January: A pastoral poem / William Perfect

January: A pastoral poem

Tho' Janus has widen'd the day,
And December that nurtur'd the storm
Each terror suspends to convey
In sadden'd variety's form;
Thy hand, Devastation, is spread
O'er Nature's disconsolate face;
The path-way dejected I tread,
As the havoc of winter I trace.

How pointed with ice is the air,
The woodlands besplendent with frost
A landscape of crystal prepare
Whose beauties in rigours are lost.
Imprison'd behold the clear rill
Irriguous that stole thro' the mead;
No more in soft murmurs distil
Its waters to cherish the reed.

Those scenes where the songsters of love
Pour'd carols which nature excites,
Resounding in bliss thro' the grove,
Resounding with purest delights;
Those scenes to dejection a prey,
To winter's wide ruin consign'd,
No longer sensations convey,
Improving and pleasing the mind.

For mute are the notes of the thrush,
The lark has his matins forgot,
The red-breast explores the bare bush,
Or for nurture intrudes on the cot.
No song the fresh milk-maid bestows,
No longer she visits the vale,
Where erst at the side of her cows
Each eve she replenish'd the pail.

The morning distressful of mien,
From slumbers of sluggish delay,
Now opens a wide-wasting scene,
At once both terrific and gay;
Aerial treasures of snow
The mountains and valleys invest,
With what a bright burden below
Is the bosom of nature oppress'd!

Go, shepherds, attend the thick field,
To your ewes in the valley repair,
O save the young lambs from the cold,
They bleat for protection and care.
Ye neat herds go look to the kine,
The crib with sweet fodder supply,
The task of compassion is thine,
For herbage the meadows deny.

Whilst the voice of the north is severe,
And heard thro' the trees with dismay,
What sorrow is that which I hear,
More sad than the sighs of the day!
'Tis Delia. — Why weeps my soft fair,
What opens the spring of her grief,
Or loosens her soft-flowing hair,
Can Corydon tender relief?

She weeps o'er poor Emmeline's tomb,
Who fell as a wreath of the snow;
She fell in the pride of her bloom,
As bright as the heavenly bow.
Her voice was the music of spring,
Her heart was ineffable love,
Her face all that beauty could bring,
In mildness she rival'd the dove.

Thou bright as the moon on the main,
My Delia no longer deplore,
Nor harrow thy bosom with pain,
For Emmeline must be no more.
Permit I partake of thy woe,
The privilege can you refuse?
Together, my fair one, we'll go,
And death of his triumph accuse.

To her manes rever'd let us raise
Of flowers an elegant mound,
The spring shall supply us with bays,
And Flora shall purple the ground.
In vain are you delug'd in tears,
O grant me your grief to beguile,
Exempt from despondency's fears,
We'll meet the new year with a smile.

~~
William Perfect (1737-1809)
from Sentimental Magazine, January 1774

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[February: A pastoral poem]

William Perfect biography

A Snow-flake / Thomas Bailey Aldrich

The Snow-Flake

Once he sang of summer,
Nothing but the summer;
Now he sings of winter,
Of winter bleak and drear:
Just because there's fallen
A snow-flake on his forehead,
He must go and fancy
'T is winter all the year!

~~
Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907)
from Poems, 1885

[Poem is in the public domain world-wide]

Thomas Bailey Aldrich biography

Winter in the Country / Claude McKay

Winter in the Country

Sweet life! how lovely to be here
     And feel the soft sea-laden breeze
Strike my flushed face, the spruce's fair
     Free limbs to see, the lesser trees'

Bare hands to touch, the sparrow's cheep
     To heed, and watch his nimble flight
Above the short brown grass asleep.
     Love glorious in his friendly might,

Music that every heart could bless,
     And thoughts of life serene, divine,
Beyond my power to express,
     Crowd round this lifted heart of mine!

But oh! to leave this paradise
     For the city's dirty basement room,
Where, beauty hidden from the eyes,
     A table, bed, bureau and broom

In corner set, two crippled chairs
     All covered up with dust and grim
With hideousness and scars of years,
     And gaslight burning weird and dim,

Will welcome me . . . And yet, and yet
     This very wind , the winter birds,
The glory of the soft sunset,
     Come there to me in words.

~~
Claude McKay (1889-1948)
from Harlem Shadows, 1922

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

Claude McKay biography

"Winter in the Country" read by Harp Griffin.

The Holly and the Ivy

The Holly and the Ivy

The holly and the ivy
     Now are both well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood
     The holly bears the crown.

The rising of the sun,
     The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
     The singing in the choir.

The holly bears a blossom
     As white as the lily flower,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     To be our sweet Saviour.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a berry
      As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     To do poor sinners good.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a prickle
     As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     On Christmas day in the morn.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a bark
     As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     For to reedem us all.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly and the ivy
     Now are both well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood
     The holly bears the crown.

The rising of the sun,
     The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
     The singing in the choir.

~~
Anonymous, 18th century
from A Garland of Christmas Carols, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain]

"The Holly and the Ivy" sung by Annie Lennox. Courtesy scamparoo.

The Fairy in Winter / Walter de la Mare

The Fairy in Winter

(For a drawing by Dorothy Puvis Lathrop)

There was a Fairy-flake of winter —
Who, when the snow came, whispering, Silence,
Sister crystal to crystal sighing,
Making of meadow argent palace,
⁠Night a star-sown solitude,
Cried 'neath her frozen eaves, 'I burn here!'

Wings diaphanous, beating bee-like,
Wand within fingers, locks enspangled,
Icicle foot, lip sharp as scarlet,
She lifted her eyes in her pitch-black hollow —
Green as stalks of weeds in water —
Breathed: stirred.

Rilled from her heart the ichor, coursing,
Flamed and awoke her slumbering magic.
Softlier than moth's her pinions trembled;
Out into blackness, light-like, she flittered,
Leaving her hollow cold, forsaken.

In air, o'er crystal, rang twangling night-wind.
Bare, rimed pine-woods murmured lament.

~~
Walter de la Mare (1873-1856)
From The Veil, and other poems, 1913

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

Walter de la Mare biography

January / Ruby Archer

January

The snow is diamond for a fairy's feet;
Blithely and bonnily she trips along,
Her lips a-carol with a merry song,
And in her eyes the meaning. "Life is sweet!"
The rhythm of youth is in her pulses' beat,
The lissome form is beautiful and strong,
The happy heart is innocent of wrong.
Young Hope incarnate seems the earth to greet,
How fair is she — just pinker than the snow.
Behold — a roguish coyness in her face!
Ah see — a spray of saucy mistletoe
Is nestling in her hair. A chase! A chase!
A gleeful laugh,— the vision bright has paled,
Is lost in clouds her laughing breath exhaled.

~~
Ruby Archer (1873-1961)

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Ruby Archer biography

Old and New Year Ditties / Christina Rossetti (3 poems)

Old and New Year Ditties

1.

New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had,
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.

New Year coming on apace,
What have you to give me?
Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,
Face me with an honest face;
You shall not deceive me:
Be it good or ill, be it what you will,
It needs shall help me on my road,
My rugged way to heaven, please God.


2.

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,
You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,
Watch with me this last vigil of the year.
Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;
Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;
Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.

Watch with me blessed spirits, who delight
All through the holy night to walk in white,
Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.
I know not if they watch with me: I know
They count this eve of resurrection slow,
And cry, ‘How long?’ with urgent utterance strong.

Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:
Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;
Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.
Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;
To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight:
I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.


3.

Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:
Thy life never continueth in one stay.
Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey
That hath won neither laurel nor bay?
I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:
Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay
On my bosom for aye.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:
With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;
Hearken what the past doth witness and say:
Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,
A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.
At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day
Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:
Watch thou and pray.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May.
Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answered: Yea.

~~
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
from Goblin Market,  and other poems, 1862

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide.]

Christina Rossetti biography

"Old and New Year Ditties" read by Kate Sandison.