A Spring Idyll / Patrick MacGill

A Spring Idyll

On my hangings of arras
          Dewdrop and sunlight commingle,
     The music of woods that are endless,
     And infinite seas
          That come with the voices
          Of storm or of calm to the shingle
     In the lilac gray blush of the dawn,
     On the sensuous breeze.

So full of promise is earth
          As a child's gentle laughter,
     The sapphire tints of the water
     Arc fair to the eyes –
          The present is only,
          I know not a past nor hereafter,
     And forth from my covering
     Of saffron and ermine I rise.

~~

Patrick MacGill (1889-1963)

from Songs of a Navvy, 1911

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

Patrick MacGill biography

Penny's Top 20 / May 2018

Penny's Top 20
The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in May 2018:

  1.  May, W.M.W. Call
  2.  Renaissance, A.G. Stephens
  3.  Spring-Time, Ernest Radford
  4.  Rock Me to Sleep, Elizabeth Akers Allen
  5.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens
  6.  The Canadian Rossignol (In May), E.W. Thomson
  7.  The Green Door, C.F. McIntyre
  8.  Lines (When youthful faith has fled), John Gibson Lockhart
  9.  The Lute-Player, Frank Peace Sturm
10.  The Reader, Wallace Stevens

11.  April, Katharine Tynan
12.  Puella Parvula, Wallace Stevens
13.  A Winter's Tale, D.H. Lawrence
14.  The Conjurer, George J. Dance
15.  A Day in Spring, Richard Westall
16.  April, G.A. Studdert Kennedy
17.  Leafless April, Ethelwyn Wetherald
18.  April, William Carlos Williams
19.  Penny, or Penny's Hat, George J. Dance  
20.  The Bed of Old John Zeller, Wallace Stevens


Source: Blogger, "Stats"

May / W.M.W. Call

May

The May returns! Once more the kindling blood
Flows through the heart of the resplendent year;
The mighty sea of life is now at flood,
And Summer's thousand voices murmur near.

High up the lark, among the morning beams,
Mounts like a kindred fire that hails the day;
The wandering music haunts the woods and streams,
And gladdens the full heart of happy May.

Far off at eve the nightingale is heard,
Hid in dim leaves where whispering waters fall,
And sought, but still unseen, the schoolboy's bird,
From bowers, long-lost, renews her echoing call.

Now Hope, once more doth like a herald blow
Her stately trumpet through our desert life ;
On the dark cloud Peace hangs her fading bow.
And, as it fades, Love comes to soften strife.

The May returns, and with her light and bloom
Returns the toil that heaps the year with gold —
The thought that with the gladness blends a gloom,
When once the fairy tale of youth is told.

Yet 'mid the sound and splendour of the May
I stand and dream, as winds and waters chime,
Of nobler summers, of an ampler day.
And praise the splendid promise of man's prime.

Taught that the leaves must fall ere buds can blow.
Taught that the flower must fade ere fruits can shine,
I hear glad harvests rustle ere they grow,
Bless my wild hope and call my dream divine.

~~
W.M.W. Call (1817-1890)
from Reverberations, 1875

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M.W. Call biography

The Canadian Rossignol (In May) / E.W. Thomson

The Canadian Rossignol

            (In May)

When furrowed fields of shaded brown,
     And emerald meadows spread between,
And belfries towering from the town,
     All blent in wavering mists are seen;
When quickening woods with freshening hue
     Along Mount Royal rolling swell,
When winds caress and May is new,
     Oh, then my shy bird sings so well!

Because the bloodroots flock so white,
     And blossoms scent the wooing air,
And mounds with trillium flags are dight,
     And dells with violets frail and rare;
Because such velvet leaves unclose,
     And new-born rills all chiming ring,
And blue the sun-kissed river flows,
     My timid bird is forced to sing.

A joyful flourish lilted clear,
     Four notes, then fails the frolic song,
And memories of a sweeter year
     The wistful cadences prolong;—
“A sweeter year — Oh, heart too sore!—
     I cannot sing!”— So ends the lay.
Long silence. Then awakes once more
     His song, ecstatic with the May.

~~
E.W. Thomson (1849-1924)
from The Many-Mansioned House, and other poems, 1909

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

E.W. Thomson biography

Renaissance / A.G. Stephens

Renaissance

In my ears it is sounding to-day,
The song of the Spring!
How my heart leaps, and urges the blood in swift surges to greet the sweet Spring!
And my pulse, from low undertones rising to thunder-tones, trumpets the challenge of mystical May,
Of witching September, while Winter's dull ember
Glows fierce in the glamour of Spring,
The passion-fed furnace of Spring!
And my Love, she is tingling to-day
To the touch of the Spring!
How she trembles and thrills as from numberless rills pours the full tide of Spring!
And her eyes are veiled oceans whence amorous potions I quaff in a fury, as one who is fey:
She bears me no malice, but holds up for chalice
Her lips brimming over with Spring,
All ruddied and coralled with Spring.
O my Youth! Let us make holiday,
Give a garland to Spring!
For you flower from her root and your ecstasies shoot from the sources of Spring!
Not a throb gay or tragic her alchemy magic has missed from the cycles of worlds passed away:
Kiss of atoms thick-thronging, sighs of spheres mad with longing,
A Deity burning, a Universe yearning —
All summed up in Spring!

~~
A.G. Stephens (1865-1933)
from The Pearl and the Octopus, 1911

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

A.G. Stephens biography

Spring-Time / Ernest Radford

Spring-Time

Where chestnuts overhang the stream
Our boat shall lie; here may we dream
An hour away, and Care may wait.
          Ah! sweet —
          Ah! sweet
Thus for one hour to deviate
From the rude pathway marked by Fate.

Our home is here: the skylark flings
His music down, and tiniest things
Beat the still air with labouring wings.
          Ah! sweet the odours,
          Sweet the song;
Sweet to forget, these scenes among,
The jarring discords of the throng.

Now glide we onward ever slow,
And now, in the opal afterglow,
Listen, a voice sings clear and low.
          Ah! sweet the singer;
          Sweet the strain!
Ah when, ah when, tired heart and brain,
Will that song gladden thee again?

~~

Ernest Radford (1857-1919)

from Old and New: A collection of poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Ernest Radford biography

Rock Me to Sleep / Elizabeth Akers Allen

Rock Me to Sleep

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for tonight!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;–   
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,–   
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,–
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,–
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;–
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;–
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,–   
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;–   
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;–
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;–   
Rock me to sleep, mother,– rock me to sleep!

~~
Elizabeth Akers Allen (1832-1911)

from Poems, 1866

[Poem is in the public domain world-wide]

Elizabeth Akers Allen biography