Death, that struck when I was most confiding
Death! that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain faith of joy to be -
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,
Full of sap, and full of silver dew;
Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide.
Little mourned I for the parted gladness,
For the vacant nest and silent song -
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
Whispering, ' Winter will not linger long!'
And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,
Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,
Lavished glory on that second May!
High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;
Sin was scared to distance with its shine;
Love, and its own life, had power to keep it
From all wrong - from every blight but thine!
Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;
Evening's gentle air may still restore -
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -
Time, for me, must never blossom more!
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
That from which it sprung - Eternity.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Related quotes
Death
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
In my certain faith of joy to be—
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,
Full of sap, and full of silver dew;
Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide.
Little mourned I for the parted gladness,
For the vacant nest and silent song—
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
Whispering, 'Winter will not linger long!'
And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,
Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,
Lavished glory on that second May!
High it rose—no winged grief could sweep it;
Sin was scared to distance with its shine;
Love, and its own life, had power to keep it
From all wrong—from every blight but thine!
Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;
Evening's gentle air may still restore—
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish—
Time, for me, must never blossom more!
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
That from which it sprung—Eternity.
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Told You
I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds, and trees.
And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And, love, it has all come true.
I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.
I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Leaf
A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
Was driven o'er the steppe by a cruel gale;
Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
It finally alit by the Black Sea shore.
A young plane tree stands by the Black Sea shore;
A whispering wind strokes her green boughs;
On her green boughs sway heavenly birds
Singing the praises and fame of the queen of the sea.
The traveler lit at the soaring tree's roots;
Anguished he pled for a moment's shelter,
And these were his words: "I am but a poor oak leaf,
Matured before my time in a grim homeland.
For ages I've wandered without a goal, all alone
Without shade I withered, without repose, faded.
Would you welcome this stranger among your emerald leaves,
I know many stories of wonder and wisdom."
"But why do I need you?" the young tree replies, -
"You are dusty and yellow - ill-suited to my wholesome young sons.
You've seen many things - but what use do I have for your tales?
The heavenly birds have long wearied my ears.
O traveler! Be on your way. You are a stranger to me!
Beloved by the sun, I bloom and shine for him;
My boughs are spread in the heavenly fields,
The cool sea refreshes and washes my roots."
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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In Spring
THE young birds shy twitter
In hedges and bowers,
Fields brighten and glitter
With dewdrops and flowers.
Over flood, over fallow,
Impelled by old yearning,
The nest-building swallow
Exults at returning;
For dark days and hoary
Are routed and over,
Dark Winter is gone;
Resplendent in glory,
The earth meets her lover,
Her bridegroom the Sun.
Must I alone sorrow,
Despairingly languish,
Breaks never a morrow
On the night of my anguish?
The jubilant gladness
In bird, beam, and blossom,
But deepens the sadness
That weighs on my bosom.
Oh, Spring, in whose azure
Wake follow the starling,
The daisy, the dove;
Sweet spendthrift of pleasure,
Brings also my darling,
Oh bring me my love!
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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To An Oak At Newstead
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground,
I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine;
That thy dark‑waving branches would flourish around,
And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.
Such, such was my hope, when in infancy's
On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride;
They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears,
Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide.
I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour,
A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire;
Till manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power,
But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire.
Oh! hardy thou went--even now little care
Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal:
But thou went not fated affection to share--
For who could suppose that a stranger would feel!
Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while;
Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run,
The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile,
When Infancy's years of probation are done.
Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds,
That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay,
For still in thy bosom are life's early seeds,
And still may thy branches their beauty display.
Oh! yet, if maturity's years may be thine,
Though I shall lie low in the cavern of death,
On thy leaves yet the day‑beam of ages may shine,
Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's breath.
For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave
O'er the Gorse of thy lord in thy canopy laid;
While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave,
The chief who survives may recline in thy shade.
And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot,
He will tell them is whispers more softly to tread.
Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot;
Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.
And here, will they say, when in life's glowing prime,
Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay,
And here must he sleep, till the moments of time
Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day.
To my father (upon his retirement)
In all the land our race was once excelling.
In richer regions it e'en now possesses
Broad seats and fruitful; but by fate's hard stresses
Our
branch was bent and bowed to blows compelling.
Now toward the light again it lifts aloft
Its top, and fresh buds crown it, fair and soft.
The flowing fountain of
your
faith has laved it,
To life's late evening thus your strength has saved it.
As rests the race in time of chill and rigor,
And from the deeps that lie within its being
Draws to it what alone can nourish, freeing
Its powers to full prophecy of vigor,-
So I divined the unseen stir in you
Of nature's might that you could not subdue;
It was so strong, from sire to son surviving,
In mystery mute descends this power's striving.
Upon this poured its radiant warmth pervading
My mother's soul; of wedded joy the glory
Crowns not alone your aged heads and hoary;
But it shall death outlive in light unfading.
And if my people ever truly prize
The pictured home that in my writings lies,
Honor of love and faith serene, unbroken,-
Of father, mother, both, shall praise be spoken.
If men remember the Norwegian peasant,
As from the field of toil or saga fateful
I conjured him; to you they shall be grateful,
Father, in whom love let me find him present.
And if the woman whom I made them view
In sun-like splendid faith and spirit true,
By women is approved, it is the other
Who has their homage, my sweet-natured mother.
And now you'll rest the evening long and cheery
From the day's work in fair or troubled weather,
And of the by-gone time you'll talk together,
Of many a mile you trod with footsteps weary,-
Now will as sunlight on the winter's snow,
A warmth of thanks in through the window glow,
Harsh memories mellow with its golden shining,
Your life in faith complete find its refining.
But none gives thanks as now that son in gladness,
For whom you lived in anxious fear unceasing,
Since forth he flew with strength of wing increasing,
For whom to God you prayed in joy and sadness.
Oh, know, when hot my blood burned over-much,
I felt your soothing hands my forehead touch,
And oft, my heart in mute repentance bleeding,
In thoughts of you I heard God's gentle pleading.
And so I pray that I may have the power
(Since we again for life shall be united,
And hope 'mid mirthful mem'ries be relighted),
To brighten now their every evening-hour!
When children's children in their arms shall be,
Oh, let them morning in their evening see!
So shall they gladly lay, when death gives warning,
Their gray heads down to greet the dawning morning.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Rose And The Fern
LADY, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn,
Come thou with me to Love's enchanted bower
High overhead the trellised roses burn;
Beneath thy feet behold the feathery fern,--
A leaf without a flower.
What though the rose leaves fall? They still are sweet,
And have been lovely in their beauteous prime,
While the bare frond seems ever to repeat,
'For us no bud, no blossom, wakes to greet
The joyous flowering time!'
Heed thou the lesson. Life has leaves to tread
And flowers to cherish; summer round thee glows;
Wait not till autumn's fading robes are shed,
But while its petals still are burning red
Gather life's full-blown rose!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Flower of Death
The life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind
Death will take blossom, and it shall never fade it shall stay bright
And oh it shall be a beautiful sight, as it holds its petals into the night
And the leaves shall spread as green as green can be
And if you look close you will see
It's roots shall grow deep in the pot of eternity, in the dirt of the mind
The flower shall shine, so magnificent so kind
It's pollen will fly, will sour
And wait at the front of someone's door
The sun of the next world shall shine and nurture, the rain shall fall
Thanks to that the vines shall grow, and overcome the wall
The minerals of the soul will strengthen the warmth shall grow
This process shall grow, like snow falls, fast at first then slow
For the life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our minds
And its stalk will sprout and wind
For now the flower shall bloom
The darkness shall leave, take the gloom
It shall leave us and we shall follow in the light of what's to be
Only then, we shall see
The flower of forever
As it takes root, you use it as a lever
Lifting you to the flower
And now you shall not cower
For you know this will spread and the flower shall grow shall thrive
And then you will know you are truly alive
As it takes root in your soul, and it shall becomes the power
For this is the blossom, this is the flower
The life is all our have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind
Bethany Hill
(This poem is not supposed to make you contemplate death, and I would not like to have people think that it is. It is just meant to show you that you should not fear death yet you should not reach for it but to take it when it is meant to come. Thank you)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Flower of Love
'Tis said the rose is Love's own flower,
Its blush so bright, its thorns so many;
And winter on its bloom has power,
But has not on its sweetness any.
For though young Love's ethereal rose
Will droop on Age's wintry bosom,
Yet still its faded leaves disclose
The fragrance of their earliest blossom.
But ah! the fragrance lingering there
Is like the sweets that mournful duty
Bestows with sadly-soothing care,
To deck the grave of bloom and beauty.
For when its leaves are shrunk and dry,
Its blush extinct, to kindle never,
That fragrance is but Memory's sigh,
That breathes of pleasures past for ever.
Why did not Love the amaranth choose,
That bears no thorns, and cannot perish ?
Alas! no sweets its flowers diffuse,
And only sweets Love's life can cherish.
But be the rose and amaranth twined,
And Love, their mingled powers assuming,
Shall round his brows a chaplet bind,
For ever sweet, for ever blooming.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Wonderful Bologna
Wonderful Bologna
In your summer wishing
Like bouquets corona
With no color missing
Love songs for flowers
In the breezy wind blow
Your nearness empowers
On city streets glow
All people walking by
In gladness’s mood
Opening up sunshine sky
With their laugh attitude
Softness of shading
Beneath every footstep
All enjoyment abounding
For fresh summer prep
Wonderful spring city
Every aspect there found
Only joy that’s pretty
When gladness comes around
With crocuses growing
In tomorrow’s full blossom
When to summer we’re going
Full of hue that’s awesome
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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To John Milton
_'From his honoured friend, William Davenant'_
Poet of mighty power, I fain
Would court the muse that honoured thee,
And, like Elisha's spirit, gain
A part of thy intensity;
And share the mantle which she flung
Around thee, when thy lyre was strung.
Though faction's scorn at first did shun
With coldness thy inspired song,
Though clouds of malice passed thy sun,
They could not hide it long;
Its brightness soon exhaled away
Dank night, and gained eternal day.
The critics' wrath did darkly frown
Upon thy muse's mighty lay;
But blasts that break the blossom down
Do only stir the bay;
And thine shall flourish, green and long,
With the eternity of song.
Thy genius saw, in quiet mood,
Gilt fashion's follies pass thee by,
And, like the monarch of the wood,
Towered oer it to the sky,
Where thou couldst sing of other spheres,
And feel the fame of future years.
Though bitter sneers and stinging scorns
Did throng the muse's dangerous way,
Thy powers were past such little thorns,
They gave thee no dismay;
The scoffer's insult passed thee by,
Thou smild'st and mad'st him no reply.
Envy will gnaw its heart away
To see thy genius gather root;
And as its flowers their sweets display
Scorn's malice shall be mute;
Hornets that summer warmed to fly,
Shall at the death of summer die.
Though friendly praise hath but its hour.
And little praise with thee hath been;
The bay may lose its summer flower,
But still its leaves are green;
And thine, whose buds are on the shoot,
Shall only fade to change to fruit.
Fame lives not in the breath of words,
In public praises' hue and cry;
The music of these summer birds
Is silent in a winter sky,
When thine shall live and flourish on,
Oer wrecks where crowds of fames are gone.
The ivy shuns the city wall,
When busy clamorous crowds intrude,
And climbs the desolated hall
In silent solitude;
The time-worn arch, the fallen dome,
Are roots for its eternal home.
The bard his glory neer receives
Where summer's common flowers are seen,
But winter finds it when she leaves
The laurel only green;
And time from that eternal tree,
Shall weave a wreath to honour thee;
A sunny wreath for poets meet,
From Helicon's immortal soil,
Where sacred Time with pilgrim feet
Walks forth to worship, not to spoil,
A wreath which Fame creates and bears,
And deathless genius only heirs.
Nought but thy ashes shall expire;
Thy genius, at thy obsequies,
Shall kindle up its living fire
And light the muse's skies;
Ay, it shall rise, and shine, and be
A sun in song's posterity.
poem by John Clare
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The Rose-Bush
There was a rose-bush in a garden growing,
Its tender leaves unfolding day by day;
The sun looked-on, and his down-going
Left it amid the starlit dusk of nights of May.
The dew-drop came and kissed it in the gloaming;
It gathered sweetness in the morning hours;
The bee beheld it as he went aroaming,
And thought, 'What honey will be hidden in its flowers!'
The light grew richer and the days grew long;
The May-time deepened into June;
The air was laden with the robin's song,
The light wind touched the leaves and set them atune.
And now a tiny bud appeared, and then another--
Bright promises of radiant flowers;
The breezes, whispering, told it to each other,
The rose-bush heard them in the gladsome hours.
New Hope awoke and thrilled in all it veins;
Life is so sweet that culminates in flowers!
It smiled and grew in misty summer rains,
And caught the freshness of the evening showers.
And oft the gardener came and stood beside;
He tended it alway with zealous care,
Watching lest any evil should betide,
Or blight creep o'er the leaves that grew so fair.
He crushed the buds and dropped them on the ground;
The rose-bush felt a chill in every vein;
It drooped, as if to hide each bitter wound--
This strange experience was its earliest thought of pain.
'Poor little plant,' the gardener thought,
Thou art too young, too young to know
That few buds unto flowers are brought,--
It is by pruning thou must grow.'
And still the summer smiled and shoned,
And other roses bloomed and died.
'Mine would more beauteously have blown,'
The little rose-bush sadly sighed.
Again the gardener sought his flowers,
Where he had watched his treasures blow:
The autumn blast has swept the bowers,
The winds and storms has laid them low!
Though sad of heart, the rose-bush still was green;
It lifted up its drooping head;
'The life that would have filled the buds may still be seen,
'Tis folded in its heart,' he said.
He stooped and took it from the ground
All trembling with its vague alarms,
And quick and tenderly he wrapped it round,
And kindly bore it in his arms.
And now where soft the sunshine flows,
Within a fair, immortal bower,
In all its fragrant beauty blooms the rose,
Its every bud grown into perfect flower.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Wherefore This Life
Wherefore This Life
-T.Amanyu
1, September,2008
We knew the time had come,
And the time had come, we knew,
For the grievous lords had called on us
Before on the lea had set the dew.
And I didst espy the other men go
Passing my hut and Charles’ farm too.
Through the haunts of snakes and beasts,
I watched them as they quietly did move.
‘Wherefore do ye walk’ I asked one
To be answer’d by chilly silence.
So like any other man, I from my house sprang,
And made towards the jungle dense.
We walked and walked for many days;
Still not a stain of strain dud we feel.
We passed cold nights still trudging way,
Fain forgetting our own weal.
We passed the tall thickets profound,
Where at morn beasts wild prowl.
We trod our way o’er courage and faith;
Boldly under the ogre’s growl.
Nests of dainty birds passed us,
On top of the redwoods’ high boughs;
Or rather we passed them,
In this place which no one loves.
We passed the moors and lakes immense,
And passed the birds under heaven’s eye.
We passed some blissful beasts and plants;
Thither- somewhere where one must die.
And all through my way I found,
But vain, melancholy and grief;
And then was it that I fathomed my way-
Towards a battlefield… that of life.
The battle began- the battle of life.
With no weapons, the halcyon war.
I fought bravely under depths of grief;
Till I knew I from death was not far.
And I felt myself by an arrow hit hard;
Of love which no witchcraft can erase,
The eternity whereof I’ve felt aye in my life
And now I am with death face to face.
Now I feel myself on the thorns of life,
And I bleed upon this evil time.
And then goes my soul and my life an’ my corpse;
Languidly into the hanging blue rime.
poem by Amanyu T Thulasi
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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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llllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllllllllllll
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 …
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllll
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.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll
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.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllll
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.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllll
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hopes
A PRINCESS, sleeping in enchanted bowers,
Earth springs to waking at Spring's voice and kiss,
And after winter's cold, unlovely hours,
Laughs out to find how beautiful she is.
Spring flings a song across the field and fold,
And sighs it through the glad wood's tangled ways;
And million, million tales of love are told,
And dreams are dreamed of undivided days.
In hollows where so late but dead leaves lay,
Through the dead leaves the primroses push up;
And wind-flowers fleck the copse, and fields are gay
With daisies and the budding buttercup.
So in our hearts, though thick the dead leaves lie
Of grief--heaped up by winds of old despair--
May there not be a spring-time by-and-by,
When flowers of joy shall blossom even there?
So long has Winter held our hearts in his,
We dare not dream of Spring and all her flowers?
Ah! the undreamed-of happiness it is
That comes--the dreamed-of joy is never ours!
When late the trees were brown and hedges bare,
And keen east wind cut sharp as human pain,
Did the Earth guess how soon she would be fair
With Spring's dear dainty loveliness again?
We do not guess of joy, but hope alone--
Like life's mysterious force that thrills the earth--
Lives in our souls, unrecognised, unknown,
Till time shall bring unhoped-for joy to birth.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Chorus of the Dead
And all returns to Thee, alone eternal,
And all Thee returning.
Oh Death, in Thy vast shadow,
Simple and bare we languish,
Not happy, but from the anguish
Of life at last set free. The night profoundly
Falls on the shaken spirit,
And dark in dark confuses;
The withered soul sourage and hope refuses;
Spent and uncaring,
Free now from sorrow and from fear for ever,
We lie here undespairing
Through void eternity.
We lived... And as a phantom from a dream of terror
Wanders into the day,
And draws across the speechless souls of children
A memory and a fear,
We, as we linger here,
Are haunted still by life: but fears of children
Haunt us not now. What were we?
What was that bitter point in time
That bore the name of life?
Mysterious, stupendous,
Lost in our thought that hidden country lies:
As in our day of life there lay
The secret land of death. And as from dying
Our living souls drew back, so now they draw
Back from the flame of life,
Simple and bare to languish,
Not happy, but not in anguish;
For happiness we know
Fate upon life or death will not bestow.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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Autumn Falling Leaves
When all have been and gone away,
Like leaves from green to amber orange,
Falling down and to decay,
Is the time for all in nature to fall,
And the leaves on the trees show it all,
Autumn and its falls of fall,
Where all the branches have dropped their leaves,
All have gone except the evergreens,
Showing signs to us that live among,
Four seasons weather,
Where Autumn is,
Just like in life,
When full circle of life is known,
A start in spring where buds appear,
Then in summer full bloom trees will be,
Hence, fall shows all,
When nature falls,
Begining another season,
Winter and chill tempetures,
Where nature decays,
And leaves do fall,
To generate again,
Renewing its life,
Come spring again,
Untill then,
Autumn sheads its leaves of blossom and blooms,
And soon again autumn begins,
From new to old,
And then old to new,
Buds in spring and leaves of green,
Showing birth from what did decayed,
And brought forth from,
What was bear on the trees,
From where beneath was where once,
Those Autumn falling leaves.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Winter Stores
We take from life one little share,
And say that this shall be
A space, redeemed from toil and care,
From tears and sadness free.
And, haply, Death unstrings his bow
And Sorrow stands apart,
And, for a little while, we know
The sunshine of the heart.
Existence seems a summer eve,
Warm, soft, and full of peace;
Our free, unfettered feelings give
The soul its full release.
A moment, then, it takes the power,
To call up thoughts that throw
Around that charmed and hallowed hour,
This life's divinest glow.
But Time, though viewlessly it flies,
And slowly, will not stay;
Alike, through clear and clouded skies,
It cleaves its silent way.
Alike the bitter cup of grief,
Alike the draught of bliss,
Its progress leaves but moment brief
For baffled lips to kiss.
The sparkling draught is dried away,
The hour of rest is gone,
And urgent voices, round us, say,
' Ho, lingerer, hasten on !'
And has the soul, then, only gained,
From this brief time of ease,
A moment's rest, when overstrained,
One hurried glimpse of peace ?
No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us,
And flowers bloomed round our feet,
While many a bud of joy before us
Unclosed its petals sweet,
An unseen work within was plying;
Like honey-seeking bee,
From flower to flower, unwearied, flying,
Laboured one faculty,
Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow,
Its gloom and scarcity;
Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,
Toiled quiet Memory.
'Tis she that from each transient pleasure
Extracts a lasting good;
'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure
To serve for winter's food.
And when Youth's summer day is vanished,
And Age brings Winter's stress,
Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished,
Life's evening hours will bless.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Make Merry in the Room
Observe the busy bee, my son,
which from dawn rich till day is done,
from bloom to blossom journeying,
extracts from each a different thing, -
a special nectar from each one,
by each embraced, detained by none.
There’s room for more before Death’s sting
envelops all within dark wing.
When first-fruits fall so readily,
then flitter-flatter fancy free.
Our hearts rejoice ‘bove anything
to hear the cricket’s cheerful ring,
so dance through life, no pleasures shun,
until the thread of Fortune’s spun.
Copy the cricket, chirp and sing
throughout life’s Summer, for Time’s wing
is almost flown before begun: -
from branch to branch enjoy your fun
before you choose the perfect tree
from which to hang eternity.
Eternal traverse of the sun
mocks Man’s vain efforts, every one,
“the garment of repentance fling”
to dust “and in the fire of Spring”
refill your cup, let sweetness run.
All know their leaves fall one by one.
Today tomorrow stings, may bring
sans eyes, sans ears, sans everything.
“Some little talk of me and thee”
there’ll be, then nothing more will be.
© Jonathan Robin Poem written 19 May 1986
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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