days Autumn displays.
Fruit heavy lays, each leaf decays,
each life must bow bending the bough.
All ending now sunsets which wow.
Days fair and long, life full of song,
symphony strong - young lovers long
to draw dear near, sure, know no fear.
Cloudless and clear, Summer sends cheer.
Life is at ease, soft-scented breeze,
Spring wave-wakes trees, whispers, receives.
Free-grazing cow, land under plough,
bees, blossom, now, burgeoning bough.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Shall We Land
'_Where shall we land you, sweet_?'--Swinburne.
All listlessly we float
Out seaward in the boat
That beareth Love.
Our sails of purest snow
Bend to the blue below
And to the blue above.
Where shall we land?
We drift upon a tide
Shoreless on every side,
Save where the eye
Of Fancy sweeps far lands
Shelved slopingly with sands
Of gold and porphyry.
Where shall we land?
The fairy isles we see,
Loom up so mistily--
So vaguely fair,
We do not care to break
Fresh bubbles in our wake
To bend our course for there.
Where shall we land?
The warm winds of the deep
Have lulled our sails to sleep,
And so we glide
Careless of wave or wind,
Or change of any kind,
Or turn of any tide.
Where shall we land?
We droop our dreamy eyes
Where our reflection lies
Steeped in the sea,
And, in an endless fit
Of languor, smile on it
And its sweet mimicry.
Where shall we land?
'Where shall we land?' God's grace!
I know not any place
So fair as this--
Swung here between the blue
Of sea and sky, with you
To ask me, with a kiss,
'Where shall we land?'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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