No.14

THE GREENWOOD SIDE
John Clare 1793-1864

I wandered down a green wood side
On Sunday noon in spring,
Where little birds their dwellings hide
And Thrushes sweetly sing,
The moss so green round Hazel roots,
The Primrose by its side,
That in its brimstone livery shoots
In bunches far and wide.

Oh there I met a pretty maid
The fairest of her kind,
She stood beneath the Hazels shade
Where lightly blew the wind.
I gave her cheek a hearty smack
As leaning on her neck
Her soft hair trailed adown her back
Without a mark or Speck,

Within the dyke the bullrush grew
Although the place was dry,
And Thrushes nest wi’ Eggs o' blue
Did on the hedge ribs lye.
The Woodbines in green leaves look'd wan,
The Bluebell stooped i' pride,
And there I claspt my bonny Ann
Along the greenwood side.

Oh bonny Ann, Oh bonny Ann,
What makes you look so fair,
Is it the love for some fond man
Or is't for none you care.
My love to thee my bonny Ann
Where primrose blooms wi’ pride,
I’ll talk and please thee all I can
Down by the greenwood side.

-o0o-

LAZY BONES
Johnny Mercer 1909-76 

Long as there is chicken gravy on your rice,
Ev'rything is nice.
Long as there's watermelon on the vine,
Ev'rything is fine.
You got no time to work,
You got no time to play,
Busy doin' nothin' all the live long day.
You won't ever change no matter what I say,
You're just made that way.

Lazybones, sleepin' in the sun,
How you 'spec' to get your day's work
done?
Never get your day's work done,

Sleepin' in the noonday sun.
Lazybones, sleepin' in the shade,
How you 'spec' to get your corn meal
made?
Never get your corn meal made
Sleepin' in the evenin' shade.

When 'taters need sprayin',
I bet you keep prayin'
The bugs fall off the vine
And when you go fishin'
I bet you keep wishin'
The fish won't grab at your line.

Lazybones, loafin' thru' the day,

How you spec to make a dime that way?
Never make a dime that way
(Well looky here)
He never heard a word I say!

-o0o-

THE STAR
Jane Taylor 1783–1824

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

-o0o-

A CURE FOR HAVING DRUNK MUCH

Alexis c350BC

 

Last evening you were drinking deep,

So now your head aches, go to sleep;

Take boiled cabbage when you wake,

And there's the end of your headache.

-o0o-

Now online

OH WHAT A PICTURE

updated every week-end

http://ohwhatapicture.blogspot.com

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

No.13

FAIRIES’ SONG
Leigh Hunt 1784-1859

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world is bobbing,
Then’s the time for orchard robbing,
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

-o0o-

THE SKYE BOAT SONG
Sir Harold Boulton 1859-1935

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air;
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed.
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head.

Many's the lad fought on that day,
Well the Claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay
Dead in Culloden's field.

Burned are their homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

These verses recall the escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie to the Isle of Skye after his defeat at Culloden in 1746. The prince disguised as a servant girl made his escape in a small boat with the help of Flora MacDonald.
 

-o0o-

MYFANWY
Richard Davies 1833-1877

Why is it anger, O Myfanwy,
That fills your eyes so dark and clear?
Your gentle cheeks, O sweet Myfanwy,
Why blush they not when I draw near?

Where is the smile that once most tender
Kindled my love so fond, so true?
Where is the sound of your sweet words,
That drew my heart to follow you?

What have I done, O my Myfanwy,
To earn your frown? What is my blame?
Was it just play, my sweet Myfanwy,
To set your poet's love aflame?

You truly once to me were promised,
Is it too much to keep your part?
I wish no more your hand, Myfanwy,
If I no longer have your heart.

Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
And on your cheeks O may the roses
Dance for a hundred years or so.
 

Forget now all the words of promise
You made to one who loved you well,
Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,
But one last time, to say "farewell".

-o0o-
 

RESUME

 Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

    Razors pain you,
    Rivers are damp,
    Acids stain you,
    And drugs cause cramp.
    Guns aren't lawful,
    Nooses give,
    Gas smells awful.
    You might as well live.

 THE NEXT POST HERE WILL BE ON MONDAY 29TH JULY

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No.12

WHERE OR WHEN
Lorenz Hart 1896-1943

When you're awake, the things you think
Come from the dream you dream
Thought has wings, and lots of things
Are seldom what they seem.

Sometimes you think you’ve lived before
All that you live today,
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way -
Oh, the tricks your mind can play.

It seems we stood and talked like this before,
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I can't remember where or when,

The clothes you're wearing are the close you wore,
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when.

Some things that happen for the first time
Seem to be happening again,
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before and loved before,
But who knows where or when.

-o0o-

 TWO LOVERS
George Eliot 1819-80

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!

-o0o-

IF YOU’LL PARDON MY SAYING SO
Warren Hastings and Herberte Jordan

A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.
The matter appears to be pressing.
Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,
I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know,
There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.
I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,
And also a whisky and “polly,“
I don't know what time you retired to bed,
But the party sir, must have been jolly -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The lady in question a-waiting below,
Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,
And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,
A pugnacious character one might infer,
Whom the lady describes as her brother.
The elderly female is quite commonplace,
A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,
Who shouts in a nerve-wracking falsetto voice,
And her language is painful to hear, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.
He refers to you, sir, as a “twister“,
He threatens to alter the shape of your “clock,”
To break you in half, sir, and knock off your “block”
Unless you do right by his sister.
The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,
That you made her a promise of marriage.
She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,
While you, sir, ride by in your carriage -
If you'll pardon me saying so.

Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,
He is fuming to beat all creation.
My lady, your mother, is up in the air.
She’s having hysterics and tearing her hair,
And borders on nervous prostration.
Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,
And look up the times of the trains, sir?
Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,
And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

-o0o-

MY PRETTY ROSE TREE
William Blake 1757-1827

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, "I've a pretty rose tree,"

And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

-o0o-

No.11

THE PESSIMIST

B.J. King (dates not known)

Nothing to do but work,

Nothing to eat but food,

Nothing to wear but clothes

To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air,

Quick as a flash 'tis gone,

Nowhere to fall but off,

Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair,

Nowhere to sleep but in bed,

Nothing to weep but tears,

Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs,

Ah, well, alas, alack,

Nowhere to go but out,

Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights, 

Nothing to quench but thirst,

Nothing to have but what we've got,

Thus through life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait,

Everything moves that goes.

Nothing at all but commonsense

Can ever withstand these woes. 

-o0o-

COUNSEL TO GIRLS 

Robert Herrick 1591-1674

Gather ye rosebuds, 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 for ever tarry.

-o0o-

A BIRTHDAY
Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-94

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickest fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves, and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

-o0o-

 GOLDEN SLUMBERS

 Thomas Dekker c1572-1632

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

-o0o-

No.10

-o=0=o-

THE SLAVE'S DREAM
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882

Beside the ungathered rice he lay,
His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams
The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain
Once more a king he strode;
And heard the tinkling caravans
Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,
They held him by the hand!
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel
Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,
The bright flamingoes flew;
From morn till night he followed their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,
And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!
 

-o=0=o-

OLD DAN’L
L.A.G. Strong 1896-1958

Out of his cottage to the sun
Bent double comes old Dan’l,
His chest all over cotton wool,
His back all over flannel.

“Winter will finish him,” they’ve said
Each winter now for ten;
But comes the first warm day of Spring
Old Dan’l’s out again!

-o=0=o-

O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMING?
William Shakespeare 1564-1616

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies not plenty;
Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

-o=0=o-

THE ELEPHANT KNOCKED THE GROUND
Adrian Mitchell 1932-2008

The elephant knocked the ground with a stick,
He knocked it slow, he knocked it quick.
He knocked it till his trunk turned black -
Then the ground turned round and knocked him back

-o=0=o-

More poems on Monday

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No.9

 -o=0=o-

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle -
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -

What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

-o0o-

BIRD SONGS AT EVENTIDE
Royden Barrie

Over the quiet hills
Slowly the shadows fall;
Far down the echoing vale
Birds softly call;
Slowly the golden sun
Sinks in the dreaming West;
Bird songs at eventide
Call me to rest.

Love, though the hours of day
Sadness of heart may bring,
When twilight comes again
Sorrows take wing;
For when the dusk of dreams
Comes with the falling dew,
Bird songs at eventide
Call me to you.

-o0o-

TWO SPARROWS
Humbert Wolfe 1885-1940

Two sparrows, feeding,
Heard a thrush
Sing to the dawn,
The first said, “Tush!

In all my life
I never heard
A more affected
Singing bird.”

The second said,
“It’s you and me
Who slave to keep
The likes of he.”

“And if we cared,”
Both sparrows said,
“We’d do that singing
On our head.”

The thrush pecked sideways
And was dumb.
“And now,” they screamed,
“He’s pinched our crumb!”

-o0o-

THE OTHER SIDE OF A MIRROR
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge 1861-1907

I sat before my glass one day,
And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
That erst were found reflected there -
The vision of a woman, wild
With more than womanly despair.

Her hair stood back on either side
A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
Of hard, unsanctified distress.

Her lips were open - not a sound
Came though the parted lines of red,
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.

And in her lurid eyes there shone
The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy and fierce revenge,
And strength that could not change nor tire.

Shade of a shadow in the glass,
O set the crystal surface free!
Pass - as the fairer visions pass -
Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
That heard me whisper: - "I am she!'"

-o0o-

More poems on Thursday

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No.8

-o=0=o-

NIGHT AND DAY (1932)
Cole Porter 1891-1964

Like the beat beat beat of the tom-tom
When the jungle shadows fall,
Like the tick tick tock of the stately clock
As it stands against the wall,
Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops
When the summer shower is through,
So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you.

Night and day, you are the one,
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,
Whether near to me, or far
It's no matter darling where you are,
I think of you, night and day.
Day and night, why is it so
That this longing for you follows wherever I go,
In the roaring traffic's boom,
In the silence of my lonely room
I think of you, night and day.

Night and day, under the hide of me
There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me,
And its torment won't be through
'Til you let me spend my life making love to you
Day and night, night and day.

-o=0=o-

    THERE ARE FAIRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF OUR GARDEN
Rose Fyleman 1877-1957

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
It's not so very, very far away;
You pass the gardener's shed and you just keep straight ahead,
I do so hope they've really come to stay.
There's a little wood, with moss in it and beetles,
And a little stream that quietly runs through;
You wouldn't think they'd dare to come merrymaking there -
Well, they do!

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
They often have a dance on summer nights;
The butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze,
And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.
Did you know that they could sit upon the moonbeams
And pick a little star to make a fan,
And dance away up there in the middle of the air?
Well, they can!

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
You cannot think how beautiful they are;
They all stand up and sing when the Fairy Queen and King
Come gently floating down upon their car.
The King is very proud and very handsome;
The Queen -now you can guess who that could be -
She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away -
Well - it's Me!

-o=0=o-

LIFE IS FINE
Langston Hughes 1902-1967

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love -
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry -
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

-o=0=o-

        SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS
        William Wordsworth 1770-1850

        She dwelt among the untrodden ways
        Beside the springs of Dove,
        A Maid whom there were none to praise
        And very few to love:
        
        A violet by a mossy stone
        Half hidden from the eye!
        - Fair as a star, when only one
        Is shining in the sky.
        
        She lived unknown, and few could know
        When Lucy ceased to be;
        But she is in her grave, and, oh,
        The difference to me!

-o=0=o-

More poems on Monday

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THE LONG WHITE SEAM
 Jean Ingelow 1820–97

As I came round the harbour buoy,   
  The lights began to gleam,   
No wave the land-locked water stirred,   
  The crags were white as cream;   
And I marked my love by candle-light          
  Sewing her long white seam.   
    It’s aye sewing ashore, my dear,   
      Watch and steer at sea,   
    It’s reef and furl, and haul the line,   
      Set sail and think of thee.           

I climbed to reach her cottage door;   
  O sweetly my love sings!   
Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth,   
  My soul to meet it springs   
As the shining water leaped of old,           
  When stirred by angel wings.    

Aye longing to list anew,   
      Awake and in my dream,   
    But never a song she sang like this,   
      Sewing her long white seam.           

Fair fall the lights, the harbour lights,   
  That brought me in to thee,   
And peace drop down on that low roof   
  For the sight that I did see,   
And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear           
  All for the love of me.   
    For O, for O, with brows bent low   
      By the candle’s flickering gleam,   
    Her wedding gown it was she wrought,   
      Sewing the long white seam.           

-o=0=o-

MORNING HAS BROKEN
Eleanor Farjeon 1881-1965

Morning has broken
Like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken
Like the first bird.
Praise for the singing!
Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing
Fresh from the Word!

Sweet the rain's new fall
Sunlit from heaven,
Like the first dewfall
On the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness
Of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness
Where his feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight!
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light
Eden saw play!
Praise with elation,
Praise every morning,
God's re-creation
Of the new day!

-o=0=o-

A TRAGEDY
Edith Nesbit 1858-1924

Among his books he sits all day   
  To think and read and write;   
He does not smell the new-mown hay   
  The roses red and white.   

I walk among them all alone,           
  His silly stupid wife;   
The world seems tasteless, dead and done -   
  An empty thing is life.   

At night his window casts a square   
  Of light upon the lawn;           
I sometimes walk and watch it there   
  Until the chill of dawn.   

I have no brain to understand   
  The books he loves to read;   
I only have a heart and hand           
  He does not seem to need.   

He calls me “Child” - lays on my hair   
  Thin fingers, cold and mild;   
Oh! God of Love, who answers prayer,   
  I wish I were a child!           

And no one sees and no one knows   
  (He least would know or see)   
That ere love gathers next year’s rose   
  Death will have gathered me;   

And on my grave will bindweed pink           
  And round-faced daisies grow;   
He still will read and write and think,   
  And never, never know!   

-o=0=o-

There was a girl in our town,
Silk an’ satin was her gown,
Silk an’ satin, gold an’ velvet,
Guess her name, three times I’ve telled it.
Anon pub.1842

-o=0=o-

More poems on Thursday

beginning today 

AMERICAN ART OF THE 19TH CENTURY

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