PROUD MAISIE

Walter Scott 1771-1832

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

     Walking so early;

Sweet Robin sits on the bush,

     Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird,

     When shall I marry me?"

"When six braw gentlemen 

     Kirkward shall carry ye."

"Who makes the bridal bed,

     Birdie, say truly?"

"The grey-headed sexton,

     That delves the grave duly.

"The glowworm o’er grave and stone

     Shall light thee steady;

The owl from the steeple sing,

     ‘Welcome, proud lady.’ "

-o0o-

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

W.B. Yeats 1865-1939

When you are old and grey and full of sleep, 

And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; 

How many loved your moments of glad grace, 

And loved your beauty with love false or true, 

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, 

And loved the sorrows of your changing face; 

And bending down beside the glowing bars, 

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled 

And paced upon the mountains overhead 

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. 

-o0o-

ABOU BEN ADHEM

Leigh Hunt 1784-1859

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel writing in a book of gold - 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And to the presence in the room he said, 

"What writest thou?" - The vision raised its head, 

And with a look made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one that loves his fellow men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night 

It came again with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blest, 

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

-o0o-

THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRATIES* GROW

Johnny Patterson 1840-89

Have you ever been in love my boys

Or have you felt the pain?

I'd sooner be in jail myself

Than be in love again,

For the girl I loved was beautiful

I'd have you all to know

And I met her in the garden

Where the praties grow.

She was just the sort of creature boys

That Nature did intend

To walk right through the world my boys

Without the Grecian bend*

Nor did she wear a chignon*

I'd have you all to know

And I met her in the garden

Where the praties grow.

Says I: "My pretty Kathleen

I'm tired of single life

And if you've no objection, sure

I'll make you my sweet wife"

She answered me right modestly

And curtsied very low

"O you're welcome to the garden

Where the praties grow."

Says I: "My pretty Kathleen,

I hope that you'll agree,"

She was not like your city girls

Who say you're making free.

Says she: "I'll ask my parents

And tomorrow I'll let you know,

If you'll meet me in the garden

Where the praties grow."

O the parents they consented

And we're blessed with children three,

Two boys just like their mother

And a girl the image of me,

And now we're goin' to train them up

The way they ought to go

For to dig in the garden

Where the praties grow.

praties = potatoes

Grecian bend = A term applied to a stooped posture which became fashionable about 1820, named after the gracefully-inclined figures seen in the art of ancient Greece.

chignon = a knot or coil of hair arranged on the back of a woman's head.

The new blog A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG is being updated today
                                                http://apersonalscrapblog.blogspot.com

-o0o-

       

I TASTE A LIQUOR NEVER BREWED

Emily Dickinson 1830-86

 I taste a liquor never brewed,

From tankards scooped in pearl;

Not all the vats upon the Rhine

Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,

And debauchee of dew,

Reeling, through endless summer days,

From inns of molten blue.

When the landlord turns the drunken bee

Out of the foxglove's door,

When butterflies renounce their drams,

I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,

And saints to windows run,

To see the little tippler

Leaning against the sun!

-o0o-

RELIANCE
Henry Van Dyke 1852-1933

Not to the swift, the race: 

Not to the strong, the fight:

Not to the righteous, perfect grace: 

Not to the wise, the light.

But often faltering feet

Come surest to the goal; 

And they who walk in darkness meet

The sunrise of the soul.

-o0o-

The new blog A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG will be updated on Saturday
http://apersonalscrapblog.blogspot.com

=-o=0=o-

I DREAM'D IN A DREAM

Walt Whitman 1819-92

I dream’d in a dream

I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the

whole of the rest of the earth,

I dream’d that was the new city of Friends,

Nothing was greater there

than the quality of robust love, it led the rest,

It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,

And in all their looks and words.

-o0o-

DO I LOVE YOU?

Cole Porter 1891-1964

Do I love you, do I?

Doesn't one and one make two?

Do I love you, do I?

Does July need a sky of blue?

Would I miss you, would I?

If you ever should go away?

If the sun should desert the day,

What would life be?

Will I leave you, never?

Could the ocean leave the shore?

Will I worship you for ever?

Isn't heaven forever more?

Do I love you, do I?

Oh, my dear, it's so easy to see,

Don't you know I do?

Don't I show you I do,

Just as you love me?

-o0o-

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
John Keats 1795-1821

O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew;

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

“I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful, a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

“I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

“I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long;

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

A faery's song.

“She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said -

I love thee true.

“She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

“And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dream'd! Ah! Woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill side.

“I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried - La Belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!

“I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

“And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge has wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.”

-o0o-

THE PEDESTRIAN'S PLAINT

Edward Verrall Lucas 1868-1938

Will there never come a season

Which shall rid us from the curse

Of a speed which knows no reason,

And the too contiguous hearse;

When no longer shall we tremble

As the motors leave their lair;

Meekly by the kerb assemble

While the klaxon rends the air -

When the gladsome news will nerve us

That the petrol-wells are dry

And the horse again must serve us,

Safe and sure and stepping high?

That will be a day for fiddling,

Fun and festival galore,

When the Armstrongs cease from Siddling

And the Royces roll no more!

The last two lines refer to the Rolls-Royce and Armstrong-Siddeley cars

-o0o-

INVICTUS

W.E. Henley 1849-1902

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul. 

-o0o-

ANYONE FOR HAIKU?

early morning dew -

teardrops from the willow 

sparkle on the grass

cool summer breezes -

shadows of the windmill blades

scything through the grass

sparkling through the trees

fingers of fading sunlight

dance on the river

sketching the roses -
time and time again falling
petals change my view

a speck of yellow

among the blue wild flowers -

one small buttercup

sunny afternoon -
the fish and their shadows make
the pond seem crowded

searching for the moon -

 behind the old sycamore 

there it is, hiding

midnight on the shore -

among the rocks a silver

moon in every pool

calm spring night, a stone

thrown in the pond shatters 

the silence - and the moon

-o0o-

More haiku at
ANYONE FOR HAIKU
http://anyoneforhaiku.blogspot.com

-o=0=o-

I BENDED UNTO ME A BOUGH

Thomas Edward Brown  1830-97  

I bended unto me a bough of May,

That I might see and smell:

It bore it in a sort of way,

It bore it very well.

But, when I let it backward sway,

Then it were hard to tell

With what a toss, with what a swing,

The dainty thing

Resumed its proper level,

And sent me to the devil.

I know it did - you doubt it?

I turned, and saw them whispering about it. 

-o0o-

CALM WAS THE EVEN AND CLEAR WAS THE SKY

(from An Evening's Love)
John Dryden 1631-1700

Calm was the even, and clear was the sky, 

      And the new budding flowers did spring, 

When all alone went Amyntas and I 

      To hear the sweet nightingale sing; 

I sate, and he laid him down by me; 

      But scarcely his breath he could draw; 

For when with a fear, he began to draw near, 

      He was dash'd with A ha ha ha ha! 

He blush'd to himself, and lay still for a while, 

      And his modesty curb'd his desire; 

But straight I convinc'd all his fear with a smile, 

      Which added new flames to his fire. 

O Silvia, said he, you are cruel, 

      To keep your poor lover in awe; 

Then once more he press'd with his hand to my breast, 

      But was dash'd with A ha ha ha ha! 

I knew 'twas his passion that caus'd all his fear; 

      And therefore I pitied his case: 

I whisper'd him softly, there's nobody near, 

      And laid my cheek close to his face: 

But as he grew bolder and bolder, 

      A shepherd came by us and saw; 

And just as our bliss we began with a kiss, 

      He laugh'd out with A ha ha ha ha!

-o0o-

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG
is now online
http://apersonalscrapblog.blogspot.com

-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!

-o0o-

My New Blog is now online

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG

http://apersonalscrapblog.blogspot.com

-o=0=o-

A BIRTHDAY

Christina Georgina Rossetti  1830-94

My heart is like a singing bird

        Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;

    My heart is like an apple-tree

        Whose boughs are bent with thickset 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 fleurs-de-lys;

  Because the birthday of my life

      Is come, my love is come to me.

 *vair = fur obtained from a variety of red squirrel, used in the 13th and 14th centuries as a trimming or lining for garments.

-o0o-

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

Robert Frost 1874-1963

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. 

-o0o-

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.

-o0o-

HADDIES*

John Allan 1863-?

My wife has been readin’ in some books o’ fame

That fish as brain food has some sort o’ claim,

So she thinks that my intellect’s growin’ ower tame 

And feeds me on nothin’ but haddies.

At breakfast when bacon would just be the thing

My wife o’ the strain on the brain’s sure to sing,

And soon from the fireside, all fizzin’, she’ll bring

The usual plateful of haddies.

At dinner I’m thinkin’ of broth and of beef,

Aye hopin’ for once I’ll get a relief

From the phosphorus diet o’ modern belief,

But in comes the platter o’ haddies.

So, wife, don’t try any more my good nature,

Or you’ll soon have your hubby a poor lookin’ creature,

A steak or a chop will make my brain greater

Than if I’d an ocean o’ haddies!

haddies = haddock

-o0o-

Extract from the prose-poem SUMMONED BY BELLS

John Betjeman 1906-84

Safe were those evenings of the pre-war world*

When firelight shone on green linoleum;

I heard the church bells hollowing out the sky,

Deep beyond the deep, like never-ending stars,

And turned to Archibald, my safe old bear,

Whose woollen eyes looked sad or glad at me,

Whose ample forehead I could wet with tears,

Whose half-moon ears received my confidence,

Who made me laugh, who never let me down.

I used to wait for hours to see him move,

Convinced that he could breathe.  One dreadful day

They hid him from me as a punishment:

Sometimes the desolation of that loss

Comes back to me and I must go upstairs

To see him in the sawdust, so to speak,

Safe and returned to his idolator.

*1914-18 war

-o0o-

THERE WILL COME SOFT RAIN

Sara Teasdale 1884-1933

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we were gone.

-o0o-

TO A FAT LADY SEEN FROM THE TRAIN

Frances Cornford  1886-1960

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

O fat white woman whom nobody loves,

Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

When the grass is soft as the breast of doves

And shivering sweet to the touch?

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

-o0o-

THE FAT WHITE WOMAN SPEAKS

G.K.Chesterton  1874-1936

Why do you rush through the field in trains,

Guessing so much and so much?

Why do you flash through the flowery meads,

Fat-head poet that nobody reads;

And why do you know such a frightful lot

About people in gloves as such?

And how the devil can you be sure,

Guessing so much and so much,

How do you know but what someone who loves

Always to see me in nice white gloves

At the end of the field you are rushing by,

Is waiting for his Old Dutch?

-o=0=o-

TO MARY: I SLEEP WITH THEE

John Clare 1793-1864

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, 

And yet thou art not there; 

I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, 

And press the common air. 

Thy eyes are gazing upon mine 

When thou art out of sight; 

My lips are always touching thine 

At morning, noon, and night. 

I think and speak of other things 

To keep my mind at rest, 

But still to thee my memory clings 

Like love in woman's breast. 

I hide it from the world's wide eye 

And think and speak contrary, 

But soft the wind comes from the sky 

And whispers tales of Mary. 

The night-wind whispers in my ear, 

The moon shines on my face; 

The burden still of chilling fear 

I find in every place. 

The breeze is whispering in the bush, 

And the leaves fall from the tree, 

All sighing on, and will not hush, 

Some pleasant tales of thee. 

-o0o-

BLOCK CITY

Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-94

What are you able to build with your blocks?

Castles and palaces, temples and docks.

Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,

But I can be happy and building at home.

Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, 

There I’ll establish a city for me:

A kirk and a mill and a palace beside,

And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride.

Great is the palace with pillar and wall,

A sort of a tower on top of it all,

And steps coming down in an orderly way

To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. 

This one is sailing and that one is moored:

Hark to the song of the sailors on board!

And see on the steps of my palace, the kings

Coming and going with presents and things! 

-o0o-

I REMEMBER IT WELL

Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Lowe

We met at nine,

We met at eight,

I was on time,

No, you were late,

Ah, yes, I remember it well;

We dined with friends,

We dined alone,

A tenor sang,

A baritone,

Ah, yes, I remember it well;

That dazzling April moon,

There was none that night,

And the month was June,

That's right, that's right,

It warms my heart to know that you

Remember still the way you do,

Ah, yes, I remember it well.

How often I've thought of that Friday - Monday night

When we had our last rendezvous,

And somehow I foolishly wondered if you might

By some chance be thinking of it, too?

That carriage ride,

You walked me home,

You lost a glove,

It was a comb,

Ah, yes, I remember it well;

That brilliant sky,

We had some rain,

Those Russian songs

From sunny Spain,

Ah, yes, I remember it well;

You wore a gown of gold,

I was all in blue,

Am I getting old?

Oh, no, not you.

How strong you were,

How young and gay,

A prince of love in every way,

Ah, yes, I remember it well.

Ah, yes, I remember it well.

-o0o-

BEST TIMES

Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

We went a day's excursion to the stream,

Basked by the bank, and bent to the ripple-gleam,

And I did not know

That life would show,

However it might flower, no finer glow.

I walked in the Sunday sunshine by the road

That wound towards the wicket of your abode,

And I did not think

That life would shrink

To nothing ere it shed a rosier pink.

Unlooked for I arrived on a rainy night,

And you hailed me at the door by the swaying light,

And I full forgot

That life might not

Again be touching that ecstatic height.

And that calm eve when you walked up the stair,

After a gaiety prolonged and rare,

No thought soever

That you might never

Walk down again, struck me as I stood there.

-o0o-

THE SKYLARK

James Hogg 1770-1835

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Blessed is thy dwelling-place,

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness,

Blessed is thy dwelling-place,

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

-o0o-

THE ECHOING GREEN

William Blake 1757-1827

The sun does arise,

And make happy the skies.

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring.

The sky-lark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around,

To the bells’ cheerful sound.

While our sports shall be seen

On the Echoing Green.

Old John, with white hair

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk,

They laugh at our play,

And soon they all say.

"Such, such were the joys.

When we all girls and boys,

In our youth-time were seen,

On the Echoing Green."

Till the little ones weary

No more can be merry

The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end:

Round the laps of their mothers,

Many sisters and brothers,

Like birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest;

And sport no more seen,

On the darkening Green.

-o0o-