Look up, love! — ah, cling close and never move!
How can I have enough of life and love?
WILLIAM MORRIS (The Earthly Paradise).
INDIAN SUMMER
THESE are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June,-
A blue-and-gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee!
Almost thy plausibility
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!
THE morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned.
I'll put a trinket on.
O WINTER, ruler of the inverted year,
Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled,
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds,
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urged by storms along its slippery way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun
A prisoner in the yet undawning east,
Shortening his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still
Compensating his loss with added hours
Of social converse and instructive ease,
And gathering, at short notice, in one group
The family dispersed, and fixing thought,
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares.
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening know.
WILLIAM COWPER (The Task).
MONTHS AND SEASONS
SO FORTH issew'd the seasons of the yeare:
First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowres,
That freshly budded and new bloomes did beare,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowres,
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did beare,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A guilt engraven morion he did weare;
That as some did him love, so others did him feare.
Then came the jolly Summer being dight
In a thin silken cassock coloured greene,
That was unlynèd all to be more light;
And on his head a girlond well beseene
He wore, from which as he had chauffèd beene
The sweat did drop; and in his hand he bore
A bowe and shaftes, as he in forrest greene
Had hunted late the libbard or the bore,
And now would bathe his limbes with labor heated sore.
Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,
As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad
That he had banished hunger, which to-fore
Had by the belly oft him pinchèd sore:
Upon his head a wreath that was enrold
With eares of corne of every sort, he bore,
And in his hand a sickle he did holde,
To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold.
Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frize,
Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill;
Whil'st on his hoary beard his breath did freese,
And the dull drops that from his purpled bill
As from a limbeck did adown distill.
In his right hand a tippèd staffe he held,
With which his feeble steps he stayed still;
For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld,
That scarse his loosed limbes he hable was to weld.
These, marching softly, thus in order went,
And after them the monthes all riding came :
First, sturdy March, with brows full sternly bent,
And armed strongly, rode upon a ram ;
The same which over Hellespontus swam;
Yet in his hand a spade he also hent,
And in a bag all sorts of seeds ysame,
Which on the earth he strowèd as he went,
And filled her womb with fruitfull hope of nourishment.
Next came fresh April, full of lustyhed,
And wanton as a kid whose horne new buds;
Upon a bull he rode, the same which led
Europa floting through th' Argolick fluds;
His hornes were gilden all with golden studs,
And garnished with garlonds goodly dight
Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
Which th' earth brings forth, and wet he seemed in sight With waves, through which he waded for his love's delight.
Then came faire May, the fayrest mayd on ground,
Deckt all with dainties of her season's pryde,
And throwing flowres out of her lap around:
Upon two brethrens shoulders she did ride,
The twinnes of Leda; which on eyther side
Supported her like to their soveraine queene :
Lord! how all creatures laught when her they spide,
And leapt and daunc't as they had ravisht beene !
And Cupid selfe about her fluttred all in green.
And after her came jolly June, array'd
All in greene leaves, as he a player were ;
Yet in his time he wrought as well as played,
That by his plough-yrons mote right well appeare;
Upon a crab he rode, that him did beare
With crooked, crawling steps an uncouth pase;
And backward rode, as bargemen wont to fare
Bending their force contrary to their face;
Like that ungracious crew which faines demurest grace.
Then came hot July, boyling like to fire,
And all his garments he had cast away;
Upon a lyon, raging yet with ire,
He boldly rode, and made him to obey;
(It was the beast that whylome did forray
The Nemean forest, till th' Amphytrionide
Him slew, and with his hide did him array ;)
Behinde his backe a sithe, and by his side
Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.
The sixth was August, being rich arrayd
In garment all of gold downe to the ground.
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayde
Forth by the lilly hand, the which was crownd
With eares of corne, and full her hand was found;
That was the righteous virgin which of old
Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound;
But after Wrong was loved and Justice solde,
She left the unrighteous world, and was to heaven extold.
Next him September marchèd eeke on foote;
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
Of harvests riches, which he made his boot,
And him enricht with bounty of the soyle :
In his one hand, as fit for harvests toyle,
He held a knife-hook; and in the other hand
A paire of waights, with which he did assoyle
Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did stand,
And equalle gave to each as Justice duly scann'd.
Then came October full of merry glee;
For yet his noule was totty of the must,
Which he was treading in the wine-fat's see,
And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle gust
Made him so frollick and so full of lust;
Upon a dreadful scorpion he did ride,
The same which by Dianae's doom unjust
Slew great Orion; and eeke by his side
He had his ploughing-share and coulter ready tyde.
Next was November; he full grosse and fat
As fed with lard, and that right well might seem,
For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
That yet his browes with sweat did reeke and steam,
And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
In planting eeke he took no small delight.
Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme;
For it a dreadful centaure was in sight,
The seed of Saturne and faire Nais, Chiron hight.
And after him came next the chill December ;
Yet he, through merry feasting which he made,
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember,
His Saviour's birth his mind so much did glad.
Upon a shaggy-bearded goat he rode,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years
They say was nourisht by th' Iæan mayd;
And in his hand a broad deepe bowl he beares,
Of which he freely drinks an health to all his peeres.
Then came old January, wrappèd well
In many weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell
And blowe his nayles to warm them if he may,
For they were numb'd with holding all the day
An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood,
And from the trees did lop the needless spray;
Upon a huge great earth-pot steane he stood,
From whose wide mouth there flowèd forth the Romane flood.
And lastly came old February, sitting
In an old wagon, for he could not ride,
Drawne of two fishes, for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slyde
And swim away; yet had he by his side
His plough and harness fit to till the ground,
And tooles to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting Prime did make them burgein round.
So past the twelve months forth, and their dew places found. EDMUND SPENSER (The Faerie Queene).
LOVES OF THE PLANTS
How snowdrops cold and blue-eyed harebells blend
Their tender tears, as o'er the streams they bend,
The love-sick violet and the primrose pale
Bow their sweet heads and whisper to the gale;
With secret sighs the virgin lily droops,
And jealous cowslips hang their tawny cups.
How the young rose, in beauty's damask pride,
Drinks the warm blushes of his bashful bride;
With honeyed lips enamored woodbines meet,
Clasp with fond arms, and mix their kisses sweet!
Stay thy soft murmuring waters, gentle rill;
Hush, whispering winds; ye rustling leaves, be still;
Rest, silver butterflies, your quivering wings;
Alight, ye beetles, from your airy rings;
|