Færie of Autumn Skye

The Autumn Fairy
by Celticpoet

The Autumn fairy weaves her spell
Spreads out her cloth of gold
Adorns the fields and woodlands both
With the riches of days so old

She makes the plants and flowers bloom
Displaying Nature's glory
For soon cold Winter's dismal gloom
Will tell a different story

Among the Rocks
by Robert Browning

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

Ode To Autumn
by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

*All photos taken on the Isle of Skye, Winterfell Anodyne. Eva Bellambi as the Færie of Autumn Skye.*

**

A Little Robert Browning For The Day

Thought I would share just one of the poems I've been reading from the first edition book that I found a few months ago.

MEETING AT NIGHT
by: Robert Browning (1812-1889)


The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon
large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets
from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its
speed i' the slushy sand.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three
fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp
scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud,
through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

...And Be You Blithe and Bonny...

These last several days and nights, my human has been spending some good and happy time in the Real. During that time, she has taken what she now lovingly refers to as "me days", which means that she takes time off from her work, goes out of the house (so as to completely remove herself from the temptation of doing household chores on these days off), and does only what she wants to do. She has found that this helps her maintain her balance and assists in making her a better wife and mother. The planned - and not-infrequent (once every six-eight weeks or so) - "me time" is de rigueur now.

During these last two days, she found herself exploring some of the local spots near her home. On the first day, she discovered a lovely used book store. The scent of leather and aging paper filled her nostrils as she began her perusal of the stacks. As she flipped through the volumes, she realized the one missing thing in this bookstore was the ever-present cat. "Who is keeping the mice at bay?" she wondered. My human had already found several books for herself and members of her family when she spotted the little navy blue tome on the shelf. Not much bigger than an index card and only about 1/2 inch thick, the book's gold lettering still read plainly, Men and Women - By Robert Browning. JM Dent and Co. Opening the cover gently, the publication date was 1855. "First Edition" it said! The pages are in remarkably good shape - why even the small red ribbon, which serves as the book mark is fully intact. Thrilled, she paid the attendant and nearly danced out of the store with her books tucked gently in her arms.

The area in which she was exploring holds many Victorian era homes and artifacts. So it was pleasant to look up from where she was sitting one morning to see a favorite painting (pleasant - but not really surprising).

Spring in Victoria

I have posted this painting in Red Rose before as we have discussed Spring and love. And I am most pleased to post it again as an excerpt from Men and Women is posted. It seems more than appropriate.

In Three Days
by Robert Browning

So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,---
Only a touch and we combine!

Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where ger one moon is,
A hand`s-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So life`s night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?

O loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent, as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks,
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro` lights and darks how manifold---
The dark inspired, the light controlled
As early Art embrowns the gold.

What great fear, should one say, "Three days
That change the world might change as well
Your fortune; and if joy delays,
Be happy that no worse befell!"
What small fear, if another says,
"Three days and one short night beside
May throw no shadow on your ways;
But years must teem with change untried,
With chance not easily defied,
With an end somewhere undescried."
No fear!---or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.

Alexandre DeFaux - Courting Couple in a Rowboat.

I was also reminded of this painting from an older post entitled, The Logistics of Kissing, which somehow seems so fitting as my human and I read our first editions of Mr. Browning's Men and Women.

Be you blithe and bonny!