The Thrush / Edward Thomas

The Thrush

When Winter's ahead,
What can you read in November
That you read in April
When Winter's dead?

I hear the thrush, and I see
Him alone at the end of the lane
Near the bare poplar's tip,
Singing continuously.

Is it more that you know
Than that, even as in April,
So in November,
Winter is gone that must go?

Or is all your lore
Not to call November November,
And April April,
And Winter Winter — no more?

But I know the months all,
And their sweet names, April,
May and June and October,
As you call and call

I must remember
What died into April
And consider what will be born
Of a fair November;

And April I love for what
It was born of, and November
For what it will die in,
What they are and what they are not,

While you love what is kind,
What you can sing in
And love and forget in
All that's ahead and behind.

~~
Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
from Poems, 1917.

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Edward Thomas biography

"The Thrush" read by B W Thornton.

See also: "On a Thrush Singing in Autumn," by Lewis Morris

November's featured poem

>The Penny Blog's featured poem for November 2024:

For the Fallen, by Laurence Binyon

[...]
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
[...]

(read by Laurence Fox)

https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2011/11/for-fallen-lawrence-binyon.html

Penny's Top 20 / October 2024

                                          

Penny's Top 20

The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in October 2024:

  1.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens

  2.  Skating, William Wordsworth

  3.  Large Red Man Reading, Wallace Stevens

  4.  October, George J. Dance

  5.  On a Thrush Singing in Autumn, Lewis Morris

  6.  Autumn's Orchestra, Pauline Johnson
  7.  The Red Wheelbarrow, William Carlos Williams

  8.  A Remembrance of Autumn, Adelaide Procter
  9.  Logos, George J. Dance

10.  Vowels, Arthur Rimbaud

11.  October, Louise Driscoll
12.  Sagacity, William Rose Benét

13.  October, Edwin Arnold 

14.  October, Dinah Maria Craik

15.  September, VizantOr*

16.  The March, J.C. Squire

17.  4 autumn American Haiku, Jack Kerouac

18.  The Splendor of the Days, Jean Blewett
19.  Mowing, Robert Frost

20. Autumn, Francis Ledwidge

Source: Blogger, "Stats"  

The March / J.C. Squire

The March

I heard a voice that cried, "Make way for those who died!"
And all the coloured crowd like ghosts at morning fled;
And down the waiting road, rank after rank there strode,
In mute and measured march a hundred thousand dead.

A hundred thousand dead, with firm and noiseless tread,
All shadowy-grey yet solid, with faces grey and ghast,
And by the house they went, and all their brows were bent
Straight forward; and they passed, and passed, and passed, and passed.

But O there came a place, and O there came a face,
That clenched my heart to see it, and sudden turned my way;
And in the Face that turned I saw two eyes that burned,
Never-forgotten eyes, and they had things to say.

Like desolate stars they shone one moment, and were gone,
And I sank down and put my arms across my head,
And felt them moving past, nor looked to see the last,
In steady silent march, our hundred thousand dead.

~~
J.C. Squire (1884-1958)
from Poems: First series, 1918

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

J.C. Squire biography

Samuel J. Hood Studio, Australian troops marching in Sydney, 1915. Wikimedia Commons.

See also: "The March of the Dead," by Robert Service

October / Dinah Maria Craik

October

It is no joy to me to sit
    On dreamy summer eves,
When silently the timid moon
    Kisses the sleeping leaves,
And all things through the fair hushed earth
    Love, rest – but nothing grieves.
Better I like old Autumn
    With his hair tossed to and fro,
Firm striding o'er the stubble fields
    When the equinoctials blow.

When shrinkingly the sun creeps up
    Through misty mornings cold,
And Robin on the orchard hedge
    Sings cheerily and bold,
While the frosted plum
    Drops downward on the mould;–
And as he passes, Autumn
    Into earth's lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
    As the equinoctials blow.

When the spent year its carol sinks
    Into a humble psalm,
Asks no more for the pleasure draught,
    But for the cup of balm,
And all its storms and sunshine bursts
    Controls to one brave calm,–
Then step by step walks Autumn,
    With steady eyes that show
Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year,
    While the equinoctials blow.

~~
Dinah Maria Craik (1826-1887)

from Thirty Years: Being poems new and old, 1881

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Dinah Maria Craik biography

Enoch Luong, Autumn Robin (Canada), October 2022. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

A Remembrance of Autumn / Adelaide Procter

 

A Remembrance of Autumn

Nothing stirs the sunny silence,
    Save the drowsy humming of the bees
        Round the rich ripe peaches on the wall,
    And the south wind sighing in the trees,
        And the dead leaves rustling as they fall:
    While the swallows, one by one, are gathering
        All impatient to be on the wing,
    And to wander from us seeking
                Their beloved spring!

Cloudless rise the azure heavens!
    Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white
        Nestle in the grey hill's rugged side;
    And the golden woods are bathed in light,
        Dying if they must, with kingly pride:
    While the swallows, in the blue air wheeling,
        Circle now an eager, fluttering band, 

    Ready to depart and leave us
                For a brighter land!

But a voice is sounding sadly,
    Telling of a glory that has been;
        Of a day that faded all too fast:
    See afar through the blue air serene,
        Where the swallows wing their way at last,
    And our hearts perchance as sadly wandering,
        Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,
    While we watch the far-off swallows,
                Flee with them away!

~~
Adelaide Procter (1825-1864)

from Legends and Lyrics: Second series, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Adelaide Procter biography 

Oxana Maher, Walled Garden in Autumn, 2020. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

The Splendor of the Days / Jean Blewett

The Splendor of the Days

Sweet and shrill the crickets hiding in the grasses brown and lean
Pipe their gladness – sweeter, shriller – one would think the world was green.
O the haze is on the hilltops, and the haze is on the lake!
See it fleeing through the valley with the bold wind in its wake!
            Mark the warm October haze!
            Mark the splendor of the days!
And the mingling of the crimson with the sombre brown and grays!

See the bare hills turn their furrows to the shine and to the glow;
If you listen you can hear it, hear a murmur soft and low —
"We are naked," so the fields say, "stripped of all our golden dress."
"Heed it not," October answers, "for I love ye none the less.
            Share my beauty and my cheer
            While we rest together here,
In these sun-filled days of languor, in these late days of the year."

All the splendor of the summer, all the springtime's light and grace,
All the riches of the harvest, crown her head and light her face;
And the wind goes sighing, sighing, as if loath to let her pass,
While the crickets sing exultant in the lean and withered grass.
            O the warm October haze!
            O the splendor of the days!
O the mingling of the crimson with the sombre brown and grays!

~~
Jean Blewett (1872-1954)
from The Cornflower, and other poems, 1906

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Jean Blewett biography

James Ryen, Autumn Haze, 2014. CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.