New Year's Eve, 1913 / Gordon Bottomley

New Year's Eve, 1913

O, Cartmel bells ring soft to-night,
    And Cartmel bells ring clear,
But I lie far away to-night,
    Listening with my dear;

Listening in a frosty land
    Where all the bells are still
And the small-windowed bell-towers stand
    Dark under heath and hill.

I thought that, with each dying year,
    As long as life should last
The bells of Cartmel I should hear
    Ring out an aged past:

The plunging, mingling sounds increase
    Darkness's depth and height,
The hollow valley gains more peace
    And ancientness to-night:

The loveliness, the fruitfulness,
    The power of life lived there
Return, revive, more closely press
    Upon that midnight air.

But many deaths have place in men
    Before they come to die;
Joys must be used and spent, and then
    Abandoned and passed by.

Earth is not ours; no cherished space
    Can hold us from life's flow,
That bears us thither and thence by ways
    We knew not we should go.

O, Cartmel bells ring loud, ring clear,
    Through midnight deep and hoar,
A year new-born, and I shall hear
    The Cartmel bells no more.

~~
Gordon Bottomley (1874-1948)
from Poems of Thirty Years, 1925

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

Gordon Bottomley biography

Christmas, 1860 / Aubrey de Vere

Christmas, 1860

        I

Alone, among thy books, once more I sit;
No sound there stirs except the flapping fire;
Strange shadows of old times about me flit
As sinks the midnight lamp or flickers higher.
I see thee pace the room. With eye thought-lit
Back, back, thou oom'st once more to my desire:
Low-toned thou read'st once more the verse new-writ,
Too deep, too pure for worldlings to admire.

That brow all honour, that all gracious hand.
That cordial smile, and clear voice musical,
That noble bearing, mien of high command,
Yet void of pride — to-night I have them all.
Ah, phantoms vain of thought! The Christmas air
Is white with flying flakes. Where art thou — where?


        II

To-night, upon thy roof the snows are lying;
The Christmas snows lie heavy on thy trees;
A dying dirge, that soothes the year in dying,
Swells from thy woodlands on the midnight breeze.
Our loss is ancient; many a heart is sighing
This night a late one, or by slow degrees
Heals some old wound, to God's high grace replying:
A time there was when thou wert like to these.

Where art thou? In what unimagined sphere
Liv'st thou, sojourner, or no transient guest?
By whom companioned ? Access hath she near,
In life thy nearest, and beloved the best?
What memory hast thou of thy loved ones here?
Hangs the great Vision o'er thy place of rest?


        III

Sweet-sounding bells, blithe summoners to prayer!
The answer man can yield not, ye bestow;
Your answer is a little Infant bare,
Wafted to earth on night-winds whispering low.
Blow him to Bethlehem, airs angelic, blow!
There doth the Mother-maid his couch prepare.
His harbour is her bosom! Drop him there,
Soft as a snow-flake on a bank of snow.

Sole Hope of man! Sole Hope for us, for thee!
"To us a Prince is given: a Child is born!"
Thou sang'st of Bethlehem, and of Calvary,
The Maid Immaculate and the twisted Thorn.
Where'er thou art, not far, not far is He
Whose banner whitens in yon Christmas morn!

~~
Aubrey Thomas de Vere (1814-1902)
from Selections from the Poems, 1894

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Aubrey Thomas de Vere biography

Once in royal David's city / Cecil Frances Alexander

Christmas

Once in royal David's city
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ her little Child.

He came down to earth from heaven
Who is God and Lord of all,
And His shelter was a stable,
And His cradle was a stall;
With the poor, and mean, and lowly,
Lived on earth our Savior holy.

And through all His wondrous Childhood,
He would honor and obey,
Love and watch the lowly Maiden,
In whose gentle arms He lay;
Christian children all must be
Mild, obedient, good as He.

For he is our childhood's pattern,
Day by day, like us He grew,
He was little, weak and helpless,
Tears and smiles like us He knew;
And He feeleth for our sadness,
And He shareth in our gladness.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,
Through His own redeeming love;
For that Child so dear and gentle
Is our Lord in heaven above;
And He leads His children on
To the place where He is gone.

Not in that poor lowly stable,
With the oxen standing by,
We shall see Him; but in heaven,
Set at God's right hand on high;
Where like stars His children crowned
All in white shall wait around.

~~
Cecil Frances Alexander (1818-1895) 

from Poems, 1896 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide] 

Cecil Frances Alexander biography

With trembling fingers did we weave / Alfred Tennyson

XXX

With trembling fingers did we weave
    The holly round the Chrismas hearth;
    A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas eve.

At our old pastimes in the hall
    We gambol'd, making vain pretence
    Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.

We paused: the winds were in the beech
    We heard them sweep the winter land
    And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.

Then echo-like our voices rang;
    We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
    A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:

We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
    Upon us: surely rest is meet:
    "They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet,"
And silence follow'd, and we wept.

Our voices took a higher range;
    Once more we sang: “They do not die
    Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;

"Rapt from the fickle and the frail
    With gather'd power, yet the same,
    Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil."

Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
    Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
    O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.

~~
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
from In Memoriam A.H.H., 1850

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Alfred Tennyson biography

A Midwinter Night's Eve / George J. Dance

A Midwinter Night's Eve

No trace of summer yet; the earth was dead.
The sun was slowly dying, too, and like
Some ancient monarch lay, a rotting hulk
Now wrapped in robes of pure magnificence –
Of purple, liquid gold, and bleeding red,
Reflecting off the scattered clouds above
Like flowers thrown upon a frozen grave.

A minute's silence for a fallen king.

The service over and the body lowered,
The very day now buried in the past,
With halting steps the widow turned away,
So painfully pulled on a cloak of black,
And hobbled off to seek oblivion
In dreams of reuniting with the sun.

~~

George J. Dance, 2007

from Logos, and other logoi, 2021

[All rights reserved - used with permission

Andrew Crouthamel, Pennsylvania winter sunset, 2005. CC BY 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

George J. Dance biography

December: A pastoral poem / William Perfect

December: A pastoral poem

How swift the decline of the year!
December how chearless thy frown!
The knell of the fast-flowing year
Depresses both village and town.
O come Meditation, thou queen
Of pleasures, tho' pensive yet gay;
For thou can'st enliven the scene,
And lengthen the short-living day.

Emotions which flow from thy song,
Are smiles of content to the breast,
Are raptures that sweetly prolong
The whispers of peace and of rest:
What tho' the pale Season denies
The beauties which brighten the spring,
Contentment's the much-envied prize,
Meditation's the cherub to bring.

When odours replenish the gale,
The streamlets run purling along,
The zephyrs which softly prevail,
And Philomel issues her song:
The reed of sweet music display'd,
In notes unambitiously wild;
The pleasures alive in the shade,
When nature is placid and mild.

When Flora awakens the flow'rs,
Her children of purest perfume,
Descend in refreshment the show'rs,
To strengthen the innocent bloom:
When nature, with face of delight,
Diffuses her bounties around,
Creation that's new to the sight,
By the hand of young Extacy's crown'd.

When the landskip with transport descry'd
The summer holds forth to the view,
In robes too expressive of pride,
Tho' the mirror of nature is true;
When autumn rough labour repays,
And plenty wide-scatters her crops,
Diffuses her earth-gilding rays
Thro' gardens thick-cluster'd with hops.

When summer, or autumn, or spring,
Their treasures alternate dispense,
Their vicissitudes joyfully bring
The grateful remembrance of sense;
But winter, tho' wrapt in a cloud,
A gratitude warmer excites,
For virtue dares publish aloud,
That December is fraught with delights.

Devotion, elate at the sound,
Her incense prepares for the morn,
When tidings of gladness around
Proclaim that a Saviour was born;
Superlative news to the breast,
Replete with the faith most divine,
Where thy virtues, sweet innocence, rest,
And religion's best triumph is thine.

Let warm acclamations ascend,
Festivity, Temp'rance, be near,
And Charity, Virtue's fast friend,
The head of pale sorrow uprear.
Let Wealth all her scorn lay aside,
To Poverty's cottage repair,
Experience, the soul-lifting pride,
In robbing Distress of a care.

~~
William Perfect (1737-1809)
from Sentimental Magazine, December 1773

William Perfect biography

Winter Song / Wilfred Owen

Winter Song

The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.

From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam again with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

~~
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

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

Wilfred Owen biography

Season of Change / George Sulzbach

Season of Change

With your long red hair
alone you stand in a crowd.
I watch from the bridge
afraid of discovery.

Outside of the coffee shop
rumors of murder.
Guarded beads
you hold close in your fist.

Seasons of change
it makes no difference.
Twilight beams
bring out the crimson.

~~
George Sulabach, 20-

[All rights reserved - used with permission]

Roman Harald, Redhead, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND, Flickr Commons

George Sulzbach biography

Change / Raymond Knister

Change

I shall not wonder more, then,
But I shall know.

Leaves change, and birds, flowers,
And after years are still the same.

The sea's breast heaves in sighs to the moon,
But they are moon and sea forever.

As in other times the trees stand tense and lonely,
And spread a hollow moan of other times.

You will be you yourself,
I'll find you more, not else,
For vintage of the woeful years.

The sea breathes, or broods, or loudens,
Is bright or is mist and the end of the world;
And the sea is constant to change.

I shall not wonder more, then,
But I shall know.

~~
Raymond Knister (1899-1932)
from The Midland, December 1922

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

Raymond Knister biography

Approach of Winter / William Carlos Williams

Approach of Winter

 
The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was —
edge the bare garden.

~~
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
from Complete Collected Poems, 1906-1938, 1938

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

Trees in the Wind, November 2007. Photograph taken by Dori (dori@merr.info). 

William Carlos Williams biography

December's featured poem

 

The Penny Blog's featured poem for December 2021:

Christmas Bells, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-bells-henry-wadsworth.html

New poetry collection from George J. Dance

November saw the first printing of Logos, and other logoi, a second poetry collection from George J. Dance. The book collects poems written over 50 years, from 1972 to 2021. It is a companion volume to his first collection, Doggerel, and other doggerel (2015): the two books contain slightly over 100 poems, grouped in a cycle of a year. 

For now, Logos is available for purchase at Lulu.com only.  

Penny's Top 20 / November 2021

         

Penny's Top 20

The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in November 2021:

  1.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens

  2.  Winter Song, Elizabeth Tollet

  3.  Ritual Memory, Will Dockery

  4.  Skating, William Wordsworth

  5.  The Nightingales of Flanders, Grace Hazard Conkling
  6.  East Coker (II), T.S. Eliot
  7.  Autumn Movement, Carl Sandburg

  8.  Marching Men, Marjorie Pickthall
  9.  The eager note on my door..., Frank O'Hara
10.  Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost

11.  November: A pastoral poem, William Perfect
12.  The New England Boy's Song about Thanksgiving Day, L.M. Child
13.  The Snowing of the Pines, Thomas Wentworth Higginson
14.  Believe It or Not, George J. Dance
15.  The Witches' Song, William Shakespeare
16.  The Branch, AE Reiff
17.  The World's Body, AE Reiff

18.  Moonlight Alert, Yvor Winters
19.  The Motive for Metaphor, Wallace Stevens

20. Angel Standing in the Sun, AE Reiff

Source: Blogger, "Stats"