I might be a poet, but i don't know it.
Maybe my legs show it, they are
Longfellows.
An April Day
When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth's loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.
Inverted in the tide
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.
The Day is Done
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
***********
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
The Yellow Kite
Lyn LeJeune
Gerald Andersen
Marianne Spellman
toritto
Velina
Salon.com
Comments
Excellent..Thank you for sharing..Rated
Oh,now I get it..It is the first of Αρril..An allowed Liers Day here in Greece.Do you the same day there..too;
Ι have just met you but..is this true and if yes..why...
But you still..You do not exρlain...Is this your farewell ρost;
Say it isn't so!
Farewell??
Say this ain't so dear....
I hope this is an April Fool's Joke because we need you here at OS. Who else could combine these beautiful poems and photos in just the right way?
I may quote Walt Whitman later.
He has a poem about a lark. Hark!
`
Your sharing is great for walking.
Read these poem over and over.
No bump heads on a Stop Sign.
I use to knew a loco postal clerk.
He had gashes from bumping.
He was always strolling along.
He bumped in fire hydrants,
Stop Sings, and SUV autos.
`
My o day . . .
`
You know those old icebox magnets?
The ones children use to spell right?
They move letters around to spell?
`
a child removing five colored letters
from the words that spell fire truck
`
f.....uck
I refuse
to admit
I wrote
that on
Sunday
`
apology
If your leaving is an April Fool's joke, it's a fine one.
If you are serious, oh...I'll be sad too.
HUGGGGGGGG
Algis, please not farewell!! Farewell to Turkey, perhaps?
Here's hoping that you'll have the same sort of animal accompaniment there as you've had here :).
Rated for singing to spring on the small bluff.
all will be well
whatever
you decide to do
after the day of the fool
the clock and shadow
will discover April two
Beautiful photos! Beautiful poems!
Thanks for the smile.... Happy April!
anna1liese . . .
I plan a long respite,
as in shut contraption
off after Sunday . . .
`
I may read once a week.
Life always goes on/on.
Maybe Algis Kemezys:
tease. . .
may he etc., return . . .
Even if to say`howdy.
`
William Faulkner -
`
Really the writer/artist
photographer/painter
etc.,
doesn't want success . . .
S/he knows life is short,
that the day will come
when we must pass
through the wall
of oblivion, and
s/he wants to
leave a scratch
on that wall . . .
that somebody
a hundred years
later will see . . .
`
paraphrased . . .
rated with love
........(¯`v´¯) (¯`v´¯)
☼•*¨`*•.¸.(ˆ◡ˆ).¸.•*
............... *•.¸.•* ♥⋆★•❥ Thanx & Smiles (ツ) & ♥ L☼√Ξ ☼ ♥
⋆───★•❥ ☼ .¸¸.•*`*•.♥ (ˆ◡ˆ) ♥⋯ ❤ ⋯ ★(ˆ◡ˆ) ♥⋯ ❤ ⋯ ★