Monday, October 14, 2013

November Morning



A tingling, misty marvel
Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple-branches
An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gayly peering through
This silver-tissued network
Across the frosty blue.

The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
And crystal is the rose."

-    Evaleen Stein.


Charles Wysocki
 



 Charles Wysocki



I Sit and Think


 I sit beside the fire and
 think of all that I have seen,
 of meadow-flowers and butterflies
 in summers that have been; 
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
 in autumns that there were,


with morning mist and silver
 sun and wind upon my hair.
 I sit beside the fire and think
 of how the world will be
 when winter comes without
 a spring that I shall ever see.


 For still there are so many things
 that I have never seen:
 in every wood in every spring
 there is a different green.
 I sit beside the fire and
 think of people long ago,


 and people who will see a world
 that I shall never know.
 But all the while I sit and think
 of times there were before,
 I listen for returning feet
 and voices at the door.


 J R R Tolkien ~



Morning Walk

 
A sweet melody on the lips,
Pack's snug on the hips,
Feel the early morning nip,
Far away a lonely farm.

Breathing in the mountain air,
A chipmunk chatters over there,
Bliss and beauty everywhere,
A little bird sings his song.

Feeling nature's harmony,
Wild apples are sweet honey,
Trees majestic so many,
Beauty shows in every form.

The trail entrances with her charm,
An overwhelming sense of calm,
Body, spirit, arm in arm,
Nature is soul's soothing balm.

 


The Magic Appletree



APPLES

by Helen H. Moore

Apples, apples, what a treat,
sweet and tart and good to eat.
Apples green and apples red,
hang from branches overhead,
and when they ripen, down they drop,
so we can taste our apple crop.













Saturday, September 14, 2013

September

SEPTEMBER

 The golden-rod is yellow;
 The corn is turning brown;
 The trees in apple orchards
 With fruit are bending down.

 The gentian's bluest fringes 
 Are curling in the sun;
 In dusty pods the milkweed
 Its hidden silk has spun.

 The sedges flaunt their harvest,
 In every meadow nook; 
And asters by the brook-side
 Make asters in the brook.

 From dewy lanes at morning
 The grapes' sweet odors rise;
 the roads all flutter
 With yellow butterflies.

 By all these lovely tokens
 September days are here,
 With summer's best of weather,
 And autumn's best of cheer.

 But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
 Is unto me the secret 
Which makes September fair.

 'T is a thing which I remember;
 To name it thrills me yet:
 One day of one September
 I never can forget.

 by: Helen Hunt Jackson
 (1830-1885) 



 Marjolein Bastin



The morns are meeker than they were
The nuts are getting brown
The berry's cheek is plumper
The Rose is out of town

The Maple wears a gayer scarf
The field a scarlet gown
Lest I should be old fashioned
I'll put a trinket on .

Emily Dickenson



Saturday, July 27, 2013

Child's Play

The Children's Hour
by~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

 Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
 

 

Country Home 


"My Dolly"
 Here is my dolly all tattered and torn.
Everyone loves her even though she is worn.
Her body is floppy and her hair is a mess,
But I love her dearly, and she loves me best!
 Author: Unknown
 

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Cooing Voices

Pinterest

Opposite my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,--

Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.

Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.

Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves opposite my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,--

Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.

Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.

Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.

So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.

~ Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)~


Pinterest