Dead Leaves / Ethelwyn Wetherald

Dead Leaves

Dead leaves in the bird’s nest,
     And after that the snow;
That was where the bird’s breast
     Tenderly did go,
Where the tiny birds pressed
     Lovingly — and lo!
Dead leaves in the bird’s nest
     Under falling snow.

Dead leaves in the heart’s nest,
     And after that the snow;
That was where the heart’s guest
     Brooded months ago,
Where the tender thoughts pressed
     Lovingly — and lo!
Dead leaves in the heart’s nest
     Under falling snow.

~~
Ethelwyn Wetherald (1857-1940)
from The Last Robin: Lyrics and sonnets, 1907

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

Ethelwyn Wetherald biography

The night is freezing fast / A.E. Housman

XX

The night is freezing fast,
    To-morrow comes December;
          And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past;
    And chiefly I remember
          How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,
    Prompt hand and headpiece clever,
          Has woven a winter robe,
And made of earth and sea
    His overcoat for ever,
          And wears the turning globe.

~~
A.E. Housman (1859-1936)
from Last Poems, 1922

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

A.E. Housman biography

The Ecchoing Green / William Blake

The Ecchoing Green

The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells’ cheerful sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the ecchoing green.

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say,
‘Such, such were the joys
When we all – girls and boys –
In our youth-time were seen
On the ecchoing green.’

Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry:
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening green.

~~
William Blake (1757-1827)
from Songs of Innocence and of Experience, 1794.

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Blake biography

On the First Morning of Spring / A.Y. Campbell

On the First Morning of Spring

A magic message ran
     And touched the sleeping trees:
This morning Spring began
     With swift and sudden ease.

The air is full of light,
     Green is the happy ground;
Our Winter of last night
     Is gone without a sound.

Like a delusion, gone,
     As it had never been;
Through forests flies the Faun,
     And breasts the zephyrs keen.

'Tis youth the season sings.
     Yet it is hardly youth
Which most securely clings
     To Spring's delight and truth.

Her gospel kind and sure
     That man shall best appraise
Whose spirit is mature
     Whether from length of days,

Or that far happier he
     Whom, though still young in years
A rare precocity
     To Wisdom's self endears.

In whom ripe enterprise
     With insight is combined;
Who youthful ardour ties
     To a well-tempered mind.

He only can afford
     Experience to forego,
For Instinct will accord
     All that he needs to know.

Blest above all is he,
     Age shall his strength revere,
His actions shall be free,
     And his advancement clear.

Because he knows thee, Life,
     Thy course he shall control;
Shall conquer without strife,
     And smiling reach his goal.

His youthful dreams are sweet,
     But he shall understand:
Thy fruits are at his feet,
     Thy triumphs in his hand.

~~
A.Y. Campbell (1885-1958)
from Poems, 1912

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

A.Y. Campbell biography

An April Morning / Bliss Carman

An April Morning

Once more in misted April
The world is growing green.
Along the winding river
The plumey willows lean.

Beyond the sweeping meadows
The looming mountains rise,
Like battlements of dreamland
Against the brooding skies.

In every wooded valley
The buds are breaking through,
As though the heart of all things
No languor ever knew.

The golden-wings and bluebirds
Call to their heavenly choirs.
The pines are blued and drifted
With smoke of brushwood fires.

And in my sister’s garden
Where little breezes run,
The golden daffodillies
Are blowing in the sun.

~~
~~
Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
from April Airs: A book of New England lyrics, 1916

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

Bliss Carman biography