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Posts Tagged ‘eve’

Let’s contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!

What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!

See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek!

What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent’s tooth is
Shun the tree—

Where the apple reddens
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.

Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!

Teach me, only teach, Love
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—

Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.

That shall be to-morrow
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:

—Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

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If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales,

O nymph reserv’d, while now the bright-hair’d sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O’er hang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-ey’d bat,
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises ‘midst the twilight path,
Against the Pilgrim borne in heedless hum:
Now teach me, maid compos’d,
To breathe some soften’d strain,

Whose numbers, stealing thro’ my darkning vale
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial lov’d return!

For when thy folding-star arising shews
His play circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and elves
Who slept in flowers the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
And sheds the fresh’ning dew, and lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then lead, calm vot’ress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow’d pile,
Or upland fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam.

But when chill blust’ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut
That from the mountain’s side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover’d spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o’er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his show’rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport,
Beneath thy ling’ring light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter yelling thro’ the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lip’d Health
Thy gentlest influence own,
And hymn thy fav’rite name!

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I had for my winter evening walk –
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow. 

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces. 

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black. 

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o’clock of a winter eve.

 

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………………..Adam’s Rib

There once was the first man, named Adam,
Who had everything but a Madam.
So God took a rib,
And it would be a fib
To say he didn’t wish he still had ‘im.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

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The Best Time Of The Year

(sent in Christmas cards 2011)

From family to family,
Our Yule traditions may
Be varied as the difference
Twixt hummingbird and jay.

And yet we find this festive air
With every step we take –
The sights, the sounds, the merriness,
As pies and cookies bake.

Why do we do the extra work,
And hustle here and there,
To decorate, to buy the gifts,
The stockings fill with care?

It started with the Christmas that’s
The first we can recall,
When as a youth we could not sleep
On Christmas Eve at all.

Like ships within an ocean’s storm
We tossed and turned all night
Filled with the thoughts of Christmas morn
That’d come with dawn’s first light.

At last we slept and then we woke
Our eyes wide, full of shine,
Like silver dollars from the mint,
Our guide to golden mine.

And off we rushed, with flying feet,
A bee-line to the tree;
And there, in awe, paused oh so brief,
And then – the jubilee.

As Peter Pans we never grew
Out of our Christmas joys,
Though we’ve moved past old Santa Claus
And childish gifts and toys.

And thus as adult boys and girls,
Our hearts still hold it dear
With thousand ways to celebrate
The best time of the year.

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(photo by Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mVbsnr2/Christmas+4 )

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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