Before And After Summer
I
Looking forward to the spring
One puts up with anything.
On this February day,
Though the winds leap down the street,
Wintry scourgings seem but play,
And these later shafts of sleet
- Sharper pointed than the first -
And these later snows - the worst -
Are as a half-transparent blind
Riddled by rays from sun behind.
II
Shadows of the October pine
Reach into this room of mine:
On the pine there stands a bird;
He is shadowed with the tree.
Mutely perched he bills no word;
Blank as I am even is he.
For those happy suns are past,
Fore-discerned in winter last.
When went by their pleasure, then?
I, alas, perceived not when.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Palm And The Pine
From the German of Heine.
In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps: around it snows have thrown
A covering of white.
It dreams forever of a Palm
That, far i' the Morning-land,
Stands silent in a most sad calm
Midst of the burning sand.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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My Baby Sleeps
The wind is loud in the west to-night,
But Baby sleeps;
The wild wind blows with all its might,
But Baby sleeps;
My Baby sleeps, and he does not hear
The noise of the storm in the pine trees near.
The snow is drifting high to-night,
But Baby sleeps;
The bitter world is cold and white,
But Baby sleeps;
My Baby sleeps, so fast, so fast,
That he does not heed the wintry blast.
The cold snows drift, and the wild winds rave,
But Baby sleeps;
And a white cross stands by his little grave,
While Baby sleeps;
And the storm is loud in the rocking pine,
But its moan is not so deep as mine.
poem by George A. Mackenzie
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The Pine
The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
The trees are barren when the summer's lost:
But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.
Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,
Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:
My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,
'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Hypnos On Ida
[Iliad, B. XIV. V. 283]
They then to fountain-abundant Ida, mother of wild beasts,
Came, and they first left ocean to fare over mainland at Lektos,
Where underneath of their feet waved loftiest growths of the woodland.
There hung Hypnos fast, ere the vision of Zeus was observant,
Mounted upon a tall pine-tree, tallest of pines that on Ida
Lustily spring off soil for the shoot up aloft into aether.
There did he sit well-cloaked by the wide-branched pine for concealment,
That loud bird, in his form like, that perched high up in the mountains,
Chalkis is named by the Gods, but of mortals known as Kymindis.
poem by George Meredith
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A Pine Tree in My House
A tree that grows in my garden
A robust pine tree
Stands big and Proud
Sinks its roots deeply into the Earth
A pine tree in my house
Spreads its seeds every where
Sheds needles all over
Drops big cones onto my lawn
Survives within the sun
Ambles forth in all direction s with each gust of wind
Bends over the roaring storm
Tosses its branches in magnificent enthusiasm
Attracts the colors of a million sunsets into its needles leaves
Sways gracefully with the wind
Whispers with the blowing breeze
Cuddles joyfully with the changing seasons
Tries to reach the sky!
Looks beautiful in a peaceful state,
Is wise in its silence
Grows lush in all seasons
Allows the birds to perch and soar
Never holds them back
Never pines for their return when they fly away
If our hearts were like pine trees
We would have no apprehension in our minds
No one would wish to bring us down
No one would wake us up at night
A pine tree in my house
I Call it the tree of paradise
What I’ve got, I know it matters
For paradise, I wish to pave the way!
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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Fragment From The Wandering Jew
The Elements respect their Maker's seal!
Still Like the scathed pine tree's height,
Braving the tempests of the night
Have I 'scaped the flickering flame.
Like the scathed pine, which a monument stands
Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath;
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
And rears its wild form there.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Spring Is Gone
As the coldness creeps closer
The bitterness begins to grow
The sun left us alone
Now that spring is gone
The air grows heavy
The frost eats up my skin
Flowers died on this ongoing trend
Winter has finally come
The Moon gain power over the day
He puts the sun to shame
The trees will lose their souls
Winter has a heavy toll
I am reaching for the sky
For the stars that will always shine
And wish on a shooting star that spring
Will awaken and come back to save me
Death rules this time of year
And drifts away
Living souls shall shed a tear
Winter is filled with sorrow
The sun will never shine
Upon whom winter wrath, will be taken
Everyone will be forsaken
On this oak pine
Spring left our world
Leaving us for freedom
We didn't treat spring right
We don't have the right to keep her
Winter has given us the punishment
And we shall take it
poem by Elisha De La Rosa
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The Birch-Tree at Loschwitz
At Loschwitz above the city
The air is sunny and chill;
The birch-trees and the pine-trees
Grow thick upon the hill.
Lone and tall, with silver stem,
A birch-tree stands apart;
The passionate wind of spring-time
Stirs in its leafy heart.
I lean against the birch-tree,
My arms around it twine;
It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
Like a human heart to mine.
One moment I stand, then sudden
Let loose mine arms that cling:
O God! the lonely hillside,
The passionate wind of spring!
The Oft-Repeated Dream
She had no saying dark enough
For the dark pine that kept
Forever trying the window latch
Of the room where they slept.
The tireless but ineffectual hands
That with every futile pass
Made the great tree seem as a little bird
Before the mystery of glass!
It never had been inside the room,
And only one of the two
Was afraid in an oft-repeated dream
Of what the tree might do.
poem by Robert Frost
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As the Pine Cypress tree would say
I want to be like the Cassia tree-
The Cassia tree by the river side
I want to be like the Cassia tree
firmly rooted in the soil inside
so when the winds play its tune of tempest
I will sway left and right as it would have me sway
Sway and not break or lose a footing
as the pine cypress tree would say
I want to be like the Cassia tree-
The Cassia tree by the riverside
I want to be like the Cassia tree
firmly rooted in the soil inside
so when the clouds gather and dress the sky in
dark clothing, for the ritual of the rain
I will stand its pour to the rage of the thunder
Stand and not break or lose a footing
as the pine cypress tree would say
My Favorite Tree
My Favorite Tree
by Margaret Carlisle
Deep in the forest I searched for a tree,
A special one which most appealed to me.
I looked around and suddenly found,
A beautiful pine, that was round
At the bottom and pointed on top,
Its branches knew just when to stop,
To form that classic Christmas-tree-look,
It's beauty, its bark, its fragrance, it took
My senses on a pleasure cruise,
And its memory I shall never lose.
poem by Margaret Carlisle
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Valentine In Form Of Ballade
The soft wind from the south land sped,
He set his strength to blow,
From forests where Adonis bled,
And lily flowers a-row:
He crossed the straits like streams that flow,
The ocean dark as wine,
To my true love to whisper low,
To be your Valentine.
The Spring half-raised her drowsy head,
Besprent with drifted snow,
'I'll send an April day,' she said,
'To lands of wintry woe.'
He came,--the winter's overthrow
With showers that sing and shine,
Pied daisies round your path to strow,
To be your Valentine.
Where sands of Egypt, swart and red,
'Neath suns Egyptian glow,
In places of the princely dead,
By the Nile's overflow,
The swallow preened her wings to go,
And for the North did pine,
And fain would brave the frost her foe,
To be your Valentine.
ENVOY.
Spring, Swallow, South Wind, even so,
Their various voice combine;
But that they crave on ME bestow,
To be your Valentine.
poem by Andrew Lang
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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October Girl
I married an October girl
but met her in December's cold,
I remember well
that winter of our meeting
you could not say that it was swell
that frosty first time greeting.
I saw her a second time
October in the spring
when light shone from her face
and joined with my light within;
she blew a gentle breeze
with freshness in her haste
to meet again the man
who previously in December
she had not seemed
so keen to chase.
She blew into my life in spring
through summer and the fall
and swirled around the boughs
of my many outreaching branches,
until she bared me of all the leaves
I'd grown throughout my life
and pointed to the roots of me
that held me strong in strife.
October is a blustery girl
with many winds of change
sometimes with an angry squall
that bares wintered teeth
with lightening storms of rage,
but I never did meet a girl
with such a warm embrace.
I married that October girl
we married in the spring
and as I wait to see
what summer's breeze may bring
I know that October's girl
will shine her light within
as I soar up so very high
upon October's wind.
poem by David Taylor
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De Votre Bonheur Il Ne Reste Que Vos Photos Sipsce…
And the rain since
And I have not heard
Leaf at the pane all winter
Nor a bird's wing beating as that was
I have not seen
All year your leaning face again
Since I have never wakened but that smell
Of wet pine bark was in the room.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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[revised 11-19-09] Getting Through October and Beyond
What was it about October
That made us think
Spring would not be coming back?
The weather rattled at us,
Leaves fell,
Leaving us feeling
It's not going to get any better.
No amount of experience or
Logic will helped,
Spring last year didn't help,
When the shorter days of
Fall and Winter closed in.
Beyond October?
What was it about October
That assured us
Spring will be coming back?
The weather hinted of changes,
Leaves brave enough
To let go one by one,
Or be pushed in bunches by the wind
Took momentary flight, and
Abandoned their accustomed tree.
They made room for new buds
Provided cover for the soil and
Food for those below.
Lots of work to get ready
For Spring next year and to
Just get through Fall and Winter.
Then came November.
November brought
What October teased.
October warned us,
Rushed at us,
Then seemed to pull back
Like a gentle rolling surf.
On a rough November day
A wave rushed over our heads
Knocked us down and threatened
To pull us far out to sea.
As we floated
We saw the shore disappear.
No one will come to help.
They won't even know we're gone.
'I've got to get to December! '
We scream.
'New Year's Day! Easter!
May Day! MAY DAY! '
And we will
Even if we have no idea
Why or how
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Name It
Breeze wooed and whispered
In the rustle
Of the ear-leaves
Of the tree:
“I love dear”
The tree in a mood,
Self forgetful,
Spoke to the breeze;
“I pine for you”
So, the breeze replied
“You are the tree pine”.
poem by Minnoor srinivasan
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Untimely Love
Peace, throbbing heart, nor let us shed one tear
O'er this late love's unseasonable glow;
Sweet as a violet blooming in the snow,
The posthumous offspring of the widowed year
That smells of March when all the world is sere,
And, while around the hurtling sea-winds blow--
Which twist the oak and lay the pine tree low--
Stands childlike in the storm and has no fear.
Poor helpless blossom orphaned of the sun,
How could it thus brave winter's rude estate?
Oh love, more helpless, why bloom so late,
Now that the flower-time of the year is done?
Since thy dear course must end when scarce begun,
Nipped by the cold touch of relentless fate.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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If Only I Were a Bird
If only I were a bird,
my days would be forever happy
Chirp from tree to tree
And live worry-free.
If only I were a bird,
I would fly from
Cyprus to Chile
and have a tour on earth.
If only I were a bird,
I would dropp fruit seeds
Hoping a fruit tree will grow
For other birds to take shade.
If only I were a bird
I won't be
worrying about work
Bills, car, or clothes
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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An Ever Moving Friend
A shadows moves forward,
It`s mine...mine alone ever.
My shadow has a mission
He must tread past me ever and everywhere
Irrespective directions and distances.
He is like a calf mischevious full of energy.
Each time my shadow reaches the destination a lot early
And he sends a message to me with spellings accurate:
'I have reached safe, don`t worry'.
Should I go back now? I am uncertain.
I see very often much to my head-ache
Men and women travelling with no shadows close.
My shadow alone moves on leaving me far behind
And I just wish him all the best while I blow out a sad smile.
One day his destinations will end for want of pathways.
Then he will stay with me I am sure.
And he will triumph in his spring of youth
He doesn`t know about the unlaid tracks ahead.
A shadows moves forward,
It`s mine...mine alone ever.
An ever moving friend
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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