The Dance of Death / Jane G. Austin

The Dance of Death

 
And now the old world holds high holiday
And pranks herself in garments brave and gay;
June roses burst from folded buds of May;
The air is full of perfume and of blithe birds' lay.
Come then, my heart, let us fare forth with these,
In all this joy dull sorrow finds surcease;
My sullen lute, beneath these blooming trees
And swept by fingers of the odorous breeze,
Sure thy mute strings will wake to life to-day
And sing to June a blithesome roundelay.

From out the wood there crept a shadow still,
Before it, died the sunshine off the hill;
It swept the lute, and on its icy breath
Faltered a song, a song of Love and Death.

O dance, ye rose-crowned hours of June,
    Beneath the merry sun,
And dance beneath the loving moon
    When jocund day is done.

Bright, bright, the sunshine and the moon
    But bitter black the shade:
Beneath thy roses, blithesome June,
    Are there no dead men laid?

Dim wraiths of dead and buried Junes,
    Sweet dreams and hearts aglow,
Of brighter suns and sweeter moons
    Of hopes dead long ago?

O joyous June, heap high your flowers,
    You cannot hide the graves beneath;
Sing, birds, and dance, ye merry hours,

    Tread with my ghosts the Dance of Death.

With one wild note of rapture or of pain
The lute-strings snapped and all was still again.

~~
Jane G. Austin (1831-1894)
from Through the Year with the Poets: May, 1886

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

FrDr, Danse Macabre (Tallinn). CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

[July]

Jane G. Austin biography

Do not go gentle into that good night / Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~~
Dylan Thomas (1914-1954)
from Collected Poems, 1952

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

Dylan Thomas biography 

"Do not go gentle into that good night" read by Michael Sheen Courtesy National Theatre.

The Wind Blows Where It Will / JD Shirk

The Wind Blows Where It Will

ICMA, Coin Toss, 2009.

 CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

It may have been a memory
Of something long ago
A faded scene, or passing dream
Or just a random thought
It may have been a poet's line
Wrote from a searching heart
A verse or two, that carried through
Thoughts from a long gone time
It may have been the universe
Fate written in the stars
A destiny or fantasy
A cosmic happenstance
It may have been a childhood wish
A dream of hero's fame
A school yard crush, in teenage blush
Remembered through long years
It may be that we'll never know
Or never need to know
Just how we choose, and what we lose
Or win, by fickle fate

~~
JD Shirk, 2024

JD Shirk Poetry

[All rights reserved - used with permission]

JD Shirk biography

The Withered Leaf in June / W.M. MacKeracher

Image by George J. Dance created with

 Grok (xAI). CC0 1.0 public domain.

The Withered Leaf in June

It cannot be; it is not nearly
Midsummer yet, my eye deceives;
But, yes, it is; I see it clearly –
A bit of red among the leaves.

'Tis so with youth: her dearest pleasures
Her fragrant boughs like green leaves deck;
But yet among the green she treasures,
With equal care, some withered speck.

~~

W.M. MacKeracher (1871-1913)

from Songs of a Sophomore, 1892 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M. MacKeracher biography

June / Annette Wynne

Harry Clarke (1889-1931), from 

Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen, 

1916. Wikimedia Commons.

June

A roof of blue, a carpet green,
And flowers and tall trees between.
The faintest little breezes blowing,
And little tinkling streamlets flowing.
Then if you look
In some small nook,
You'll find the fairies all together
Dancing, for this is their weather!
But be careful when you go —
Lest you fright them, dancing so;
Underneath a broad green stem
One wee piper pipes for them,
Pipes a tiny fairy tune —
"O a fairy month is June" —
A very fairy month is June!

~~
Annette Wynne (1889-1952)

from For Days and Days: A year-round treasury of child verse, 1919

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

[July]

Annette Wynne biography

Sketch / F.S. Flint

Sketch

Gold on her head, and in her heart's heart, gold!
She seems to breathe a rhododendron glow
Of blossoming colour, Fra Angelico
Would love to picture — angels aureoled!

An early Summer in her smiling glance,
The virginal sap and sweetness of her June,
And calm serenity of a crescent moon,
Weaving a glamour where the young leaves dance.

She has too something of unclouded skies
Of day and night about her, blue and dark
In turn, and deep. You see it if you mark
The limpid laughing purity of her eyes.

~~
F.S. Flint (1885-1960)
from In the Net of the Stars, 1909

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

F.S. Flint biography

"Sketch" read by Nemo. Courtesy LibriVox Audiobooks.

(Poem begins at 29:55)

June Night / Hazel Hall

June Night

The Astrologer of the Nineteenth Century,

 1825. Wikimedia Commons.

Into my room to-night came June,

A band of stars caught up her hair,
And woven of the mist of moon,
And patterned from the leaf-laced air,
Her garments spread a soft perfume
Over the shadows of my room.

But hardly had her coming stirred
My darkness with a hope like dawn,
Or had my anxious silence heard
Her faint footfall, than she was gone.
She went as though with a quick fear
Of the eternal winter here.

~~
Hazel Hall (1886-1924)
from Curtains, 1921

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

Hazel Hall biography