Honeysuckle

The Wild Honey-Suckle by Philip Morin Freneau

(1st stanza)

Fair flower, that does so comely grow,

Hid in this silent, dull retreat,

Untouched, thy honied blossoms blow,

Unseen, thy little branches greet;

...No roving foot shall crush thee here,

...No busy hand provoke a tear.

~ Philip Morin Freneau (1752-1832)

American Poet

A Poem

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower by Emily Dickinson

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower,

But I could never sell --

If you would like to borrow,

Until the Daffodil

Unties her yellow Bonnet

Beneath the village door,

Until the Bees, from Clover rows

Their Hock, and Sherry, draw,

Why, I will lend until just then,

But not an hour more!

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

American poet

Little Garden

Poppy

Cosmos

Mimulus

Lilac and a Swallowtail

from A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass

The Little Garden by Amy Lowell

A little garden on a bleak hillside

Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow

Lies far into the spring.  The sun's pale glow

Is scarcely able to melt patches wide

About the single rose bush.  All denied

Of nature's tender ministries.  But no, --

For wonder working faith has made it blow

With flowers many hued and starry-eyed.

Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;

Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove

Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers;

Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night above

Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.

A little garden, loved with great love!

~ Amy Lowell (1874-1925)

 

American poet

June - A Poem

from The Poet's Calendar by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

June

Mine is the month of Roses; yes, and mine
The Month of Marriages!  All pleasant sights
And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine,
The foliage of the valleys and the heights,
Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights;
The mower's scythe makes music to my ear;
I am the mother of all dear delights;
I am the fairest daughter of the year.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Birch Tree

Cottonwood Tree

Picture This

the month of June
when the entire countryside is announcing that summer is here.

Wild Rose

A sepal, petal and a thorn by Emily Dickinson

A sepal, petal and a thorn

Upon a common summer's morn

A flash of Dew - a Bee or two

A Breeze - a caper in the trees

And I'm a Rose!

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

American poet

Tiger Lilies

"'Tis mine to be in love with life,

And mine to hear the robins sing;

'Tis mine to live apart from strife,

And kneel to flowers blossoming."

~ Alex Posey ( 1873-1908)

Creek Indian poet

Carnations

To Carnations: A Song by Robert Herrick

Stay while ye will, or go,

And leave no scent behind ye:

Yet trust me,  I shall know

The place where I may find ye.

Within my Lucia's cheek,

(Whose livery ye wear)

Play ye at hide or seek,

I'm sure to find ye there.

~ Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

English poet

Spring Time

Kalanchoe Blossfeldiana

A lovely houseplant

A few lines from a poem by Archibald Lampman ~

April

Pale season, watcher in unvexed suspense,

Still priestess of the patient middle day,
Betwixt wild March's humored petulance
And the warm wooing of green kirtled May,
Maid month of sunny peace and sober grey,
Weaver of flowers in sunward glades that ring
With murmur of libation to the spring:

As memory of pain, all past, is peace,
And joy, dream-tasted, hath the deepest cheer,
So art thou sweetest of all months that lease
The twelve short spaces of the flying year.
The bloomless days are dead, and frozen fear
No more for many moons shall vex the earth,
Dreaming of summer and fruit laden mirth.

~ Archibald Lampman (1861-1899)

Canadian poet
 

"Pensive" Spring

New Feet Within My Garden Go by Emily Dickinson

New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Thank you, Emily Dickinson, for your lovely poem.  It wonderfully sums up what we are experiencing in the way of spring at the moment:    "New feet" - Juncos in the grass, "A troubadour" - Varied Thrush singing in a poplar tree.  Little by little spring returns sometimes with snow flurries!

A Feather

Whenever I see a feather, as I did today while out walking, I am reminded of Emily Dickinson's inspirational poem, Hope.

Hope is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all-

And sweetest-in the Gale-is heard-
And sore must be the storm-
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm-

I've heard it in the chillest land-
And on the strangest Sea-
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb-of Me.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

American poet

My World

As one season gives way to another....


A few lines from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's beautiful poem, Autumn

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,

With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,

Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,

And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,

Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves.

As Autumn Approaches

We have had some cool, misty mornings here lately.

September by Hartley Coleridge

The dark, green Summer, with its massive hues,
Fades into Autumn's tincture manifold.
A gorgeous garniture of fire and gold
The high slope of the ferny hill indues.
The mists of morn in slumbering layers diffuse
O'er glimmering rock, smooth lake, and spiked array
Of hedge-row thorns, a unity of grey.
All things appear their tangible form to lose
In ghostly vastness. But anon the gloom
Melts, as the Sun puts off his muddy veil;
And now the birds their twittering songs resume,
All Summer silent in the leafy dale.
In Spring they piped of love on every tree,
But now they sing the song of memory.

~ Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)

English poet

Hummingbird Garden

A flash of harmless lightning,
A mist of rainbow dyes,
The burnished sunbeams brightening,
From flower to flower [she] flies.

~ John Banister Tabb (1845-1909)

Maltese Cross,

July's flower, Larkspur,

Wild Columbine, almost spent and gone to seed

Wild Rose

Raindrops from the night before and in the morning sunshine!

From The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(3rd Stanza)

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Chive Blossoms and a Buzzing Bee

A female bumble bee gathering nectar

Lines from The Bee by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chryoprase,* inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;

*an opalescent green gemstone

Spring Rain

We had about an inch and a half of rain yesterday. It has done the garden and surrounding bush so much good. Suddenly everything looks lush and green. It may be my imagination, but surely the plants have grown taller too. These are the sweet peas beginning to attach themselves to the wire support.

The Rain by W. H. Davies

I hear leaves drinking rain;

I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.

And when the Sun comes out,
After the Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;

'Twill be a lovely sight.

~ William Henry Davies (1871-1940)

A Poem for Spring

To Spring by William Blake

O Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

~William Blake (1757-1827)

English Poet

In the Summertime

A photo taken last July - Fritillary butterfly, Painted Daisies, sunlight

A something in a summer's noon -
A depth - an Azure - a perfume -
Transcending ecstasy.
-Emily Dickinson (from Summer Poems: 122)

Red, Red Rose

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
so deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fair thee weel, my only Luve,
And fair thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve.
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Thistle Blossom

Thistle-Down
by E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake)
1861-1913

Beyond a ridge of pine with russet tips
The west lifts to the sun her longing lips,

Her blushes stain with gold and garnet dye
The shore, the river and the wide far sky;

Like floods of wine the waters filter through
The reeds that brush our indolent canoe.

I beach the bow where sands in shadows lie;
You hold my hand a space, then speak good-bye.

Upwinds your pathway through the yellow plumes
of goldenrod, profuse in August blooms,

And o'er its tossing sprays you toss a kiss;
A moment more, and I see only this -

The idle paddle you so lately held,
The empty bow your pliant wrist propelled,

Some thistles purpling into violet,
Their blossoms with a thousand thorns afret,

And like a cobweb, shadowy and grey,
Far floats their down - far drifts my dream away.