June: A pastoral poem / William Perfect

June: A pastoral poem

The dog-rose, of light-blushing hue,
Or painted in crimson-like vest,
Profuse in her bloom to the view,
The hedge-rows in splendour has drest.
The season of pleasure my lay
Extends in the country so bright;
The sweets of the new-tedded hay,
Each object of sound and of sight.

The trees we beheld in full dress,
Profusion of flowers around
The beauties of Nature confess,
In vivid sublimity crown'd,
On the banks of the river so clear,
Emerg'd from its wave are the flocks;
They mark the gay time of the year,
Depriv'd of their white fleecy locks.

When past is the soft copious shower,
The sweets of Arabia we find;
From the beds of the clover to flower
, And the bee-loving suckle resign'd.
More delicious the odours that rise
On the gales from the blue-bosom'd bean;
All Sweetness herself can comprize
Is pour'd in extend through the scene.

Whilst Summer, bright child of the Sun,
With mildness rekindles his fire;
And June, by his courtesy won,
Apparels in golden attire.
To her Prince Freedom offers the lay,
Whose sons the choice tribute support;
In duty rejoice at the day,
By far the most splendid at court.

Admit humble zeal to prevail,
From a Muse through unpolish'd to spring;
Bear hence, each Favonian gale,
The strain she devotes to her King.
No Laureat — what merit have I?
Pretension to fabricate praise?
Though humble and weak, yet too high
To flatter in time-serving lays.

My heart, by sincerity led,
The day of his birth shall revere,
That Peace may, her olive-branch spread,
Extend through each following year.
From my bosom warm wishes emane,
Ye Powers this blessing to send:
In the hearts of his subjects to reign
Till Time's latest period shall end.

Behold in what splendour appears,
In majesty boundless and wide,
The Sun through the dawn's pearly tears
Pouring down his ineffable tide.
Now beams in illustrious array,
And warms the aetherial gale,
Which nurtures the pride of the day,
From the hill to the green-herbag'd dale.

The bleatings of sheep from the hills,
The silence and peace of the grove,
The murmurs that rise from the rills,
And the reed from the shady alcove;
The zephyrs that pinion the hours,
The fragrance they widely diffuse,
The pasture, thick chequer'd with flowers,
Are themes that embellish my Muse.

How smooth and how tranquil the stream
Meanders the vallies along,
Its crystal improv'd by the beam
That wakens Aurora's first song!
The leaf by the gale unoppress'd,
The landscapes of Beauty and Grace,
Soft pleasures convey to the breast,
The smiles of the heart to the face.

Yet whither, my Muse, would you stray,
Evading this season of sweets?
Why turn from the purple-ey'd day,
From Pleasure's umbrageous retreats?
From the beech, ever vivid of shade,
The lime that elongates the lawn,
The oak, in dark foliage array'd,
Ah, why are thy visits withdrawn?

From the parks and the sports of the field,
Where plenty and happiness reign,
Where the smile of Benevolence yield
What blessings from Summer we gain;
Ah why, near yon sorrowful yew,
Of dark and disconsolate shade,
Must Elegy ever renew
Afflictions which never can fade?

Shall HONESTO, my father and friend,
Around whose respectable tomb
The Virtues all sorrowful bend,
In plaint recent dirges assume;
While Memory, Genius, and Worth
The red eye of Sorrow dilate;
Must pensively bow to the earth,
And weep his immutable fate?

Can he be forgot whom I lov'd,
Whose breast was so gentle and kind;
Of principles noble approv'd,
The Christian in precept and mind?
Can Time soothe the sigh of my breast?
The thunder that rolls on the hill
Shall sooner he sooth'd into rest,
Its lightnings no terrors instill.

Receive then my measure of woe,
Thou dearest and much-honour'd Shade:
If Virtue departed may know
Affection by relatives paid.
And yearly in Summer, bedeck'd
With splendour and wealth shall return;
My feelings fresh wreaths shall collect,
HONESTO, to garnish thy urn.

~~
William Perfect (1737-1809)
from Gentlemen's Magazine, August 1787

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[July: A pastoral poem]

William Perfect biography

A June Night / Emma Lazarus

A June Night

Ten o’clock: the broken moon
     Hangs not yet a half hour high,
          Yellow as a shield of brass,
In the dewy air of June,
     Poised between the vaulted sky
          And the ocean’s liquid glass.

Earth lies in the shadow still;
     Low black bushes, trees and lawn
          Night’s ambrosial dews absorb;
Through the foliage creeps a thrill,
     Whispering of yon spectral dawn
          And the hidden climbing orb.

Higher, higher, gathering light,
     Veiling with a golden gauze
          All the trembling atmosphere,
See, the rayless disk grows white!
     Hark, the glittering billows pause!
          Faint, far sounds possess the ear.

Elves on such a night as this
     Spin their rings upon the grass;
          On the beech the water-fay
Greets her lover with a kiss;
     Through the air swift spirits pass,
          Laugh, caress, and float away.

Shut thy lids and thou shalt see
     Angel faces wreathed with light,
          Mystic forms long vanished hence.
Ah, too fine, too rare, they be
     For the grosser mortal sight,
          And they foil our waking sense.

Yet we feel them floating near,
     Know that we are not alone,
          Though our open eyes behold
Nothing save the moon’s bright sphere,
     In the vacant heavens shown,
          And the ocean’s path of gold.

~~
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)
from Poems, 1888

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Emma Lazarus biography

"A June Night" read by Ghizela Rowe. Courtesy Ghizela Rowe – Topic.

June Night / Sara Teasdale

June Night

Oh Earth, you are too dear to-night,
How can I sleep while all around
Floats rainy fragrance and the far
Deep voice of the ocean that talks to the ground?

Oh Earth, you gave me all I have,
I love you, I love you,— oh what have I
That I can give you in return —
Except my body after I die?

~~
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
from Flame and Shadow, 1920

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

Sara Teasdale biography

"June Night" read by Ghizela rowe. Courtesy Ghizela Rowe - Topic.

Spring Wind in London / Katherine Mansfield

Spring Wind in London

I blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree.
My challenge to the world is hurled;
The world must bow to me.

I drive the clouds across the sky,
I huddle them like sheep;
Merciless shepherd-dog am I
And shepherd-watch I keep.
If in the quiet vales they lie
I blow them up the steep.

Lo! In the tree-tops do I hide,
In every living thing;
On the moon's yellow wings I glide,
On the wild rose I swing;
On the sea-horse's back I ride,
And what then do I bring?

And when a little child is ill
I pause, and with my hand
I wave the window curtain's frill
That he may understand
Outside the wind is blowing still;
. . . It is a pleasant land.

O stranger in a foreign place,
See what I bring to you.
This rain — is tears upon your face;
I tell you — tell you true
I came from that forgotten place
Where once the wattle grew.

All the wild sweetness of the flower
Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour. . . .
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shone . . . and the fall

Of yellow blossom on the grass!
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(Both of you tried — in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass. . . .
It will not come again.

~~ 

Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923)
from Poems, 1924

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

Katherine Mansfield biography

"Spring Wind in London" read by Ghizela Rowe. Courtesy Ghizela Rowe - Topic.

The Tent of Noon / Bliss Carman

The Tent of Noon

Behold, now, where the pageant of high June
Halts in the glowing noon!
The trailing shadows rest on plain and hill;
The bannered hosts are still,
While over forest crown and mountain head
The azure tent is spread.

The song is hushed in every woodland throat;
Moveless the lilies float;
Even the ancient ever-murmuring sea
Sighs only fitfully;
The cattle drowse in the field-corner's shade;
Peace on the world is laid.

It is the hour when Nature's caravan,
That bears the pilgrim Man
Across the desert of uncharted time
To his far hope sublime,
Rests in the green oasis of the year,
As if the end drew near.

Ah, traveller, hast thou naught of thanks or praise
For these fleet halcyon days?—
No courage to uplift thee from despair
Born with the breath of prayer?
Then turn thee to the lilied field once more!
God stands in his tent door.

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

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

Bliss Carman biography

June's featured poem

The Penny Blog's featured poem for June 2021:

Romance Novel — Roman, by Arthur Rimbaud:

[...]
The lime trees smell so good at night in June!
Sometimes the air’s so mild you have to blink.
The wind from off the town is charged with noise
And smells of grape, of ale and stronger drink . . .
[...]

https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2010/03/romance-novel-roman-arthur-rimbaud.html

Penny's Top 20 / May 2021

   

Penny's Top 20

The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in May 2021:

  1.  June Rain, Richard Aldington

  2.  Lo, the winter is past, Song of Solomon

  3.  Winter is Past, Hamilton Aide

  4.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens

  5.  A Day in Spring (XIV), Richard Westall
  6.  For You, Mother, Hilda Conkling
  7.  The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, Christopher Marlowe

  8.  Come merry Spring delight us, Mary Wroth
  9.  May Morning, Wilfred Rowland Childe
10.  May: A pastoral poem, William Perfect

11.  To May, Edward Thurlow
12.  Shireen and the Bee, David Atwood Wasson
13.  Barley Feed, AE Reiff 
14.  The moon and stars are making love, George J. Dance
15.  News, AE Reiff
16.  Ode to Sport, Pierre de Coubertin
17.  Love like an April day beguiles, James Bland Burges

18.  The Motive for Metaphor, Wallace Stevens
19.  April Snow, Pearl Andelson Sherry

20. The Night Piece, to Julia, Robert Herrick

Source: Blogger, "Stats"