Après l'hiver - de Victor Hugo

Après l'hiver
Poème de VICTOR HUGO

N'attendez pas de moi que je vais vous donner Des raisons contre Dieu que je vois rayonner ; La nuit meurt, l'hiver fuit ; maintenant la lumière, Dans les champs, dans les bois, est partout la première. Je suis par le printemps vaguement attendri. Avril est un enfant, frêle, charmant, fleuri ; Je sens devant l'enfance et devant le zéphyre Je ne sais quel besoin de pleurer et de rire ; Mai complète ma joie et s'ajoute à mes pleurs. Jeanne, George, accourez, puisque voilà des fleurs. Accourez, la forêt chante, l'azur se dore, Vous n'avez pas le droit d'être absents de l'aurore. Je suis un vieux songeur et j'ai besoin de vous, Venez, je veux aimer, être juste, être doux, Croire, remercier confusément les choses, Vivre sans reprocher les épines aux roses, Être enfin un bonhomme acceptant le bon Dieu. Ô printemps ! bois sacrés ! ciel profondément bleu ! On sent un souffle d'air vivant qui vous pénètre, Et l'ouverture au loin d'une blanche fenêtre ; On mêle sa pensée au clairobscur des eaux ; On a le doux bonheur d'être avec les oiseaux Et de voir, sous l'abri des branches printanières, Ces messieurs faire avec ces dames des manières.

"February" - by Margaret Atwood

"February" 

- by Margaret Atwood -

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The Summer Day - by Mary Oliver

The Summer Day
by 

Mary Oliver
///// === /////

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

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TPO's comment:
I like the serenity in this poem. I am happy that "idleness" is cast in a very favorable light. Living in the moment and then from moment to moment makes very good sense to me now in my old age.

Sonnet 87 ("Farewell ....") - William Shakespeare

Sonnet 87 
"Farewell. Thou art too dear for my possessing ..."

- William Shakespeare -

Head, Heart - by Lydia Davis

Head, Heart *

Heart weeps.
Head tries to help Heart.
Head tries to tell Heart how it is, again.

You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the
Earth will go, someday.

Heart feels better, then.
But the words of Head do not remain long in the ears of Heart.
Heart is so new to this.
I want them back, says Heart.
Head is all Heart has.
Help, Head. Help Heart.

- Lydia Davis, 2007

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* Source-  Maira Kalman: "My Favorite Things"

 

When We Two Parted - by Lord Byron

 When We Two Parted
by
George Gordon, Lord Byron 
 //// ~~~~~ ////

WILD GEESE - by Mary Oliver

 WILD GEESE 

- by Mary Oliver -

    You do not have to be good.
    You do not have to walk on your knees
    For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
    You only have to let the soft animal of your body
    love what it loves.
    Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
    Meanwhile the world goes on.
    Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
    are moving across the landscapes,
    over the prairies and the deep trees,
    the mountains and the rivers.
    Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
    are heading home again.
    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
    the world offers itself to your imagination,
    calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
    over and over announcing your place
    in the family of things.

September - by Rudyard Kipling

September

by

Rudyard Kipling

/////// ~~~~ \\\\\\\

At dawn there was a murmur in the trees,
A ripple on the tank, and in the air
Presage of coming coolness -- everywhere
A voice of prophecy upon the breeze.
Up leapt the Sun and smote the dust to gold,
And strove to parch anew the heedless land,
All impotently, as a King grown old
Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his hand.
One after one the lotos-petals fell,
Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year,
In mutiny against a furious sky;
And far-off Winter whispered: -- "It is well!
"Hot Summer dies. Behold your help is near,
"For when men's need is sorest, then come I."

Those lines ... do lie - by William Shakespeare

Those lines ... do lie [Sonnet 115] by William Shakespeare ===== ~~~~ ===== Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer: Yet then my judgment knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidents Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny, Might I not then say, 'Now I love you best,' When I was certain o'er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe, then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

The Jumblies - by Edward Lear

The Jumblies

- by -

Edward Lear