A PLAIN LIFE

W.H. Davies 1871-1940

No idle gold - since this fine sun, my friend,

Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.

No precious stones - since these green mornings show,

Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go.

No lifeless books - since birds with their sweet tongues

Will read aloud to me their happier songs.

No painted scenes - since clouds can change their skies

A hundred times a day to please my eyes.

No headstrong wine - since, while I drink, the spring

Into my eager ears will softly sing.

No surplus clothes - since every simple beast

Can teach me to be happy with the least.

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ACROSS THE HILLS
Leon Rosselson b.1934

Across the hills black clouds are sweeping

Carry poison far and wide

And the grass has blackened underfoot

And the rose has withered and died

But the rose is still as red now and the grass is still as green

And it must have been a shadow in the distance you have seen

Yes it must have been a shadow you have seen

Can't you hear the children weeping

Can't you hear that mournful sound

No birds sing in the twisted trees

And the silent streets are round

I can hear the children laughing in the streets as they play

And you must have caught the dying of an echo far away

Yes it must have been an echo far away

Can't you see the white ash falling

From the hollow of the skies

And the blood runs red from the blackened walls

Where our ruined city lies

I can see the bright sun shining in the park on the stream

And you must have felt a shiver from the darkness of a dream

Yes it must have been the darkness of a dream

And it shall reap a hellish harvest

Make the desert of this land

But the rose is still as red now and the grass is still as green

Yes it must have been a shadow you have seen

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Extract from THE LADDER OF ST.AUGUSTINE

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-82

We have not wings, we cannot soar;

  But we have feet to scale and climb

By slow degrees, by more and more,

  The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone

  That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,

When nearer seen, and better known,

  Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear

  Their solid bastions to the skies,

Are crossed by pathways, that appear

  As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept

  Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they, while their companions slept,

  Were toiling upward in the night. 

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KEEP A-GOIN'

Frank L. Stanton 1857-1927

If you strike a thorn or rose,

Keep a-goin'!

If it hails or if it snows,

Keep a-goin'!

'Taint no use to sit an' whine

When the fish ain't on your line;

Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin' - 

Keep a-goin'!

When the weather kills your crop,

Keep a-goin'!

Though 'tis work to reach the top,

Keep a-goin'!

S'pose you're out o' ev'ry dime,

Gittin' broke ain't any crime;

Tell the world you're feelin' prime -

Keep a-goin'!

When it looks like all is up,

Keep a-goin'!

Drain the sweetness from the cup,

Keep a-goin'!

See the wild birds on the wing, 

Hear the bells that sweetly ring,

When you feel like singin', sing -

Keep a-goin'!

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QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND

Thomas Moore 1779-1852

Quick! we have but a second,

        Fill round the cup while you may;

     For time, the churl, hath beckon'd,

        And we must away, away!

     Grasp the pleasure that's flying,

        For oh, not Orpheus' strain

     Could keep sweet hours from dying,

        Or charm them to life again.

          Then, quick! we have but a second,

             Fill round the cup while you may!

          For Time, the churl hath beckon'd,

             And we must away, away.

     See the glass, how it flushes,

        Like some young Hebe's lip,

     And half meets thine, and blushes

        That thou shouldst delay to sip.

     Shame, oh shame unto thee,

        If ever thou see'st that day,

     When a cup or lip shall woo thee,

        And turn untouch'd away!

          Then, quick! we have but a second,

             Fill round, fill round while you may,

          For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,

             And we must away, away!

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG No.9 WAS UPDATED TODAY

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HALFWAY DOWN

A.A. Milne 1882-1956

Halfway down the stairs

Is a stair

Where I sit.

There isn't any

Other stair

Quite like

It.

I'm not at the bottom,

I'm not at the top;

So this is the stair

Where

I always

Stop.

Halfway up the stairs

Isn't up

And it isn't down.

It isn't in the nursery,

It isn't in town.

And all sorts of funny thoughts

Run round my head.

It isn't really

Anywhere!

It's somewhere else

Instead!

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG WILL BE UPDATED TOMORROW

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THE REDBREAST CHASING THE BUTTERFLY

William Wordsworth 1770-1850

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,

The pious bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English Robin;

The bird that comes about our doors

When Autumn-winds are sobbing?

Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?

Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The bird, that by some name or other

All men who know thee call their brother,

The darling of children and men?

Could Father Adam open his eyes

And see this sight beneath the skies,

He'd wish to close them again.

—If the Butterfly knew but his friend,

Hither his flight he would bend;

And find his way to me,

Under the branches of the tree:

In and out, he darts about;

Can this be the bird, to man so good,

That, after their bewildering,

Covered with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue

A beautiful creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky

From flower to flower let him fly;

'Tis all that he wishes to do.

The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness,

He is the friend of our summer gladness:

What hinders, then, that ye should be

Playmates in the sunny weather,

And fly about in the air together!

His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,

A crimson as bright as thine own:

Would'st thou be happy in thy nest,

O pious Bird! whom man loves best,

Love him, or leave him alone! 

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG No.9 WILL BE POSTED ON SATURDAY

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