Modern Poetry: Location, Location, Location

I stumbled upon Gabriel Gadfly today.  What a pleasant occurrence.

Location, Location, Location

I could have kissed you
under cherry blossoms,
pale petals drifting down
like the trees wanted to
pretend they could be
snowclouds.

I could have kissed you
in the rain, drenched to
our bones and not even
caring that the skies
opened up above us
and tried to wash us out.

I could have kissed you
in a clearing in the most
secluded woods, with
just the sound of wind
rustling through the leaves
and a few voyeuristic
finches peeping at us.

Instead, I kissed you
in the parking lot of a
Waffle House, just shy
of 2 a.m. in the middle
of a hectic week, with
our waitress grinning
at us from the other
side of the window,
because, honestly,
how could I not?

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. May 11, 2011

 ...or maybe it was Starbucks...

The Fae of Skye

The Fairie Ball

by Susan Settje

I dream a dream of faerie queens and kings
in forest glade where I know faeries dwell.
The full moon dancing as the zephyr sings
Through cedar boughs and round the wishing well.

Oh romance sweet, a brave and noble knight
to princess fair was married on this day.
A royal banquet, such a festive sight.
Great merriment, we’ll dance the night away.

Sir Owl, from high atop a lofty pine,
acts sentinel. All’s well; his distant call.
In shadowed woods the new born fawns recline
too young to be at this year’s faerie ball.

No, don’t wake me just yet, it’s almost dawn,
Come sunrise, all the faeries will be gone. 

 The Fae of Skye are starting to plan their Beltane Celebration.  Please save the date & time:

April 30 at 6pm slt

We'll dance together into May in the magical faerie glen on Isle of Skye, Winterfell Anodyne.

More information will be coming in the next weeks.

The Sands of Time

My arrival point in Sands of Time.

Visit at slurl.com/secondlife/Sands%20of%20Time/8 0/110/55

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

            A PSALM OF LIFE

      WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN
                    SAID TO THE PSALMIST

    Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
        Life is but an empty dream ! —
    For the soul is dead that slumbers,
        And things are not what they seem. 

    Life is real !   Life is earnest!
        And the grave is not its goal ;
    Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
        Was not spoken of the soul.

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
        Is our destined end or way ;
    But to act, that each to-morrow
        Find us farther than to-day. 

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
        And our hearts, though stout and brave,
    Still, like muffled drums, are beating
        Funeral marches to the grave. 

    In the world's broad field of battle,
        In the bivouac of Life,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
        Be a hero in the strife ! 

    Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
        Let the dead Past bury its dead !
    Act,— act in the living Present !
        Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

    Lives of great men all remind us
        We can make our lives sublime,
    And, departing, leave behind us
        Footprints on the sands of time ; 

    Footprints, that perhaps another,
        Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
        Seeing, shall take heart again. 

    Let us, then, be up and doing,
        With a heart for any fate ;
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
        Learn to labor and to wait. 

 Finding many wonderful Persian and other texts to peruse.

Majillis Al Jinn, an island of worn ancient cliffs sheltring a garden of wonders; Lost for countless ages in the midst of a vast ocean, home to Jinn, Elves and gentle spirits.

Visit at slurl.com/secondlife/Sands%20of%20Time/8 0/110/55 

More photos on my Flickr set and the wonderful set in PJ Trenton's Flickr collection.

For The Vicereine

Most of the regular readers of this blog know me for what I am.  Among the words one might use to describe me would come "sentimental", "devoted", "friend", "silly".  So you won't be surprised by my expression of feelings having Kamilah Hauptmann as a friend in SL and RL.

Interestingly enough Kami and I had only a few interactions in world - and they were pleasant enough - prior to CaleCon in 2008.  We met there in person with a few of our other Caledonian friends.  It was a small con, but a grand time.  We had opportunity to talk and talk during that long weekend and discovered that we, in fact, made great friends.  Happily, we have kept that friendship up in world and have had occasion to visit with one another in the real world once again. 

 Eva, Kami, Otenth, Gabi at my CaleCon opening night Cocktail Party

 Lionsgate (Kamilah) and Loch Avie (Eva) at CaleCon dinner/dance/simulcast

Jaelle, Eva, and Kamilah in NYC (summer 2010)

I remain a bit sad not to be able to join her, Jaelle,  and several of our other friends at SteamCon again this year.  The west coast is oh-so-far-away at this time of year with my children in school and holiday choral events in full swing.  I'll get there some day (I hope. I hope.) and if I'm lucky, Kamilah and other friends will also be in attendance. 

For now, I would like to share with you the slide show from Kamilah's 5th Rez Day party on November 7th, and a poem I found, which seems to suit her very well (simply substitute the word "Vicereine" for "Queen" in this poem as she would be the first to remind you that Victoria is Queen).

A Queen

A Queen is proud of herself. She respects herself and others.
She is aware of who she is. She neither seeks definition from
the person she is with, or does she expect them to
read her mind. She is quite capable of
articulating her needs.

A Queen is hopeful. She is strong enough to make all her
dreams come true. She knows love, therefore she
gives love. She recognizes that her love has
great value and must be reciprocated.
 If her love is taken for granted,
it soon disappears.

A Queen has a dash of inspiration, a dabble of endurance.
She knows that she will, at times, have to inspire others
to reach the potential God gave them. A Queen knows
her past, understands her present and
moves toward the future.

A Queen knows the Creative Energy. She knows that with
this the world is her playground, but without she will just
be played. A Queen does not live in fear of the future
because of her past. Instead, she understands that
her life experiences are merely lessons, meant
to bring her closer to self knowledge
and unconditional self love.
Queen,


~Author Unknown~

Poetry with Lady Eva : October's Opal

Image by Daniel Greene via Flickr

October's Opal
by:Robert Savino


October is here, once again,
barely transcending the threshold of autumn.
The maple is turning yellow to orange, to red,
soon to be bared by winter.

Ah winter, when blankets of bliss
cover spoon-fit bodies,
flickering sparks to flames. . .
until love of spring gardens
becomes the rapture of summer bloom.

And looking from outside-in,
beyond recognizable beauty,
the ruby of jewels glows bright,
pumping currents of rivers red,
deep into the wells of every extremity.
Our chest fills with laughter.

When apart, even so brief,
this season stays with you,
whether I am or not
and your voice with me,
through wind’s immutable breath.

At the reading of this poem, I sighed softly, laid the book on my table, sank back into my large leather chair and stared dreamily into the dancing fire in my bedroom fireplace.

From the Library of the Red Rose - The Indian to His Love by William Butler Yeats

HE island dreams under the dawn

And great boughs drop tranquillity;

The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,

A parrot sways upon a tree,

Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

 

Here we will moor our lonely ship

And wander ever with woven hands,

Murmuring softly lip to lip,

Along the grass, along the sands,

Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

 

How we alone of mortals are

Hid under quiet boughs apart,

While our love grows an Indian star,

A meteor of the burning heart,

One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,

 

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove

That moans and sighs a hundred days:

How when we die our shades will rove,

When eve has hushed the feathered ways,

With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze.

Poetry From the Library of the Red Rose - Teaching

Teaching

by Frank Lambert

Your finger
traced a line
along my neck.


I opened my eyes,
found you’d brought us
into the mountains.


What are you doing? I asked,
smiling at the intense look
fixed upon your face.


You ignored me,
closed my eyes with your finger
and continued to stroke.


Over and again you touched me this way
while gently blowing
along the path your fingertip took.


After a while, all I could feel
was the air against my skin
and the tingle running down my spine.


Opening my eyes I saw you had left,
having finished showing the wind
how to caress me like you do.

Alirium: Light and Shadow

For higher quality images please have a look at my Flickr set .
 

 Fields of Gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky

As we walk in the fields of gold

So she took her love

For to gaze awhile

Upon the fields of barley

In his arms she fell as her hair came down

Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love

Among the fields of barley

We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky

As we lie in the fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so

Upon the fields of barley

Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth

Among the fields of gold

I never made promises lightly

And there have been some that I've broken

But I swear in the days still left

We'll walk in the fields of gold

We'll walk in the fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days

Among the fields of barley

See the children run as the sun goes down

Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky

When we walked in the fields of gold

Wind-Hewn Wildness - Dark and Brightness

Seelie?  or Unseelie?

Mist-clad in the light of the moon

Starspun seekers - I search for thee!

Faery light - I ask thy boon

Of branch and thorn and Elder tree!

Wood woven creatures, shadow weavers

River keepers - come to me!

Just beyond reaching

Never in keeping

Spirits of Faery - I call unto thee!

Wind-hewn wildness

Dark and brightness

Spiral enchantments - born of the sky!

Cradle me with elven hands,

Abide with me, thy human child!

-W.B Yeats 

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• Book Of A Lifetime: Selected Poems, By W B Yeats (independent.co.uk)

Poetry from the Library of the Red Rose - Love

XVII (I do not love you) Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.



i like my body when it is with your body
ee cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

More Beltane Inspired Poetry

Ecce Chorus Virginum

Here be maids dancing
in the spring days.
April light lancing
long level rays.

In this fair valley
fragrant and sweet
is a bright alley
with lilies deep
where the gay blackbird
pipes all day long
sweetness recordeth
the nightingale’s song.

Here come the virgins
flower garlanded.
But who shall sing then
that blaze of beauty,
love’s secret store?
Tales of old sorrow
grieve us no more.


Peace to your piping
with linden bought
at beauty’s altar
pay ye your vows.



(in the original Latin)

ecce chorus virginum
tempore vernali
dum solis incendium
radios equali

in hac valle florida
floreus flagratus
inter septa lilia
locus purpuratus
dum garritus merule
dulciter alludit
philomena carmine
dulcia concludit

acies virginea
redimita flore
quis enarret talia
quantoque decore
prenitent ad libitum
veneris occulta
dido necis meritum
proferat inulta

moderatur ordine
iubilo semoto
fronde pausa tilie
cypridis in voto

Beltane Inspired Poetry from The Red Rose

As I worked on music tonight for the Beltane ceremony and the ceilidh that will follow it, I came across several lyrics and poems that I would like to share over the course of this coming week. I hope that these words might speak to some of you as we find ourselves nearing the changing of the seasons.

Suscipe Flos Florem
(from the manuscript of Benedictbeurern)

Suscipe Flos florem,
quia flos designat amorem
illo de flore
nimio sum captus amore.

Hunc florem, Flora
dulcissima, semper odora!
nam velut aurora
fiet tua forma decora.
florem, Flora, vide,
quem dum videas, mihi ride!
Florem Flora tene,
tua vox cantus philomene.

oscula des flori,
rubeo flos convenit ori.
Flos in pictura
non est flos, immo flgura ;
qui pingit florem
oscula des flori,
rubeo flos convenit ori.

[English Translation]

Take thou this rose, O Rose
since love’s own flower it is
and by that rose
thy lover captive is.

Smell thou this rose, O Rose
and know thyself as sweet
as dawn is sweet.

Look at this rose, O Rose
and looking, laugh on me
and in thy laughter’s ring
the nightingale shall sing.

Kiss thou this rose, O Rose
that it may know
the scarlet of thy mouth.

O Rose, this painted rose
is not the whole
who pains the flower
paints not its fragrant soul.

Shall We Visit the Man in the Moon?

The inspiration for the post of these lyrics: Onxy Plutonian's Airship.
I had a very nice time dancing with a few friends and new acquaintances last evening inside this lovely ship.

COME TAKE A RIDE
(In My Airship)
by Ren Shields

I love a sailor, a sailor loves me. He comes every night to my home
He’s not a sailor who sails on the sea over the wild briny foam
For he owns an airship that sails upon high.
He’s just like a bird on the wing.
And every evening when shadows draw nigh,
he will come to my window and sing:

Come take a ride in my airship. Come take a trip to the stars.
Come take a ride around Venus. Come take a trip around Mars.
No One to watch while we’re kissing. No one to see while we spoon.
Come take a ride in my airship and we’ll visit the man in the moon.

One night while out sailing away from the stars
We passed through the milk-y white way.
Just idly sailing and watching the stars
he asked me if I’d name the day.
Right near the dip-per I gave him my heart.
The sun shines on our honey-moon.
We swore to each other we
never would part and we’d teach all our babies this tune:

Come take a ride in my airship. Come take a trip to the stars.
Come take a ride around Venus. Come take a trip around Mars.
No One to watch while we’re kissing. No one to see while we spoon.
Come take a ride in my airship and we’ll visit the man in the moon.

Dancing to DJ Lucien B's great mix.

Kind of makes you wonder what's happening just out of frame, doesn't it?

Poetry from the Library of the Red Rose - A Reading (Take 2)

Because of some issues with the free player utilized the last time, I have upgraded to another source.

Hope you will enjoy this new and improved version.

Powered by Podbean.com

Poetry from the Library of the Red Rose - A Reading

Ballindollach Castle

Having seen and heard several others recently using audio blog posts, I thought it might be interesting to try my own hand, or rather, voice, at it.

I hope you will enjoy the reading of these two poems on Spring.







**at 1:15pm 3-19-10 I notice that the player has either lost performance or clipped my file. The second poem has gone missing. HRUMPH! We'll wait and see if this resolves before making a judgment call. It is a free service after all.**

Time for the Annual Ski Trip

I'll see you upon my return! Or sooner, if a creative streak finds me and I decide to write in these pages while I am on the slopes.

The Snow Storm
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delated, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

Day Awakens

For my faithful readership, this is nothing new. However, for those who may have only just discovered the Realm of the Red Rose, I will note that from time to time, I enjoy publishing poetry in these pages. Even anonymous pieces like the one I found earlier this week. I find the imagery of light - light that had faded and is now new again, particularly beautiful and poignant.

HORIZON
by Anonymous

Across red wounded earth, the night a harsh dancer around me.

Only the horizon remains, a faded line like the ring of a distant
moon, but a rising glow.

So long, so long in shades of gray....but watching the sky unfold again.

Daring, still trusting...

Trusting an awakened light.

Poetry from Scotland

I hope you will enjoy a few selections by Scottish poets through the ages that I have been reading of late.

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

468. Song—On the Seas and far away by Robert Burns

HOW can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad;
How can I the thought forego—
He’s on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are with him that’s far away.


Chorus.—On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day,
Are aye with him that’s far away.


When in summer noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in this scorching sun,
My sailor’s thund’ring at his gun;
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy!
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that’s far away,
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that’s far away.


At the starless, midnight hour
When Winter rules with boundless power,
As the storms the forests tear,
And thunders rend the howling air,
Listening to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
All I can—I weep and pray
For his weal that’s far away,
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
All I can—I weep and pray,
For his weal that’s far away.


Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild War his ravage end,
Man with brother Man to meet,
And as a brother kindly greet;
Then may heav’n with prosperous gales,
Fill my sailor’s welcome sails;
To my arms their charge convey,
My dear lad that’s far away.
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
To my arms their charge convey,
My dear lad that’s far away.

Rule Britannia by James Thomson

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Sunday up the River by James Thomson

MY love o'er the water bends dreaming;
It glideth and glideth away:
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming
Through shadow and ripple and spray.

O tell her, thou murmuring river,
As past her your light wavelets roll,
How steadfast that image for ever
Shines pure in pure depths of my soul.

Happy Halloween!

(photos taken at the Blue Mermaid during the Dark Cabaret event)

Skeletal...um.....chicken? (Podruly Peccable)

Vulpine Eldrich as the Headless Horsewoman

Darkness

by Lord Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d,
And men were gather’d round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d
And twin’d themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour’d,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer’d not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak’d up,
And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

Dark Cabaret

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.*

**