Even worse if it’s a gathering of ALL animals
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Warm Summer Sun[1]
Warm summer sun,
Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind,
Blow softly here.
Green sod above,
Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart,
Good night, good night.
Written for his daughter’s gravestone ↩︎
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The end of a sorrow documented here.
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A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky
A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?
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Is this talking about three children which died early?
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No. It is the poem that ends “Alice Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There (1871)”. The sequel book to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865), also by Lewis Carrol.
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Ah, I see. An another sequel to a popular book that seems to have been mostly forgotten…
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Interestingly, the first letter of all the lines in the poem spells Alice Pleasance Liddell, who friended Carrol when she was still a child. In fact, her childhood boat story was the inspiration for “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”.
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I’ve also heard this secret message technique was used a few times to troll people…
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August
by Helen Hunt Jackson (1831-1885), American Poet and Novelist who advocated for better treatment of Native Americans, and was a close friend of Emily Di-ckinson.
Silence again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
Save hum of insects’ aimless industry.
Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry
Of color to conceal her swift decrease.
Weak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece
A blossom, and lay bare her poverty.
Poor middle-agèd summer! Vain this show!
Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset
One meadow with a single violet;
And well the singing thrush and lily know,
Spite of all artifice which her regret
Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!
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Are there worthy pieces for other months aswell?
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Brothers Poem, by Sappho of Les-bos (630 – 570 BC), famous female Greek Poet.
English Translation
And you keep nagging of Charaxos’ coming
with a full ship. But these matters, I think, Zeus
knows and all the other gods; so you don’t need
to think about them,
but just send me and bid me
to strongly entreat queen Hera
and persuade her to let Charaxos
bring his ship safely back
and find us whole. All the rest
let’s leave to the gods;
for peace out of great gales
soon follows.
For those that the king of Olympus wants,
he’s already sent an angel to deliver
them from pains; and they are blessed
and very happy;
And we, if Larichos lifts his head,
and certainly ever grows to be a man,
we shall, from such great sullenness
quickly be released.
Original Aeolian Greek.
ἀλλ’ ἄϊ θρύλησθα Χάραξον ἔλθην
νᾶϊ σὺν πλήαι. τὰ μὲν οἴομαι Ζεῦς
οἶδε σύμπαντές τε θέοι· σὲ δ’ οὐ χρῆ
ταῦτα νόησθαι,
ἀλλὰ καὶ πέμπην ἔμε καὶ κέλεσθαι
πόλλα λίσσεσθαι βασίληαν Ἤραν
ἐξίκεσθαι τυίδε σάαν ἄγοντα
νᾶα Χάραξον
κἄμμ’ ἐπεύρην ἀρτέμεας. τὰ δ’ ἄλλα
πάντα δαιμόνεσσιν ἐπιτρόπωμεν·
εὔδιαι γάρ ἐκ μεγάλαν ἀήταν
αἶψα πέλονται.
τῶν κε βόλληται βασίλευς Ὀλύμπω
δαίμον’ ἐκ πόνων ἐπάρωγον ἤδη
περτρόπην, κῆνοι μάκαρες πέλονται
καὶ πολύολβοι·
κἄμμες, αἴ κε τὰν κεφάλαν ἀέρρη
Λάριχος καὶ δή ποτ’ ἄνηρ γένηται,
καὶ μάλ’ ἐκ πόλλαν βαρυθυμίαν κεν
αἶψα λύθειμεν.
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Question, is there really anyone in the forum to read the original text you added under the English translation?
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True, but it does not feel right to just post a translation of the original text, as aspects of the poem or language may get lost during the translation process.
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At the same time is there really a point if no one (here) can read the OG text?
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To Autumn
By John Keats, 18th century Romantic Era poet.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Will you post something winter-related when it comes?
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Most likely. I might also post a Halloween-related poem.
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And a christmas one eventually?
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Most likely. I am surprised there is no holiday song thread.
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