ladylinda
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April
Apr 23, 2014 17:20:06 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 23, 2014 17:20:06 GMT -5
The Young May Moon
Thomas Moore
The young May moon is beaming, love. The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. How sweet to rove, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! -- the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
Now all the world is sleeping, love, But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, And I, whose star, More glorious far, Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. Then awake! -- till rise of sun, my dear, The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, Or, in watching the flight Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 23, 2014 17:20:36 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 23, 2014 17:20:36 GMT -5
April Rain
Mathilde Blind
The April rain, the April rain, Comes slanting down in fitful showers, Then from the furrow shoots the grain, And banks are fledged with nestling flowers; And in grey shaw and woodland bowers The cuckoo through the April rain Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun, Glints through the rain in fitful splendour, And in grey shaw and woodland dun The little leaves spring forth and tender Their infant hands, yet weak and slender, For warmth towards the April sun, One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth The rainbow's evanescent glory; Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth! Frail symbol of our human story, It flowers through showers where, looming hoary, The rain-clouds flash with April mirth, Like Life on earth.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 23, 2014 17:21:10 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 23, 2014 17:21:10 GMT -5
March
William Carlos Williams
I Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous bitterness of wind, and sky shining teasingly, then closing in black and sudden, with fierce jaws.
II March, you remind me of the pyramids, our pyramids— stript of the polished stone that used to guard them! March, you are like Fra Angelico at Fiesole, painting on plaster!
March, you are like a band of young poets that have not learned the blessedness of warmth (or have forgotten it).
At any rate— I am moved to write poetry for the warmth there is in it and for the loneliness— a poem that shall have you in it March.
III See! Ashur-ban-i-pal, the archer king, on horse-back, in blue and yellow enamel! with drawn bow—facing lions standing on their hind legs, fangs bared! his shafts bristling in their necks!
Sacred bulls—dragons in embossed brickwork marching—in four tiers— along the sacred way to Nebuchadnezzar’s throne hall! They shine in the sun, they that have been marching— marching under the dust of ten thousand dirt years.
Now— they are coming into bloom again! See them! marching still, bared by the storms from my calendar —winds that blow back the sand! winds that enfilade dirt! winds that by strange craft have whipt up a black army that by pick and shovel bare a procession to the god, Marduk!
Natives cursing and digging for pay unearth dragons with upright tails and sacred bulls alternately— in four tiers— lining the way to an old altar! Natives digging at old walls— digging me warmth—digging me sweet loneliness— high enamelled walls.
IV My second spring— passed in a monastery with plaster walls—in Fiesole on the hill above Florence.
My second spring—painted a virgin—in a blue aureole sitting on a three-legged stool, arms crossed— she is intently serious, and still watching an angel with coloured wings half kneeling before her— and smiling—the angel’s eyes holding the eyes of Mary as a snake’s holds a bird’s. On the ground there are flowers, trees are in leaf.
V But! now for the battle! Now for murder—now for the real thing! My third springtime is approaching! Winds! lean, serious as a virgin, seeking, seeking the flowers of March.
Seeking flowers nowhere to be found, they twine among the bare branches in insatiable eagerness— they whirl up the snow seeking under it— they—the winds—snakelike roar among yellow reeds seeking flowers—flowers.
I spring among them seeking one flower in which to warm myself!
I deride with all the ridicule of misery— my own starved misery.
Counter-cutting winds strike against me refreshing their fury!
Come, good, cold fellows! Have we no flowers? Defy then with even more desperation than ever—being lean and frozen!
But though you are lean and frozen— think of the blue bulls of Babylon.
Fling yourselves upon their empty roses— cut savagely!
But— think of the painted monastery at Fiesole.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 23, 2014 17:22:43 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 23, 2014 17:22:43 GMT -5
Here's one by me - as an April girl myself Ogden Nash's poem inspired me to write one of my own!
The April Girl
Linda Marshall
Her head's in a whirl: the April girl, hair tousled with curls, neck lacked with pearls, her banner unfurled wide and free to the world
of course she feels fear but it's very clear it's not just sheer ignorance, still less mere bloody-mindedness keeps her here: her heart is sincere
she knows the danger but welcomes the stranger in spite of his anger with a casual langour like a character in manga with goals higher than wonga
she's honest and true, no doormat for you, and even the grue of terror won't unglue the spirit that grew with each brickbat folk threw
rooted as a tree, she's what she seems to be, a WYSIWYG lady, no evasions or maybe; she might make a racket but if you can hack it she'll be a good wife for the rest of her life!
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 24, 2014 16:01:50 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 24, 2014 16:01:50 GMT -5
Depression before Spring
wallace stevens
the cock crows but no queen rises.
the hair of my blonde is dazzling, as the spittle of cows threading the wind.
ho! ho!
but ki-i-ri-ki brings no rou-cou, no rou-cou-cou.
but no queen comes in slipper green.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 24, 2014 16:02:18 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 24, 2014 16:02:18 GMT -5
To the First Robin
Louisa May Alcott
Welcome, welcome, little stranger, Fear no harm, and fear no danger; We are glad to see you here, For you sing "Sweet Spring is near." Now the white snow melts away; Now the flowers blossom gay: Come dear bird and build your nest, For we love our robin best.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 24, 2014 16:02:33 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 24, 2014 16:02:33 GMT -5
Once Again
Kobayashi Issa
Once again I've managed not to die... Blossoming spring.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 24, 2014 16:03:24 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 24, 2014 16:03:24 GMT -5
Spring Peace
Kobayashi Issa
Spring peace-- After rain, a gang war Garden sparrows.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 24, 2014 16:03:54 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 24, 2014 16:03:54 GMT -5
Every Tree
Kobayashi Issa
Every tree With its calling card... Spring buds.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 25, 2014 10:05:42 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 25, 2014 10:05:42 GMT -5
Spring Morning
A.E. Housman
Star and coronal and bell April underfoot renews, And the hope of man as well Flowers among the morning dews.
Now the old come out to look, Winter past and winter's pains, How the sky in pool and brook Glitters on the grassy plains.
Easily the gentle air Wafts the turning season on; Things to comfort them are there, Though 'tis true the best are gone.
Now the scorned unlucky lad Rousing from his pillow gnawn Mans his heart and deep and glad Drinks the valiant air of dawn.
Half the night he longed to die, Now are sown on hill and plain Pleasures worth his while to try Ere he longs to die again.
Blue the sky from east to west Arches, and the world is wide, Though the girl he loves the best
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 25, 2014 10:06:09 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 25, 2014 10:06:09 GMT -5
Spring Departs
Matsuo Basho
Spring departs. Birds cry Fishes' eyes are filled with tears.
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 25, 2014 10:36:48 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 25, 2014 10:36:48 GMT -5
Spring Song
Robert Louis Stevenson
The air was full of sun and birds, The fresh air sparkled clearly. Remembrance wakened in my heart And I knew I loved her dearly.
The fallows and the leafless trees And all my spirit tingled. My earliest thought of love, and Spring's First puff of perfume mingled.
In my still heart the thoughts awoke, Came lone by lone together – Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love A mere affair of weather?
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 26, 2014 7:37:32 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 26, 2014 7:37:32 GMT -5
La Verte
Valentine Penrose
Mousse herbe et toi gramineé fleur sa feuille Monde de masse verte où s’avance la dame Si hautement coiffée et de robes varies Distraite et tournant partout son col d’oiseau
Et le chêne veillait épais sur ta venue Connaisant de tout temps vieux serviteur parfait Ta robe de septembre et ta robe de mai
She-Green Moss herb grass and you lawnflower’s leaf World of green depth where the lady comes forward Hair so high-dressed and dappled robes Heedless and all ways her bird throat turning
And the firm oak guarding your advent Aware in all seasons old perfect attendant Of your robe in September and of your robe in May
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 26, 2014 7:38:05 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 26, 2014 7:38:05 GMT -5
Fire of Spring E J Scovell
The fire throughout the wood Lays a pale pewter burnish On undergrowth of hazel And still drifts of the elder That light and lichen tarnish, And seem to pour through these As water through it falling In stone-smooth weirs and rapids – So fast through woods in stillness The spies of fire are filing.
The blue of a true flower Shines from field ruts and furrows – Not winter skies in water Nor light on leaves of ivy, Nor any blue earth borrows
From air; nor (dreamed through trees A lake as blue as lacquer) Wood smoke; but flowers of speedwell Rooted in sheltering hoof-prints And valleys of the tractor
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ladylinda
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April
Apr 26, 2014 7:38:53 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Apr 26, 2014 7:38:53 GMT -5
‘Im wunderschönen Monat Mai’
Heinrich Heine
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Knospen sprangen, Da ist in meinen Herzen Die Liebe aufgegangen.
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Vögel sangen, Da hab’ ich ihr gestanden Mein Sehnen und Verlangen
In the lovely month of May, When all the buds were blooming, In my sad heart Came love’s awakening
In the lovely month of May, When all the birds were singing, Freely I confessed My longing, my longing
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