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

"The Ecchoing Green". Courtesy Philosophy of Freedom.

Penny's Top 20 / May 2015

Penny's Top 20
The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in May 2015:

  1.  Penny, or Penny's Hat, George J. Dance
  2.  The World Well Lost, Ethelwyn Wetherald
  3.  Christmas Eve, Edgar Guest
  4.  Sacrament, Louise Morey Bowman
  5.  Spring in the Shops, Bert Leston Taylor
  6.  Any Woman, Hazel Hall
  7.  Episode of a Night in May, Arthur Symons
  8.  Blind, Harry Kemp
  9.  A Pastoral, Robert Hillyer
10.  No Man's Land, Gilbert Parker

11.  May, John Clare
12.  One Day in May, Clinton Scollard
13.  The May Tree, Radclyffe Hall
14.  This Lane in May, David Morton
15.  The Day Charles Bukowski Died, Gary Frankfurth
16.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens 
17.  Poem with Rhythms, Wallace Stevens
18.  The Playing, Hector de Saint-Denys Garneau
19.  Whiteout, George J. Dance
20.  Waste Land, Madison Cawein

Source: Blogger, "Stats"

This Lane in May / David Morton

This Lane in May

A fragrance lingers, though the rains be done;
     And apple-trees have shaken from their hair
The thin and shining blossoms, one by one,
     Starring the roadway like a silver stair.
And something softer than the rain comes by,
     Older and dearer than these bright, new days:
An odour ... or a trick of lights that lie
     Familiar on these grass-grown, rutted ways.

This lane in May is such a haunted thing,
     For all the newness of the rain-wet trees:
An old, old May, remembered of the Spring,
     Returning ghostwise on such days as these,
Moves in the blowing odours where they pass,
Trailing these scattered blossoms in the grass.

~~

David Morton (1886-1957)

from Ships in Harbour, and other poems, 1921.

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

David Morton biography

One Day in May / Clinton Scollard

One Day in May

Do you recall, old friend, how we
Pulled up the Wye one day in May?
The bloom was on the hawthorn tree,
And many an upland meadow way
Showed plots of hyacinths as blue
As glints of sky the clouds let through.

We left gray Chepstow's walls behind,—
Its crumbling keep, its burst of chimes;
With us went wooingly the wind,
Repeating little liquid rhymes;
And with us, too, the tide's long sweep
From Severn and the outer deep.

Spring's choristers from either shore
Flung us their softly silvery hail;
Each time we raised or dipped the oar,
Lo, the sweet burden of a tale
As ancient as the hills, and keyed
To match our spirits' vernal need!

The heights slipped by; the lowlands swung
Like wingèd dreams athwart our ken;
Thatched farmsteads where the ivy clung
Swam in the westering light, and then,
Beyond lush tree and lichened stile,
Loomed Tintern's dim monastic pile.

We shipped the oars and stepped to land;
Sauntered the village streets, and clomb
Wide loops of path until we scanned
The valley,— water, wood and loam
Umber beneath the plowman's blade,
Or in faint gold and green arrayed.

Into a hill gap drooped the sun,
Flooding divinely, ere it went,
The abbey windows one by one
With an ethereal ravishment,—
Ambers and crimsons such as play
About the funeral pyre of day.

Then twilight's purples, and her peace,
And the calm lifting of the moon!
O Memory, may'st thou never cease
To grant to me this gracious boon,—
The vision of that bygone time
When May and youth were both at prime!

~~
Clinton Scollard (1860-1932)
from Voices and Visions, 1908 

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

Clinton Scollard biography

The May Tree / Radclyffe Hall

The May Tree

A garden in the month of May, 

The fading of a golden day 

     Upon the tulip flowers. 

An anthem sung by little birds, 

The sigh more eloquent than words 

     Of earth to listening hours. 

And shadows . . . like the fringe that lies 

On cheek, at close of drowsy eyes, 

     And paths, grown damp with dew; 

And secret places, where to tread 

Were to disturb the bridal bed 

     Of creatures born anew. 

And fairer than each living thing 

That stirs with longings of the Spring, 

     A May tree, bearing flower. 

Like some young nymph the sunlight charms 

She stretches forth her slender arms, 

     New decked with leafy dower, 

While through her wondrous, living form 

The sap of life leaps strong and warm, 

     Awaking from repose 

The folded buds to know the Spring, 

It seems I almost hear them sing 

     For rapture as it flows. 

Ay! and it seems as though my heart 

Strained upward, but to take some part 

     In that sweet hymn of praise; 

As though my pulses quicker beat, 

To see perfection so complete 

     Revealèd to my gaze. 

As though the problem of unrest 

Were solved at last, in this behest 

     To silently fulfil; 

And deeper still, my soul perceives 

The mighty Presence that conceives 

     Such beauty at Its will. 

~~

Radclyffe Hall (1880-1943)

from 'Twixt Earth and Stars, 1906

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

Radclyffe Hall biography

"The May Tree" read for Unwanted Narrator.

A Pastoral / Robert Hillyer

A Pastoral

The wise old apple tree in spring,
Though split and hollow, makes a crown
Of such fantastic blossoming
We cannot let them cut it down.
It bears no fruit, but honey bees
Prefer it to the other trees.

The orchard man chalks his mark
And says, “This empty shell must go.”
We nod and rub it off the bark
As soon as he goes down the row.
Each spring he looks bewildered. “Queer,
I thought I marked this thing last year.”

Ten orchard men have come and gone
Since first I saw my grandfather
Slyly erase it. I'm the one
To do it now. As I defer
The showy veteran's removal
My grandson nods his full approval.

Like mine, my fellow ancient's roots
Are deep in the last century
From which our memories send shoots
For all our grandchildren to see
How spring, inviting bloom and rhyme,
Defeats the orchard men of time.

~~
Robert Hillyer (1895-1961)

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Robert Hillyer biography

No Man's Land / Gilbert Parker

No Man's Land

Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, beyond the city gates,
     The little city set upon a hill;
And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate,
     And we have known the splendours of our will.

Ah, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace;
     A little hut we built upon the sand.
The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,—
     Oh, happy dream, Oh happy No Man's Land!

The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields,
     And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers;
Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields,
     And frugal only were the passing hours.

Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we've left the world behind,
     We've sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed;
And when within our little hut your fingers draw the blind,
     We'll loiter by the fire that love has made.

~~
Gilbert Parker (1862-1932)
from Embers: A book of verses, 1908

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

Gilbert Parker biography