Jun 12, 2007

The Rose of Loch Avie and other poems

This first was a Rez Day gift from an anonymous friend.

The Rose of Loch Avie


Oh, Caledon's a country
Where love and war are bold
Of glory won in Caledon
A thousand tales are told

But I've a tale far sweeter
If you'll give ear to me
Of a bonny bloom of Caledon
The Rose of Loch Avie

A fire burns on Loch Avie
To give the darkness light
The Uisge they distill there
Will put your woes to flight

But brighter yet than need fire
more sweet than drink can be
Is Caledon's own darling
The Rose of Loch Avie




The revels held on Loch Avie
Will draw a merry throng
To dance to pipe and fiddle
And laugh the whole night long

Fair guesting there, to warm the heart
And raise a shout of glee
The welcome cheer extended by
The Rose of Loch Avie

A quiet walk along the Loch
Will ease a troubled mind
At every turn there's new delight
The wanderer will find

An ear for every tale of woe
Heart's joy shared fleet and free
A gentle word for sorrow
Has the Rose of Loch Avie

In friendship and in fealty
In courtesy and creed
True and fair and holdfast
To honour's thought and deed

If I went and wrote these praises
on the leaf on every tree
I still would scant the merit of
The Rose of Loch Avie

Nor worldly state, nor riches great
nor peerless pride of place
but nature's stamp of gentleness
that gives the Rose her grace

If ever you're in Caledon
Come raise your glass with me
Salute the Rose without a thorn
That blooms on Loch Avie

***
Poem for an Unnamed Lady - ZenMondo Wormser


Long stood I, outside the gates
Until I found the Key to win my entrance.

A key built of patience, wisdom, charm, and cunning,
to open a lock of beauty, intelligence, talent, and grace.

The lands beyond the gates, I have yet to explore,
finding treasures beyond measure at the threshold.

I am sure more quests lay ahead for this knight-errant
and I look forward to the challenges -- and the rewards.


***

anonymous


cold air off the Loch tonight,
the star-wet sky
thick as stone.

black water shimmer,

heavy as an april river
whose push has clipped
the banks of heather.

as the white moon lifts

I walk along the Loch and sing
for One
whose warm-skin scent
I will never know;

whose most daily sounds--
calling to her children,
slow breathing into sleep,
are blank to me as
grass shifting
in pre-dawn water
along the Loch's silt floor.

for One whose hands
will never fall about my hips
tired at the end of day,
nor whose woman's tongue--
narrow, vivid, strong,
will ever slide along my own.

yet still, tonight,

a tender song for her,
at this hour breathing slow
beside her husband-lover

hours closer to the Dawn.

***

A Red Red Rose - Robert Burns, 1794

O my love is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
My love like the melody
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonny lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love!
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my love
Though it were ten thousand mile.

***
These last two poems were found on Miss Kiralette Kelly's lovely site, What the Mouse Saw

Sonnet 18 ~ William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as man can breath, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

***

True Love - Anonymous

True love is a sacred flame
That burns eternally,
And none can dim its special glow
Or change its destiny.
True love speaks in tender tones
And hears with gentle ear,
True love gives with open heart
And true love conquers fear.
True love makes no harsh demands
It neither rules nor binds,
And true love holds with gentle hands
The hearts that it entwines.

6 comments:

Telemachus said...

Your Grace,

I see you, like Charlemagne, provide a court of both warriors and poets, and those who appreciate poetry. How grand! I love the first one...the rose with a thorn...it is blushingly sweet. All of these are lovely, and sincere. I did not know Sir ZenMondo wrote language poetry alongside his code poetry...we must have a reading, someday, of original poems or the poems of others, in Loch Avie. It would be great fun, and the whisky is so at hand.

Sir Tele

Her Grace, Eva Bellambi said...

Sir Tele -
I am pleased that you have enjoyed the poetry, some of which have been passed to me anonymously, one read over the airwaves at my Rez Day party, and others which are well known to many. You are correct that I hope to encourage pursuits of an intellectual, scientific, artful and romantic nature as well as those of a more physical or athletic nature as I develop my court.

And although what most in Caledon know of you so far is your strength and honor, I believe they will come to know your intellect, charm, and appreciation of the arts as well. Perhaps we will even get you involved in the poetry reading, which you have suggested. It is a brilliant idea!

Mr Drinkwater - If you are reading this, we must begin to make some plans!

*smiling*

Anonymous said...

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning, my rude ignorance.

JJ Drinkwater said...

Madame, as you will it, so shall it be Donne....
I will happily lend you what little assistance is mine to command. Perhaps we might invite both the Caledon Writers Group, and the Poets whom Miss Garmes has gathered under her shelt'ring wing?

Anonymous said...

Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
Soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.
Dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbābimus illa, ne sciāmus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

Her Grace, Eva Bellambi said...

My thanks to the anonymous friends who left two very lovely poems for me....and for all to read.
The first, which begins, So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, I have discovered is Sonnet 78 by Shakespeare. The latin work is from Callutus; Poem Number 5.
Thank you so much.