The Rush-Bearing At Ambleside
SUMMER is come, with her leaves and her flowers—
Summer is come, with the sun on her hours;
The lark in the clouds, and the thrush on the bough,
And the dove in the thicket, make melody now.
The noon is abroad, but the shadows are cool
Where the green rushes grow in the dark forest pool.
We seek not the hedges where violets blow,
There alone in the twilight of ev'ning we go;
They are love-tokens offered, when heavy with dew,
To a lip yet more fragrant—an eye yet more blue.
But leave them alone to their summer-soft dream—
We seek the green rushes that grow by the stream.
Away from the meadow, although the long grass
Be filled with young flowers that smile as we pass;
Where the bird's eye is bright as the sapphires that shine
When the hand of a beauty is decked from the mine.
We want not their gems, and we want not their flowers.
But we seek the green rush in the dark forest bowers.
The cowslip is ringing its fairy-like chime,
Sweet bells, by whose music Titania keeps time;
The rose-bush is covered with cups that unfold
Their petals that tremble in delicate gold.
But we seek not their blossoms in garlands to blend,
We seek the green rush where the willow-trees bend.
The green rush, the green rush, we bear it along
To the church of our village with triumph and song;
We strew the cold chancel, and kneel on it there,
While its fresh odours rise with our voices in prayer.
Hark the peal from the old tower in praise of it rings,
Let us seek the green rush by the deep woodland springs.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Related quotes
The Green Thicket
All in a green thicket I heard a bird sing,
And blithe though his song was it made the tears spring,
To hear a bird sing as he swung on his spray,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
All in a green thicket his song it did pour
That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore,
That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry,
All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by.
All in a green thicket that morning in Spring,
I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing,
I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew,
And the time that's gone from me was with me anew.
All in a green thicket at break of the day
It was like the dear voice of a friend far away,
It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know,
And the smile and the tears of dead Aprils ago,
All in a green thicket one morning in Spring,
For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird sing,
Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Green, green and green
I want a holiday with a scene
Of green, green and green
A summer of green trees
A landscape of green grass
A view full of green vegetables
The colour green
Is a beauty that must be seen!
From a moving vehicles screen
And while we hold onto those machines
That deprives us of the colour green
Remember they provide us vaccines
As well as help the air to be clean
So for green, green and green
I will travel continents across and in-between
And also to any place that I have never been
I will make it routine
Just to see green, green and green
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Cupid And Swallows Flying From Winter. By Dagley
'We fly from the cold.'
AWAY , away, o'er land and sea,
This is now no home for me;
My light wings may never bear
Northern cloud or winter air.
Murky shades are gathering fast,
Sleet and snow are on the blast,
Trees from which the leaves are fled,
Flowers whose very roots are dead,
Grass of its green blade bereft,
These are all that now are left.
--Linger here another day,
I shall be as sad as they;
My companions fly with spring,
I too must be on the wing.
Where are the sweet gales whose song
Wont to waft my darts along?
Scented airs! oh, not like these,
Rough as they which sweep the seas;
But those sighs of rose which bring
Incense from their wandering.
Where are the bright flowers that kept
Guard around me while I slept?
Where the sunny eyes whose beams
Waken'd me from my soft dreams?--
These are with the swallows gone,--
Beauty's heart is chill'd to stone.
Oh! for some sweet southern clime,
Where 'tis ever summer time,--
Where, if blossoms fall, their tomb
Is amid new birth of bloom,--
Where green leaves are ever springing,
Where the lark is always singing,--
One of those bright isles which lie
Fair beneath an azure sky,
Isles of cinnamon and spice,
Shadow each of Paradise,--
Where the flowers shine with dyes,
Tinted bright from the sun-rise,--
Where the birds which drink their dew,
Wave wings of yet brighter hue,
And each river's course is roll'd
Over bed of pearl and gold!
Oh! for those lime-scented groves
Where the Spanish lover roves,
Tuning to the western star,
His soft song and light guitar,--
Where the dark hair'd girls are dancing,
Fairies in the moonlight glancing,
With pencill'd brows, and radiant eyes,
Like their planet-lighted skies!
Or those clear Italian lakes
Where the silver cygnet makes
Its soft nest of leaf and flower,
A white lily for its bower!
Each of these a home would be,
Fit for beauty and for me:
I must seek their happier sphere
While the Winter lords it here.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Those Green Fields Of Kilmeedy
Those green fields of Kilmeedy I do remember still
They meet the gorse and bracken at the foot of Clara hill
A place of peace and beauty with mountains all around
Scarce touched by man's pollution where Nature's joys abound.
Even in summer in Kilmeedy the dawn comes with a chill
But skylark he is piping above the bracken hill
Through Spring and through the Summer he sings all through the day
And I fancy I can hear him o'er mountains far away.
The robin he is piping on flowering hawthorn tree
Across the miles of distance his music comes to me
And dunnock on the hedgerow and dipper in the stream
And song thrush piping gaily on ash by old bohreen.
All through the Spring and Summer the wildering flowers are seen
But green fields of Kilmeedy not always quite so green
In November and December the winds of Winter blow
And January and February bring frost and sleet and snow.
In mid March in Kilmeedy the first wildflowers appear
And weather still quite chilly though days of bloom are near
But April brings her blossoms and leaves behind her green
And May comes o'er the mountain the summer beauty queen.
Those green fields of kilmeedy I see them every day
And I hear the skylark piping o'er hillsides far away
And dunnock on the hedgerow and the dipper in the stream
And those green fields of Kilmeedy have never looked so green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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The Lost Rivers
Far down from the thunder
And rush of the street,
Flow Westbourne and Tyebourne
And Effra and Fleet,
'Neath blue skies and grey skies
Once freely that ran -
Lost rivers of London,
Forgotten of man.
Do they ever remember
Where night is like day,
Red leaves of October
And green leaves of May;
The sunshine and starshine,
The rain and the dew,
The gold of the kingcup,
The kingfisher's blue?
Do they think of the flurry
And rush of the weirs,
The mill-wheel that scattered
Drops from it like tears,
The sun-dappled shallows,
The dusk of the pool
Whose fishes bade urchins
Play truant from school?
Do they dream about cresses
And catkins in spring,
And beds of green rushes
Where reed-warblers sing,
Of willow-herb blowing
And swallows that weave,
Where the dragonfly glistens,
Their mazes at eve?
Deep under the bustle
And rush of the street
Flow Westbourne and Tyebourne
And Effra and Fleet,
In darkness and silence
Forlornly they run,
Lost rivers of London,
Forgetting the sun.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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A Glen Song
There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
Do you remember yet, a gradh, the sunshine of that day,
How the the river ran before us, and the fleckless blue hung o'er us,
And against the purple heather gleamed the yellow of the hay?
There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
Where on a dew-wet swinging spray brown throstles trilled above,
And the blackbird carolled after in a silver rain of laughter,
And the little linnet piped its song that has no theme but Love.
There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
'Twas sweet with you beside me in a world of harvest gold:
The sallaghs made a shadow in a corner of the meadow,
And your eyes were wells of kindness, and my hand lay in your hold.
There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
The voice of Spring comes on the winds like cuckoo calling clear
She bids us fare together, nor heed the fitful weather–
And seek in yon green glen the joy that waits our hearts, my Dear.
poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Dead Leaves
When these dead leaves were green, love,
November's skies were blue,
And summer came with lips aflame,
The gentle spring to woo;
And to us, wandering hand in hand,
Life was a fairy scene,
That golden morning in the woods
When these dead leaves were green!
How dream-like now that dewy morn,
Sweet with the wattle's flowers,
When love, love, love was all our theme,
And youth and hope were ours!
Two happier hearts in all the land
There were not then, I ween,
Than those young lovers' -- yours and mine --
When these dead leaves were green.
How gaily did you pluck these leaves
From the acacia's bough,
To mark the lyric we had read --
I can repeat it now!
While came the words, like music sweet,
Your smiling lips between --
"So fold my love within your heart,"
When these dead leaves were green!
How many springs have passed since then?
Ah, wherefore should we count,
The years that sped, like waters fled
From Time's unstaying fount?
We've had our share of happiness,
Our share of care have seen;
But love alone has never flown
Since these dead leaves were green.
Your heart is kind and loving still,
Your face to me as fair,
As when, that morn, the sunshine played
Amid your golden hair.
So, dearest, sweethearts still we'll be,
As we have ever been,
And keep our love as fresh and true
As when these leaves were green.
poem by Edward Booth Loughran
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Green Grow The Rushes
The wheelbarrows fallen
Look at my hands
Theyve found some surplus cheaper hands
Rubbing palms and pick and choose,
Who will they choose? here is the news.
Look at that building, look at this man
Haloed and whitewashed
Gone to find a cheaper hand
Hell offer a pound, offer a pound.
Green grow the rushes go
Green grow the rushes go
Green grow the rushes go
The compass points the workers home
Pay for your freedom, find another gate
Guilt by associate, the rushes wilted a long time ago
Guilty as you go
Stay off that highway, word is its not so safe
The grasses that hide the greenback
The amber waves of gain again
The amber waves of gain
Green grow the rushes go
Green grow the rushes go
Green grow the rushes go
The compass points the workers home
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Wish
Go to the forest-shade,
Seek thou the well-known glade,
Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie,
Gleaming thro' moss-tufts deep,
Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep,
And bath'd in hues of summer's midnight sky.
Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed,
A breath of May, and of the wood's repose;
For I in sooth depart,
With a reluctant heart,
That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.
Fain would I stay with thee–
Alas! this may not be;
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours!
Go where the fountain's breast
Catches in glassy rest
The dim green light that pours thro' laurel bowers.
I know how softly bright,
Steep'd in that tender light,
The water-lilies tremble there ev'n now;
Go to the pure stream's edge,
And from its whisp'ring sedge,
Bring me those flowers to cool my fever'd brow!
Then, as in Hope's young days,
Track thou the antique maze
Of the rich garden to its grassy mound;
There is a lone white rose,
Shedding, in sudden snows,
Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.
Well know'st thou that fair tree–
A murmur of the bee
Dwells ever in the honey'd lime above;
Bring me one pearly flower
Of all its clustering shower–
For on that spot we first reveal'd our love.
Gather one woodbine bough,
Then, from the lattice low
Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark,
When by the hamlet last,
Thro' dim wood-lanes we pass'd,
While dews were glancing to the glowworm's spark.
Haste! to my pillow bear
Those fragrant things and fair;
My hand no more may bind them up at eve,
Yet shall their odour soft
One bright dream round me waft
Of life, youth, summer,–all that I must leave!
And oh! if thou wouldst ask
Wherefore thy steps I task,
The grove, the stream, the hamlet-vale to trace;
'Tis that some thought of me,
When I am gone, may be
The spirit bound to each familiar place.
I bid mine image dwell,
(Oh! break not thou the spell!)
In the deep wood and by the fountain-side;
Thou must not, my belov'd!
Rove where we two have rov'd,
Forgetting her that in her spring-time died!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Blue Wall / Green Wall
What comes to my mind when I see a green wall?
A green wall reminds me of the grass so green
And the emerald most rarely seen
A green wall reminds me of the leaves so green
And a forest where I have never been
A green wall reminds me of trees with a lot of shade
And the fresh vegetables kept for trade.
What comes to my mind when I see a blue wall?
It reminds me of the sea so blue
I feel like jumping in it too
A blue wall reminds me of the blue sky
You can’t touch it cause it’s very high
A blue wall reminds me of the deep blue bear
It is very dangerous so beware
A blue wall reminds me of a blue whale
To reach it from the shore you have to sail.
poem by Risha Ahmed
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My Deep
You're more lovely than all the shades
of greens and purples of any precious garden.
You're my most dreamless sleep,
my green, my cool and dark and deep.
Your smile's worth more than all the jewels
within the earth, begging at your feet.
Hot and humid, overtired. I beg for sleep!
My fresh, my green, my dark and deep.
My purple! Oh, for a dreamless sleep!
My green, my cool, my dark and deep.
You are sweeter than summer night's jasmine
and brighter than the sun's morning laughter.
My Prince, my man, my green lovely, my sleep!
my best, my fresh, my cool, my dark and deep.
poem by Guy Peppin
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In Lavender And Green
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With sunshine in your eyes,
And springtime in your hair,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With softness in your words,
And healing in your touch,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With your name upon my lips,
And delight within your kiss,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
In dreams at midnight’s rest,
Or afternoon’s recline?
Come then to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
At the setting of the sun,
When my days are nearly run?
Still come to me in lavender and green?
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
If I wait at heaven’s door,
As I waited once before,
While you walked to organ’s tune,
On a summer’s afternoon.
Now dressed in springtime hues?
My love, companion, muse,
A vision still I see,
Dressed in lavender and green.
poem by Greg Davidson
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The Maple Tree
The Maple with its tassell flowers of green
That turns to red, a stag horn shapèd seed
Just spreading out its scallopped leaves is seen,
Of yellowish hue yet beautifully green.
Bark ribb'd like corderoy in seamy screed
That farther up the stem is smoother seen,
Where the white hemlock with white umbel flowers
Up each spread stoven to the branches towers
And mossy round the stoven spread dark green
And blotched leaved orchis and the blue-bell flowers -
Thickly they grow and neath the leaves are seen.
I love to see them gemm'd with morning hours.
I love the lone green places where they be
And the sweet clothing of the Maple tree.
poem by John Clare
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Green Delight
Green Delight
The green pastime
pastures sweet and tame
up in smoke today
sticky small green leaves
let me bit you up
we'll hit the streets
and fly like kites
colours soft and blue
pastel gel
me and you
go well together
lamb and shine
we melt ice and time
shelter me
peaceful green delight
you grow to please me
tease me
release me
enter me
satisfy me
green parade in my brain
I'm so alive
in the wonder of life
I love you
green delight
poem by Sara Winters
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From A Train
Green and green; and evergreen
in my all, and scurrying
in flickered films
of glimpses, painted green...
and a car in the lane silently shimmers,
as I hear the morning swaying past trees that,
green over green,
silently guard the wet summer sadness,
where cattle stare at the hopping rooks
and do not know
of the things that have been...
or care.
Cloudly and bright:
passing the green.
Where, in my remembrance of once long ago,
I felt the mist
rising unseen from the grass
that was green between green
when we kissed.
So I hum a small phrase
that carries my thoughts
ever and onwards,
listlessly flowing
like the world that is passing
the window beside me
all behind all, so totally green
and all in my knowing
and all in my all
and all in my green.
poem by Peter Jones
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The Rim Of Green
Green panties, green roses
green tits, green milk.
Green moon, posies in green.
green eyes, green full lips
green face, cheese, green..
Green around the rim,
green limes can but erupt...?
poem by Is It Poetry
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