2 June poems / Lizette Woodworth Reese

A Rhyme for June

Now marshy pools on the road's edge,
Or creeks that slip 'twixt banks of sedge,
With marigolds be set aflare;
And not a corner south or north,
But there a brier-rose breaks forth,
And bees go droning down the air.

The bramble now begins to blow,
The elder-bush puts on its snow,
And birds be sweet till fall of dew;
And when my love and I go out,
So thick the grass grows all about
In truth, it scarce will let us through.


After the Rain 

Dripping the hollyhocks beneath the wall
     Their fires half quenched, a smouldering red;
A shred of gold upon the grasses tall,
     A butterfly is hanging dead.

A sound of trickling waters, like a tune
     Set to sweet words; a wind that blows
Wet boughs against a saffron sky; all June
     Caught in the breath of one white rose.

~~
Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856-1935)
from A Handful of Lavender, 1891

[Poems are in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Lizette Woordworth Reese biography

A New England June / Bliss Carman

A New England June

These things I remember
Of New England June,
Like a vivid day-dream
In the azure noon,
While one haunting figure
Strays through every scene,
Like the soul of beauty
Through her lost demesne.

Gardens full of roses
And peonies a-blow
In the dewy morning,
Row on stately row,
Spreading their gay patterns,
Crimson, pied and cream,
Like some gorgeous fresco
Or an Eastern dream.

Nets of waving sunlight
Falling through the trees;
Fields of gold-white daisies
Rippling in the breeze;
Lazy lifting groundswells,
Breaking green as jade
On the lilac beaches,
Where the shore-birds wade.

Orchards full of blossom,
Where the bob-white calls
And the honeysuckle
Climbs the old gray walls;
Groves of silver birches,
Beds of roadside fern,
In the stone-fenced pasture
At the river's turn.

Out of every picture
Still she comes to me
With the morning freshness
Of the summer sea,—
A glory in her bearing,
A sea-light in her eyes,
As if she could not forget
The spell of Paradise.

Thrushes in the deep woods,
With their golden themes,
Fluting like the choirs
At the birth of dreams.
Fireflies in the meadows
At the gate of Night,
With their fairy lanterns
Twinkling soft and bright.

Ah, not in the roses,
Nor the azure noon,
Nor the thrushes' music,
Lies the soul of June.
It is something finer,
More unfading far,
Than the primrose evening
And the silver star;

Something of the rapture
My beloved had,
When she made the morning
Radiant and glad,—
Something of her gracious
Ecstasy of mien,
That still haunts the twilight,
Loving though unseen.

When the ghostly moonlight
Walks my garden ground,
Like a leisurely patrol
On his nightly round,
These things I remember
Of the long ago,
While the slumbrous roses
Neither care nor know.

~~
Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
from Later Poems, 1926

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

Bliss Carman biography

One Spring / Eda Lou Walton

from Hill Songs:

One Spring

One spring I lost completely,
Giving it to you.
Only myself,
Who died,
Knew.      

One spring I lost completely.
Now each spring is two —
The wild sweet spring
I lost,
And the new.

~~
Eda Lou Walton (1894-1961)
from Poetry, May 1920

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

Eda Lou Walton biography

Photo by Kristýna Matlachová. Courtesy Pixabay, 2020. 

Penny's Top 20 / May 2020

Penny's Top 20
The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in May 2020:

  1.   Amarant, AE Reiff
  2.  April, George J. Dance 

  3.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens

  4.  June Rain, Richard Aldington
  5.  Dandelions, George Sulzbach
  6.  The Plant, AE Reiff
  7.  The Wild Flower's Song, William Blake
  8.  To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, Robert Herrick
  9.  Ode to May, Mary Darwall
10.  A Garden of Love, Lilian Leveridge

11.  The Dwarf, Wallace Stevens
12.  A Pastoral, Mary Robinson
13.  Autumn, T.E. Hulme
14.  Verses Written in the Spring, Ann Batten Cristall
15.  Ganesha Girl on Rankin, Will Dockery
16.  All Souls' Night, Frances Cornford
17.  Love is not all, Edna St. Vincent Millay
18.  The Bright Extensive Will, AE Reiff
19.  The stars are glittering in the frosty sky, Charles Heavysege

20. To the Sea Angel, Will Dockery

Source: Blogger, "Stats"

A Pastoral / A. Mary F. Robinson

A Pastoral

It was Whit Sunday yesterday,
The neighbours met at church to pray;
But I remembered it was May
And went a-wandering far away.

I rested on a shady lawn,
Behind I heard green branches torn,
And through the gap there looked a Faun,
Green ivy hung from either horn.

We built ourselves a flowery house
With roof and walls of tangled boughs,
But while we sat and made carouse
The church bells drowned our songs and vows.

The light died out and left the sky,
We sighed and rose and said good-bye.
We had forgotten, He and I,
That he was dead, that I must die.

~~
A. Mary F. Robinson (1857-1944)
from A Handful of Honeysuckle, 1878

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

A. Mary F. Robinson biography

Verses Written in the Spring / Ann Batten Cristall(s 1)

from Verses Written in the Spring

From yon fair hill, whose woody crest
The mantling hand of spring has dress'd,
Where gales imbibe the May-perfume,
And strew the blushing almond's bloom,
I view the verdant plains below,
And lucid streams which gently flow;
The opening foliage, drench'd with showers,
Weeps o'er the odorous vernal flowers;
And while before my temper'd eye
From glancing clouds swift shadows fly,
While nature seems serene and bless'd,
And inward concord tunes my breast,
I sigh for those by fortune cross'd,
Whose souls to Nature's charms are lost.

~~
Ann Batten Cristall (1769-1848)
from Poetical Sketches, 1795

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Anne Batten Cristall biography
Read the complete poem here

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time / Robert Herrick

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

~~
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
from Hesperides, 1648

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Robert Herrick biography

"To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time" courtesy Bruce Wall / Poetry Refit.