Tintern Abbey , A Tour On July 13 , 1798 : : William Wordsworth : : Conversation Poem : : July Poems : : Months Poems : :

William Wordsworth : Lebrecht Music and Arts Photo Library / Alamy Stock Photo : :

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Five years have past; five summers, with the length 11
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again 4
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 8
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, 12
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
‘Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, 16
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone. 22

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me 24
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 28
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence 32
On that best portion of a good man’s life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift, 36
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world, 40
Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,—
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood 44
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 48
We see into the life of things. 49

If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft— 50
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stair 52
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 53
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods, 56
How often has my spirit turned to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 58
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 60
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food 64
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides68
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man 70
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by) 74
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract 76
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love, 80
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more, 84
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned88
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 90
The still sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 92
To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 94
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused, 96
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air, 98
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels 100
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods 104
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world 106
Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 110
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 111
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch 117
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while 120
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform 126
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 128
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 130
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life, 132
Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; 136
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years, 138
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind 140
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 142
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, 144
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, 146
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance— 147
If I should be where I no more can hear 148
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence—wilt thou then forget 150
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long 152
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say 154
With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 158
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 159
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake! 160
— William Wordsworth.

The “Lines Written (or Composed) a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798, ” is well-known simply as ” Tintern Abbey”, although that building does not appear within the poem. It was written by Wordsworth after a walking tour with his sister in this section of the Welsh Borders. The description of his encounters with the countryside on the banks of the River Wye grows into an outline of his general philosophy. There has been considerable debate about why evidence of the human presence in the landscape has been downplayed and in what way the poem fits within the 18th-century loco-descriptive genre.

The Abbey and the upper reaches of the Wye, a painting by William Havell, 1804.

He had previously visited the area as a troubled twenty-three-year-old in August 1793. Since then he had matured and his seminal poetical relationship with Samuel Taylor Coleridge had begun. Wordsworth claimed to have composed the poem entirely in his head, beginning it upon leaving Tintern and not jotting down so much as a line until he reached Bristol, by which time it had just reached mental completion. He had it inserted at the eleventh hour as the concluding poem of “Lyrical Ballads” being jointly published by Wordsworth and his friend Samuel T Coleridge . The poem represents the climax of Wordsworth’s first great period of creative output and prefigures much of the distinctively Wordsworthian verse that was to follow. ( Arthur Beatty, William Wordsworth, his doctrine and art in their historical relations, University of Wisconsin Studies #17, 1922, p.64 ) : :

The Poem comprises verse paragraphs rather than stanzas. It contains some elements of the ode and of the dramatic monologue. . In the second edition of Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth noted: “I have not ventured to call this Poem an Ode but it was written with a hope that in the transitions, and the impassioned music of the versification, would be found the principle requisites of that species of composition.” : : The apostrophe at its beginning is reminiscent of the 18th century landscape-poem, but it is now agreed that the best designation of the work would be the conversation poem, The silent listener in this case is Wordsworth’s sister Dorothy, who is addressed in the poem’s final section. Transcending the nature poetry written before that date, it employs a much more intellectual and philosophical engagement with the subject that verges on pantheism. ( God is the Universe which is manifestation of God; that’s Pantheism; it admits and tolerates all Gods. ) : : The poem’s tripartite division develop the significance of his experience of the landscape, and a final confirmatory address to the implied listener. : : : :

Lines 1–49
Revisiting the natural beauty of the Wye after five years fills the poet with a sense of “tranquil restoration”. He recognises in the landscape something which had been so internalised as to become the basis for out of the body experience.

Lines 49–111
In “thoughtless youth” the poet had rushed enthusiastically about the landscape and it is only now that he realises the power such scenery has continued to have upon him, even when not physically present there. He identifies in it “a sense sublime/ Of something far more deeply interfused,/ Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns” (lines 95–97) and the immanence of “A motion and a spirit, that impels/ All thinking things, all objects of all thought,/ And rolls through all things” (lines 100–103). With this insight he finds in nature “The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,/ The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul/ Of all my moral being” (lines 108–111).

Lines 111–159
The third movement of the poem is addressed to his sister Dorothy, “my dearest Friend,/ My dear, dear Friend,” as a sharer in this vision and in the conviction that “all which we behold is full of blessings”. It is this that will continue to create a lasting bond between them.

Having internalised the landscape, Wordsworth claimed now “to see into the life of things” (line 50) and, so enabled, to hear “oftentimes/ The still sad music of humanity” (92-3) : : The heavy industrial activity in the area ; “wreaths of smoke”; presence of the local ironworks, or of charcoal burning, or of a paper works ; were suppressed by Wordsworth. However , the lines “the still sad music of humanity” presented industrial manifestation, It seems to mean that he can sense some universal, timeless connection between nature and all of humanity. : : : :

( The Above informations are as provided in Wikipedia’s Article. ) : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :: Now , let me attempt HERE In BELOW present the conversation of the Poet / The Speaker , line by line. : : : :


The speaker says it has been five years since he last visited Tintern Abbey. That’s five summers and five winters, which felt doubly long : ( connected together of 10 months ) : Now that he’s revisiting his place , he once again is happily hearing the “murmur” : soft sound of rivers and streams rolling from the mountains. He again lays eyes on high face of rocks : “steep” ( vertical ) and “lofty” ( prominant ) “cliffs” from where upon he can overlook the places ( of the town ) : ” On a wild secluded scene ” , that is , On getting a privy spot of scene which is untamed ( wild ) and hidden from others , his privacy puts him more interiorized to the “deep thoughts” and ideas that “impress” firmly “and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.”: : Thus the sight of these cliffs imprint thoughtful , contemplative and reflective persona of The Poet / The Speaker who starts linking of this landscape with the calm silence of the sky. : : The day is come when he again takes rest under the dark shadow of “sycamore” tree , and “view the plots of cottage-ground, the orchard-tufts” : that is growing grass in the fruity gardens. The Orchard trees “at this season, with their unripe fruits , Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves’Mid groves and copses.” : Meaning , the fruits are clothed in the covering / or encased with one green coloured outer cover. “Mid grows” & “corpses” suggest the Orchard of small trees & dense growth of bushes. : : He notes “hedge rows”( row of fence of bushes and shrubs ) , ” little lines Of sportive wood run wild” and “Green to the door” : “pastoral farms”relating to Shepherd’s/ herdsmen for raising sheeps & cattles ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees that deliver some unknown message. He imagines that this smoke could be coming from “vagrant dwellers” wandering people living in the woods, or “from the fire of a Hermit’s cave” devoutly religious person living alone in a cave. : : ( Lines 1 To 22 ) : :

Even while the speaker was away from this beautiful landscape, he didn’t forget it and could still picture it vividly. While surrounded by the noisiness and loneliness of urban settings, remembering the beauty of this place helped the speaker through difficult and tiring times, bringing him pleasant feelings within his body and mind. These memories helped him feel calm and restored, and even affected his actions, pushing him toward small, daily acts of goodness and care for other people. The speaker further thanks these memories for granting him an even more immense and awe-inspiring the gift: that wonderful, precious mood in which he felt free from the burdens of the unknown, and in which the heaviness of dealing with this often confusing, senseless world was lessened. In that calm, precious state of mind, the speaker could in a sense transcend the restrictions of his physical body, which would become totally still as the speaker became only his soul. In this state, he says, his vision became silent, calm, powerful, and with a feeling of equanimity and happiness he had insight into life itself.

The speaker goes on to offer the possibility that he simply imagined this experience, because it is something that he just wants to believe. He then rejects this possibility, however, commenting on how so many times, when unhappiness and the rush and stress of daily life have weighed heavily upon his heart, he has remembered this beautiful, landscape. Addressing the landscape directly, he says that within his mind or soul he has gone back to the woodlands of the Wye Valley for solace and comfort.

The speaker’s memories are like shining lights that have been half snuffed out, becoming darker or hard to see. There is a kind of sadness or confusion in the speaker’s thoughts as the landscape, so often remembered as a picture in his mind, is now seen again in real life. At the same time, being in this landscape gives him the sense that in addition to the happiness he’s experiencing right now, he will also have happiness in the future from remembering this current visit. He hopes that this is true, even though he is different from how he was when he was younger and first came here. His younger self was like a deer, jumping through the hills and alongside deep rivers and isolated streams alike, following nature. His younger self was someone running away from something that he feared, rather than running toward something he cared for. Even so, back then nature was everything to him, since he had already lost some of the less sophisticated happiness of his childhood. He can’t express or showing the reader exactly how he used to be, though. As a younger man, the sound of a waterfall stuck with him, like a passion sticks with someone (perhaps painfully or frighteningly). Similarly, his younger self experienced the shapes and colors of the rock cliffs, the mountain, and the shade and darkness of the forest with a kind of hunger. The landscape filled the younger speaker with intense emotion and love, yet this experience was missing a deeper spiritual or intellectual aspect beyond what could physically be seen. The past is over, though, as are the emotional highs and lows of youth that were intense to the point of being painful or disorienting. The speaker isn’t weakened by this loss and doesn’t grieve it, however, because he has gained so much in exchange. Specifically, over time he has gained the ability to really see nature, not thoughtlessly as he did when he was younger, but with a full awareness of all the sadness and harmony that comes with being a human being. This awareness—this human music—is not jarring or unpleasant. Instead, it has a calming, maturing effect, helping the speaker grow out of his youthful intensity and naivety. Over time, the speaker has also come to experience a kind of force that is at once joyful and disturbing in the way that it broadens the scope of his thoughts. This force creates a profound, nearly overwhelming awareness of the way that everything is connected and part of a whole. This force, this sense of connection and unity, is present throughout the natural world and universe. It exists in the light of suns as they set, in the round ocean, the air, the blue sky, and in the human mind. This presence or force is a kind of power or living soul that makes all things possible, including the capacity for thought and everything that is thought about. This force is described as moving through everything in the universe with a motion similar to rolling waves. Because of all of this insight that he has gained, the speaker says, he loves the natural world, including the fields, forests, and mountains, and the equally powerful world of the human mind and human senses of sight and hearing, which, he says, work by half inventing and half observing the world. The speaker sees in nature and in the human senses what is most fundamental to his thinking and his best thoughts. He compares nature to a person or spiritual presence who nurtures, leads, and protects every part of him, including his heart, soul, and morality.

The speaker says that even if, by some chance, he hadn’t learned all of this, he still would not allow himself to lose his positive outlook. Addressing his sister, the speaker says that this is because she is there with him in this landscape. Calling her his closest friend, the speaker says that he sees and hears in her his former self, including the way he used to feel and understand things, and the pleasure and joy he used to experience. Celebrating this, the speaker expresses the hope that he will see his younger self in her longer so that she can experience this youthful happiness longer. He then offers a prayer for his sister’s future. He compares nature to a woman who is faithful, and who cares most for leading people through life joyfully. The speaker says that nature can shape human minds so well, make such a strong impression of beauty and calm, and nurture such a higher level of thinking, that through these gifts people can withstand all the difficulties and immorality of daily life, including cruel words, unfair or quick judgments, condescension, selfishness, and empty or fake interactions. In fact, he says, with the gifts of nature people can withstand everything that is wearing or difficult in day-to-day existence. In doing so, they can uphold a positive outlook and belief in the goodness and blessedness of life. The speaker prays that nature will always stay with and help his sister; he hopes that when she is alone, she will experience moonlight, and that she will feel the presence of the soft or slightly rainy wind from the mountains. He goes on to imagine her when she is older, and her current youthful happiness has been moderated into a more muted or quiet outlook. Then, her mind will be like a spacious, lofty house for everything that is beautiful, and everything that is melodious and harmonious will live in only in her memories. He hopes that if, at that point, she experiences pain, or loneliness, or fear, she will joyfully remember him addressing her now, and that this memory will be healing. The speaker then goes on to imagine that at this future point he might have died and can no longer see or hear his sister. He says that even if this is the case, his sister will remember that they were together in this landscape. She won’t forget, he says, that like a religious person he worshipped nature, and that he came to this setting out of this devotion. He describes his feeling for this place as not just ordinary love but as the stronger kind of devotional and sacred love. He says, finally, that his sister will remember, even after the passage of many years and traveling elsewhere, that this forest, these cliffs, and this whole living natural place were beloved to him, on their own terms but also because of what they will mean to her.

“Tintern Abbey, Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798”— A July Poem By William Wordsworth Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 16 , 2023 : : : :

July : George Meredith, : : July Poems : : Months Poems : :

George Meredith in 1893 by George Frederic Watts. : : George Meredith, ( 1828 Portsmouth, Hampshire, England – 1909 , aged 81,
Box Hill, Surrey, England ) A noted novelist as well as Poet influenced by John Keats, during the Victorian era of literature , His Notable works : “Modern Love. “The Ordeal of Richard Feverel (1859) briefly scandalised Victorian literary circles. Of his later novels, the most enduring is The Egoist (1879), though in his lifetime his greatest success was Diana of the Crossways (1885). His novels were innovative in their attention to characters’ psychology, and also took a close interest in social change. His style, in both poetry and prose, was noted for its syntactic complexity; Oscar Wilde likened it to “chaos illumined by brilliant flashes of lightning”. He was an encourager of other novelists, as well as an influence on them; among those to benefit were Robert Louis Stevenson and George Gissing. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature seven times .: : Meredith ‘s innovations with the sonnet form were brilliantly displayed in his 1862 sequence Modern Love, about the breakdown of his own marriage. The primary theme of George Meredith’s sonnet cycle is the importance of love in human life. Meredith explores numerous aspects of this theme, mainly in terms of romantic love between a man and a woman but also in regard to the centrality of the emotion within the human psyche.
The Death of Chatterton by Henry Wallis, Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery version, for which Meredith posed in 1856.

July : : By George Meredith (1828-1909) : : : :
I
Blue July, bright July,
Month of storms and gorgeous blue;
Violet lightnings o’er thy sky,
Heavy falls of drenching dew;
Summer crown! o’er glen and glade
Shrinking hyacinths in their shade;
I welcome thee with all thy pride,
I love thee like an Eastern bride.
Though all the singing days are done
As in those climes that clasp the sun;
Though the cuckoo in his throat
Leaves to the dove his last twin note;
Come to me with thy lustrous eye,
Golden-dawning oriently,
Come with all thy shining blooms,
Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.
Though the cuckoo doth but sing ‘cuk, cuk,’
And the dove alone doth coo;
Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo –
To the cuckoo’s halting ‘cuk.’


II
Sweet July, warm July!
Month when mosses near the stream,
Soft green mosses thick and shy,
Are a rapture and a dream.
Summer Queen! whose foot the fern
Fades beneath while chestnuts burn;
I welcome thee with thy fierce love,
Gloom below and gleam above.
Though all the forest trees hang dumb,
With dense leafiness o’ercome;
Though the nightingale and thrush,
Pipe not from the bough or bush;
Come to me with thy lustrous eye,
Azure-melting westerly,
The raptures of thy face unfold,
And welcome in thy robes of gold!
Tho’ the nightingale broods—’sweet-chuck-sweet’ –
And the ouzel flutes so chill,
Tho’ the throstle gives but one shrilly trill
To the nightingale’s ‘swe–sweet.’

“July”By A noted novelist as well as a poet is About the praises of this warm summer month. : : the praises of this warm summer month : : “Blue July, bright July, / Month of storms and gorgeous blue; / Violet lightnings o’er thy sky, / Heavy falls of drenching dew; / Summer crown!” : : “When Soft green, thick and shy mosses, near the stream ; Are a rapture and dream ,the Summer of July appears Sweet July , warm July.”

The Shepherd’s Calendar: July : John Clare : : July Poems : : Months Poems : :

The Shepherds Calendar – July Poem by John Clare : :

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Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face
Ruddy and tand yet sweet to view
When everywhere’s a vale of dew
And raps it round her looks that smiles
A lovly rest to daily toils
Wi last months closing scenes and dins
Her sultry beaming birth begins

Hay makers still in grounds appear
And some are thinning nearly clear
Save oddly lingering shocks about
Which the tithman counteth out
Sticking their green boughs where they go
The parsons yearly claims to know
Which farmers view wi grudging eye
And grumbling drive their waggons bye
In hedge bound close and meadow plains
Stript groups of busy bustling swains
From all her hants wi noises rude
Drives to the wood lands solitude
That seeks a spot unmarkd wi paths
Far from the close and meadow swaths
Wi smutty song and story gay
They cart the witherd smelling hay
Boys loading on the waggon stand
And men below wi sturdy hand
Heave up the shocks on lathy prong
While horse boys lead the team along
And maidens drag the rake behind
Wi light dress shaping to the wind
And trembling locks of curly hair
And snow white bosoms nearly bare
That charms ones sight amid the hay
Like lingering blossoms of the may
From clowns rude jokes they often turn
And oft their cheeks wi blushes burn
From talk which to escape a sneer
They oft affect as not to hear
Some in the nooks about the ground
Pile up the stacks swelld bellying round
The milking cattles winter fare
That in the snow are fodderd there
Warm spots wi black thorn thickets lind
And trees to brake the northern wind
While masters oft the sultry hours
Will urge their speed and talk of showers
When boy from home trotts to the stack
Wi dinner upon dobbins back
And bottles to the saddle tyd
Or ballancd upon either side
A horse thats past his toiling day
Yet still a favorite in his way
That trotts on errands up and down
The fields and too and fro from town
Long ere his presence comes in sight
Boys listen wi heart felt delight
And know his footsteps down the road
Hastening wi the dinner load
Then they seek in close or meadows
High hedgerows wi grey willow shadows
To hide beneath from sultry noon
And rest them at their dinner boon
Where helping shepherd for the lass
Will seek a hillock on the grass
The thickset hedge or stack beside
Where teazing pismires ne’er abide
And when tis found down drops the maid
Proud wi the kind attention paid
And still the swain wi notice due
Waits on her all the dinner through
And fills her horn which she tho dry
In shoyness often pushes bye
While he will urge wi many a smile
It as a strength to help her toil
And in her hand will oft contrive
From out his pocket pulld to slive
Stole fruit when no one turns his eve
To wet her mouth when shes adry
Offerd when she refuses ale
Noons sultry labour to regale
Teazd wi the countless multitude
Of flyes that every where intrude
While boys wi boughs will often try
To beat them from them as they lye
Who find their labour all in vain
And soon as scard they swarm again
Thus while each swain and boy and lass
Sit at their dinner on the grass
The teams wi gears thrown on their backs
Stand pulling at the shocks or racks
Switching their tails and turning round
To knap the gadflys teazing wound
While dob that brought the dinners load
Too tricky to be turnd abroad
Needing the scuttle shook wi grain
To coax him to be caught again
Is to a tree at tether tyd
Ready for boy to mount and ride
Nipping the grass about his pound
And stamping battering hooves around
Soon as each ground is clear of hay
The shepherd whoops his flocks away
From fallow fields to plentys scenes
Shining as smooth as bowling greens
But scard wi clipping tides alarms
They bleat about the close in swarms
And hide neath hedges in the cool
Still panting tho wi out their whool
Markd wi the tard brands lasting dye
And make a restless hue and cry
Answering the lambs that call again
And for their old dams seek in vain
Running mid the stranger throng
And ever meeting wi the wrong
Fiegn wi some old yoe to abide
Who smells and tosses them aside
And some as if they know its face
Will meet a lamb wi mended pace
But proving hopes indulgd in vain
They turn around and blair again
Till weand from memory half forgot
They spread and feed and notice not
Save now and then to lambs shrill crys
Odd yoes in hoarser tone replys
Still may be seen the mowing swain
On balks between the fields of grain
Who often stops his thirst to ease
To pick the juicy pods of pease
And oft as chances bring to pass
Stoops oer his scythe stuck in the grass
To seek the brimming honey comb
Which bees so long were toiling home
And rifld from so many flowers
And carried thro so many hours
He tears their small hives mossy ball
Where the brown labourers hurded all
Who gather homward one by one
And see their nest and honey gone
Humming around his rushing toil
Their mellancholly wrongs awhile
Then oer the sweltering swaths they stray
And hum disconsolate away
And oft neath hedges cooler screen
Where meadow sorrel lingers green
Calld ‘sour grass’ by the knowing clown
The mower gladly chews it down
And slakes his thirst the best he may
When singing brooks are far away
And his hoopd bottle woeful tale
Is emptied of its cheering ale
That lulld him in unconsious sleep
At dinners hour beneath a heap
Of grass or bush or edding shock
Till startld by the country clock
That told the hours his toil had lost
Who coud but spare an hour at most
And wearing past the setting sun
He stays to get his labour done
The gipsey down the meadow brook
Wi long pole and reaping hook
Tyd at its end amid the streams
That glitters wi the hot sunbeams
Reachs and cuts the bulrush down
And hawks them round each neighboring town
Packd at his back or tyd in loads
On asses down the dusty roads
He jogs and shouts from door to door
His well known note of calling oer
Offering to huswives cheap repairs
Mending their broken bottomd chairs
Wi step half walk half dance, and eye
Ready to smile on passers bye
Wi load well suiting weather warm
Tuckd carlessly beneath his arm
Or peeping coat and side between
In woolen bag of faded green
Half conseald and half displayd
A purpose tell tale to his trade
The gipsey fiddler jogs away
To village feast and holiday
Scraping in public house to trye
What beer his music will supply
From clowns who happy wi the din
Dance their hand naild hilos thin
Along the roads in passing crowds
Followd by dust like smoaking clouds
Scotch droves of beast a little breed
In swelterd weary mood proceed
A patient race from scottish hills
To fatten by our pasture rills
Lean wi the wants of mountain soil
But short and stout for travels toil
Wi cockd up horns and curling crown
And dewlap bosom hanging down
Followd by slowly pacing swains
Wild to our rushy flats and plains
At whom the shepherds dog will rise
And shake himself and in supprise
Draw back and waffle in affright
Barking the traveller out of sight
And mowers oer their scythes will bear
Upon their uncooth dress to stare
And shepherds as they trample bye
Leaves oer their hooks a wondering eye
To witness men so oddly clad
In petticoats of banded plad
Wi blankets oer their shoulders slung
To camp at night the fields among
When they for rest on commons stop
And blue cap like a stocking top
Cockt oer their faces summer brown
Wi scarlet tazzeles on the crown
Rude patterns of the thistle flower
Untrickd and open to the shower
And honest faces fresh and free
That breath of mountain liberty
The pindar on the sabbath day
Soon as the darkness waxes grey
Before one sun beam oer the ground
Spindles its light and shadow round
Goes round the fields at early morn
To see what stock are in the corn
To see what chances sheep may win
Thro gaps the gipsey pilfers thin
Or if theyve forcd a restless way
By rubbing at a loosend tray
Or nuzling colt that trys to catch
A gate at night left off the latch
By traveller seeking home in haste
Or the clown by fareys chas’d
That listning while he makes a stand
Opens each gate wi fearful hand
And dreads a minute to remain
To put it on the latch again
And cows who often wi their horns
Toss from the gaps the stuffing thorns
These like a fox upon the watch
He in the morning trycs to catch
And drives them to the pound for pay
Carless about the sabbath day
Soon as the morning wakens red
The shepherd startles from his bed
And rocks afield his moving pace
While folded sheep will know his face
Rising as he appears in sight
To shake their coats as in delight
His shadow stalking stride for stride
Stretches a jiant by his side
Long as a tree without a top
And oft it urges him to stop
Both in his journey and his song
And wonders why it seems so long
And bye and bye as morning dies
Shrinks to an unbrichd boy in size
Then as the evening gathers blue
Grows to a jiants length anew
Puzzld the more he stops to pause
His wisdom vainly seeks the cause
Again his journey he pursues
Lengthening his track along the dews
And his dog that turnd to pick
From his sides the sucking tick
Insects that on cattle creep
And bites the labourer laid asleep
Pricks up his ears to see twas gone
Ana shakes his hide and hastens on
And the while the shepherd stayd
Trailing a track the hare had made
Bolts thro the creeping hedge again
And hurring follows wi the swain
The singing shouting herding boys
Follows again their wild employs
And ere the sun puts half his head
From out his crimson pillowd bed
And bawls behind his cows again
That one by one lobs down the lane
Wi wild weeds in his hat anew
The summer sorts of every hue
And twigs of leaves that please his eye
To his old haunts he hallows bye
Wi dog that loiters bv his side
Or trotts before wi nimble stridc
That waits till bid to bark and run
And panteth from the dreaded sun
And oft amid the sunny day
Will join a partner in his play
And in his antic tricks and glee
Will prove as fond of sport as he
And by the flag pool summer warm
He’ll watch the motions of his arm
That holds a stick or stone to throw
In the sun gilded flood below
And head oer ears he danses in
Nor fears to wet his curly skin
The boys field cudgel to restore
And brings it in his mouth ashore
And eager as for crust or bone
He’ll run to catch the pelted stone
Till wearied out he shakes his hide
And drops his tail and sneaks aside
Unheeding whistles shouts and calls
To take a rest where thickly falls
The rush clumps shadows there he lyes
Licking his skin and catching flyes
Or picking tween his stretching feet
The bone he had not time to eat
Before when wi the teazing boy
He was so throngd wi plays employ
Noon gathers wi its blistering breath
Around and day dyes still as death
The breeze is stopt the lazy bough
Hath not a leaf that dances now
The totter grass upon the hill
And spiders threads is hanging still
The feathers dropt from morehens wings
Upon the waters surface clings
As stedfast and as heavy seem
As stones beneath them in the stream
Hawkweed and groundsels fairey downs
Unruffld keep their seeding crowns
And in the oven heated air
Not one light thing is floating there
Save that to the earnest eye
The restless heat swims twittering bye
The swine run restless down the street
Anxious some pond or ditch to meet
From days hot swoonings to retire
Wallowing in the weeds and mire
The linnets seek the twiggs that lye
Close to the brook and brig stones drye
At top and sit and dip their bills
Till they have drunk their little fills
Then flurt their wings and wet their feathers
To cool them in the blazing weathers
Dashing the water oer their heads
Then high them to some cooling sheds
Where dark wood glooms about the plain
To pick their feathers smooth again
The young quick’s branches seem as dead
And scorch from yellow into red
Ere autumn hath its pencil taen
Their shades in different hues to stain
Following behind the crawling ploughs
Whiping oft their sweating brows
The boys lead horses yokd in pairs
To jumping harrows linkd that tears
And teazes the hard clods to dust
Placing for showers in hopes their trust
The farmer follows sprinkling round
Wi turnip seed the panting ground
Providing food for beast and sheep
When winters snows are falling deep
Oft proving hopes and wishes vain
While clouds disperse that promisd rain
When soon as ere the turnip creeps
From out the crust burnt soil and peeps
Upon the farmers watching eye
Tis eaten by the jumping flye
And eager neath the midday sun
Soon as each plough teams toil is done
Scarse waiting till the gears are taen
From off their backs by boy and swain
From hayfilld racks they turn away
Nor in the stable care to stay
Hurr[y]ing to the trough to drink
Or from the yard ponds muddy brink
Rush in and wi long winded soak
Drink till theyre almost fit to choak
And from the horsbees teazing din
Thrust deep their burning noses in
Almost above their greedy eyes
To cool their mouths and shun the flyes
Deaf to the noise the geese will make
That grudge the worthy share they take
Boys now neath green lanes meeting bough
Each noons half holiday from plough
Take out their hungry teams till night
That nipp the grass wi eager bite
Wi long tails switching never still
They lounge neath trees when eat their fill
And stamp and switch till closing day
Brushing the teazing flyes away
Endless labour all in vain
That start in crowds to turn again
When the sun is sinking down
And dyes more deep the shadows brown
And gradual into slumber glooms
How sweet the village evening comes
To weary hinds from toil releasd
And panting sheep and torturd beast
The shepherd long wi heat opprest
Betakes him to his cottage rest
And his tird dog that plods along
Wi panting breath and lolling tongue
Runs eager as the brook appears
And dashes in head over ears
Startling reed sparrow broods to fiye
That in the reed woods slumberd nigh
And water rotts in haste to hide
Nibbling the sedges close beside
Lapping while he floats about
To quench his thirst then drabbles out
And shakes his coat and like the swain
Is happy night is come again

The beast that to the pond did creep
And rushd in water belly deep
The gad flyes threatning hums to shun
And horse bee darting in the sun
Lashing their tails the while they stood
And sprinkling thick their sides wi mud
Snuff the cool air now day is gone
And linger slow and idly on
To the pebbly fore to drink
And drop and rest upon its brink
Ruminating on their beds
Calm as the sky above their heads
The horse whose mouth is seldom still
Is up and cropping at his will
The moisting grass unteazd and free
In summer eves serenity
Uncheckt by flyes he grazes on
Right happy that the day is gone
Ne’er leaving off to turn around
His stooping head to knap the wound
And tail that switchd his sides all day
Is quiet now the suns away
The cowboys as their herd plod on
Before them homward one by one
Grows happy as their toil grows short
And full of fancys restless sport
Oft starts along wi sinking day
Acting proud their soldier play
Wi peeld bark sash around each waist
And rush caps oer each beaver placd
Stuck wi a headaches red cockade
And wooden swords and sticks displayd
For flags-thus march the evening troop
While soon one strikes a whistle up
And others wi their dinner tins
The evenings falling quiet dins
Patting wi hollow sounding tums
And imitating pipes and drums
Calling their cows that plod before
Their army marching from the moor
And thus they act till met the town
Carless of laughs from passing clown
Even their dogs too tird for play
Loiter on their evening way
Oft rolling on the damping grass
Or stopping wi the milking lass
Waiting a chance the ways conseal
A mouth full from her pails to steal
Dropping down to pick a bone
The hedger from his wallets thrown
Or found upon some greensward platt
Where hayfolks at their dinner sat
Sweet the cows breath down the lane
Steaming the fragrance of the plain
As home they rock and bawling wait
Till boys run to unloose the gate
And from their milksheds all adry
Turn to the pump wi anxious eye
Where shoud the maids wi boys repair
To fill the dashing bucket there
They hurry spite of threatning clown
And kick the milkers bucket down
And horses oft wi eager stoop
Will bend adown to steal a sup
Watching a moments chance to win
And dip their eager noses in
As by they pass or set it down
To rest or chatter to a clown
And knats wi their small slender noise
Bother too the troubld boys
And teaze the cows that while she chides
Will kick and turn to lick their sides
And like so many hanting sprites
Will bite and weal the maid anights
Who dreams of love and sleeps so sound
As ne’er to feel each little wound
Till waken by the morning sun
She wonders at the injury done
Thinking in fears simplicity
That faireys dreaded mistery
On her white bosom in the dark
Had been and left each blisterd mark
The fox begins his stunt odd bark
Down in its dew bed drops the lark
And on the heath amid the gorse
The night hawk stints the feeding horse
That pricks his ear wi startling eye
And snorts to hear its trembling crye
The owlet leaves his ivy tree
Into its hive slow sails the bee
The mower seeks his cloaths and hides
His scythe home bent wi weary strides
And oer his shoulder swings his bag
Bearing in hand his empty cag
Hay makers on their homward way
Into the fields will often stray
Among the grain when no one sees
Nestle and fill their laps wi peas
Sheep scard wi tweenlight doubting eye
Leap the path and canter bye
Nipping wi moment stoops the plain
And turning quick to gaze again
Till silence upon eve awaits
And milkmaids cease to clap the gates
And homward to the town are gone
Wi whispering sweethearts chatting on
And shepherds homward tracks are past
And dogs rude barks are still at last
Then down they drop as suits their wills
Or nips the thyme on pismire hills
Where nought is seen but timid hares
That nights sweet welcome gladly shares
And shadows stooping as they stoop
Beside them when the moon gets up
Reviving wi the ruddy moon
The nightingale resumes his tune
What time the horsboy drives away
His loose teams from the toils of day
To crop the closes dewy blade
Where the hay stacks fencd and made
Or on the commons bushy plain
To rest till the sun comes again
Whistling and bawling loud and long
The burthen of some drawling song
That grows more loud as eve grows late
Yet when he opes the clapping gate
He cant help turning in his joys
To look if his fear damping noise
Has raisd a mischief in the wind
And wakd a ghost to stalk behind
And when hes turnd them safe aground
And hookd the chain the gate around
Wi quicker speed he homward sings
And leaves them in the mushroom rings
Wi the dewdrunk dancing elves
To eat or rest as suits themselves
And as he hastes from labour done
An owlets whoop een makes him run
And bats shill flickerings bobbing near
Turns his heart blood cold wi fear
And when at home wi partner ralph
He hugs himself to think hes safe
And tells his tale while others smile
Of all he thought and feard the while
The black house bee hath ceasd to sing
And white nosd one wi out a sting
That boys will catch devoid of dread
Are in their little holes abed
And martins neath the mossey eves
Oft startld at the sparrow thieves
That in their house will often peep
Breaking their little weary sleep
And oft succeed when left alone
In making their clay huts their own
Where the cock sparrow on the scout
Watches and keeps the owner out
The geese have left the home close moats
And at the yard gate clean their coats
Or neath their feathers tuck their heads
Asleep till driven to their sheds
The pigeon droves in whisking flight
Hurrying to their coats ere night
In coveys round the village meet
And in the dove coat holes retreat
Nor more about the wheaten grounds
The bird boys bell and clapper sounds
Retiring wi the setting sun
His toil and shout and song is done
The shrill bat wi its flitting mate
Starts thro the church vaults iron grate
Deaths daily visitors and all
He meets save slanting suns that fall
At eve as if they lovd to shed
Their daily memory oer the dead
Hodge neath the climbing elms that drop
Their branches oer a dove coat top
Hath milkd his cows and taken in
On yokes the reeking pales or tin
And been across the straw to chain
The hen roost wicket safe again
And done his yard rounds hunting eggs
And taen his hat from off the peggs
To scamper to the circling cross
To have a game at pitch and toss
And day boy hath his supper got
Of milk before twas hardly hot
Eager from toil to get away
And join the boys at taw to play
Neath black smiths cinder litterd shed
Till the hour to go to bed
Old gossips on the greensward bench
Sit where the hombound milking wench
Will set her buckets down to rest
And be awhile their evening guest
To whom their box is held while she
Takes the smallest nips that be
That soon as snift begins to teaze
And makes her turn away to sneeze
While old dames say the sign is plain
That she will dream about her swain
And toss the cloaths from off her bed
And cautions her of roguish ned
Holding their hands agen their hips
To laugh as up she starts and trip
In quickend speed along the town
Bidding good night to passing clown

From the black smiths shop the swain
Jogs wi ploughshares laid again
And drops them by the stable shed
Where gears on pegs hang over head
Ready for driving boys to take
On fore horse when their toils awake
The kitchen wench wi face red hot
As blazing fire neath supper pot
Hath cleand her pails and pansions all
And set them leaning by the wall
And twirld her whool mop clean again
And hung it on the pales to drain

Now by the maids requesting smile
The shepherd mounts the wood stack pile
Reard high against the orchard pales
And cause of thorns she oft bewails
Prickd hands and holes in sunday gown
He throws the smoothest faggot down
And hawls it in at her desire
Ready for the kitching fire

Beneath the elderns village shade
Oer her well curb leans the maid
To draw the brimming bucket up
While passing boy to beg a sup
Will stop his roll or rocking cart
And the maidens gentle heart
Gives ready leave-the eager clown
Throws off his hat and stoops adown
Soaking his fill then hastens on
To catch his team already gone
Eager from toil to get release
And in the hay field feed at peace

The weary thresher leaves his barn
And emptys from his shoes the corn
That gatherd in them thro the day
And homward bends his weary way
The gardener he is sprinkling showers
From watering pans on drooping flowers
And set away his hoe and spade
While goody neath the cottage shade
Sits wi a baskett tween her knees
Ready for supper shelling peas
And cobler chatting in the town
Hath put his window shutter down
And the knowing parish clerk
Feign to do his jobs ere dark
ilath timd the church clock to the sun
And wound it up for night and done
And turud the hugh kev in the door
Chatting his evening story oer
Up the street the servant maid
Runs wi her errands long delayd
And ere the door she enters in
She stops to right a loosend pin
And smooth wi hasty fingers down
The crumpling creases in her gown
Which Rogers oggles rudly made
For may games forfeit never paid
And seizd a kiss against her will
While playing quoits upon the hill
Wi other shepherds laughing nigh
That made her shoy and hurry bye
The blacksmiths gangling toil is oer
And shut his hot shops branded door
Folding up his arms to start
And take at ease his evening quart
And farmer giles his business done
Wi face a very setting sun
Jogging home on dobbins back
From helping at the clover stack
The horse knows well nor trys to pass
The door where for his custom glass
He nightly from the saddle jumps
To slake his thirst or cheer the dumps
Leaving old dob his breath to catch
Wi bridle hanging at the latch
The shepherd too will often spare
A sixpence to be merry there
While the dog that trackd his feet
Adown the dusty printed street
Lies as one weary loath to roam
Agen the door to wait him home
While the taylors long day thirst
Is still unquenchd tho fit to burst
Whose been at truants merry play
From sheers and bodkin all the day
Still soaks the tankard reeling ripe
And scarce can stoop to light his pipe
The labourer sitting by his door
Happy that the day is oer
Is stooping downwards to unloose
His leathern baffles or his shoes
Making ready for his rest
Quickly to be the pillows guest
While on mothers lap wi in
The childern each their prayers begin
That taen from play are loath to go
And looking round repeating slow
Each prayer they stammer in delay
To gain from bed a longer stay
Goody hath set her spinning bye
Deafend by her chattering pye
That calls her up wi hungry rage
To put his supper in the cage
That done she sought a neighbours door
A minutes time to gossip oer
And neath her apron now tis night
Huddles for home, her candle light
Hid from the wind-to burn an hour
As clouds wi threatend thunder lower
The mastiff from his kennel free
Is now unchaind at liberty
In readiness to put to rout
The thieves that night may bring about
Thus evening deepning to a close
Leaves toil and nature to repose

John Clare

John Clare’s , “‘The Shepherd’s Calendar” : July’. After Edmund Spenser’s Elizabethan calendar, is the most famous ‘shepherd’s calendar’ in English verse by one of England’s greatest nature poets, John Clare (1793-1864). In Spenser’s Shepheardes Calender, July is treated as an excuse for another thinly concealed rhetoric speech with emotional conviction against Catholic priests, who are once again portrayed as “bad shepherds”, but it does contain some inventive and dexterous provocation of the July’s “cruell scortching heate” and the hard work of the herdsmen who have to toil up awkward hills in search of summer forage ::

In ‘July’, we are told, ‘Daughter of pastoral smells and sights / And sultry days and dewy nights / July resumes her yearly place / Wi her milking maiden face …’ Hot July day is characterized by oppressive heat and humidity and dewy nights . The merry year smiles on bedewed head and face. That’s her “yearly place. Milk it for all its worth. She is fresh , virtuous and with a “maiden face” : unmarried girl waiting for the remaining few more months of the year : : : :

Further Notes Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March 14 , 2023 : :

“June” ( 5 Poems ) : Sarojini Naidu : Eliza & Sara Wolcott : John Burroughs : Annette Wynne : Lottie Brown Allen : :

June Sunset

Here shall my heart find its haven of calm,
By rush-fringed rivers and rain-fed streams
That glimmer thro’ meadows of lily and palm.
Here shall my soul find its true repose
Under a sunset sky of dreams
Diaphanous, amber and rose.
The air is aglow with the glint and whirl
Of swift wild wings in their homeward flight,
Sapphire, emerald, topaz, and pearl.
Afloat in the evening light.


A brown quail cries from the tamarisk bushes,
A bulbul calls from the cassia-plume,
And thro’ the wet earth the gentian pushes
Her spikes of silvery bloom.
Where’er the foot of the bright shower passes
Fragrant and fresh delights unfold;
The wild fawns feed on the scented grasses,
Wild bees on the cactus-gold.

An ox-cart stumbles upon the rocks,
And a wistful music pursues the breeze
From a shepherd’s pipe as he gathers his flocks
Under the pipal-trees.
And a young Banjara driving her cattle
Lifts up her voice as she glitters by
In an ancient ballad of love and battle
Set to the beat of a mystic tune,
And the faint stars gleam in the eastern sky
To herald a rising moon.

– – – Sarojini Naidu

The Approach of June Or The Month Of Roses : : By Eliza And Sara Wolcott : : : : : : : : : ‘Tis blushing on through brier and thorn,
The wintry winds are still;
Now softer zephyrs waft along,
The month of June to fill.

Soft dews descend upon the flowers
And kindly rest awhile;
‘Tis sweet to wait upon these hours,
To see the roses smile.

How beautiful the charming scene,
‘Tis far surpassing art,
Like purity in heavenly mien,
Reviving to the heart.

Sweet exhalations fill the air,
While music in the grove,
Invites my pensive soul to share
In all the songs of love.

Put off thy wintry robe my soul,
Born to rejoice and sing,
Let gratitude thy lips control
In praises to your king.

The soul with innocence possess’d,
Her incense safe may bear
To Christ, whose righteousness hath bless’d
The humblest form of prayer.

Thus while the roses greet our eyes,
In all their rich perfume,
Should our prayers like incense rise,
Our summer to illume.

A tone of relief now that winter is long gone and summer weather is fast approaching; lines like “The wintry winds are still” or “Put off thy wintry robe” reveal this. Such lines like “Sweet exhalations fill the air” hint at the air being full of wonderful smells from the flowers. There’s something infatuating lurking in the poem too. : : : :

‘June’s coming’ : : by john burroughs : : : : : :: Now have come the shining days
When field and wood are robed anew,
And o’er the world a silver haze
Mingles the emerald with the blue.
Summer now doth clothe the land
In garments free from spot or stain–
The lustrous leaves, the hills untanned,
The vivid meads, the glaucous grain.

The day looks new, a coin unworn,
Freshly stamped in heavenly mint:
The sky keeps on its look of morn;
Of age and death there is no hint.

How soft the landscape near and far!
A shining veil the trees infold;
The day remembers moon and star;
A silver lining hath its gold.


Again I see the clover bloom,
And wade in grasses lush and sweet;
Again has vanished all my gloom
With daisies smiling at my feet.
Again from out the garden hives
The exodus of frenzied bees;
The humming cyclone onward drives,
Or finds repose amid the trees.

At dawn the river seems a shade–
A liquid shadow deep as space;
But when the sun the mist has laid,
A diamond shower smites its face.

The season’s tide now nears its height,
And gives to earth an aspect new;
Now every shoal is hid from sight,
With current fresh as morning dew.

“A June Is Coming”, By An American Essayist John Burroughs ( 1837 – 1921 ) : : : : : : : : : : : : : : A wonderful poem describing nature coming to life as summer approaches. The poem is full of imagery from trees blanketing the vast landscape, to bees buzzing around, to what looks like a river hidden in the shade under the trees. : : : :

A June’s Picture : By Annette Wynne

“June’s picture” : : by annette wynne : : : :. : : ::
Let me paint June’s picture—first I take some gold,
Fill the picture full of sun, all that it can hold;
Save some for the butterflies, darting all around,
And some more for buttercups here upon the ground;
Take a lot of baby-blue—this—to make the sky,
With a lot of downy white—soft clouds floating by;
Cover all the ground with green, hang it from the trees,
Sprinkle it with shiny white, neatly as you please;
So—a million daisies spring up everywhere,
Surely you can see now what is in the air!
Here’s a thread of silver—that’s a little brook
To hide in dainty places where only children look.
Next, comes something—guess—it grows
Among green hedges—it’s the rose!
Brown for a bird to sing a song,
Brown for a road to walk along.
Then add some happy children to the fields and flowers and skies,
And so you have June’s picture here before your eyes.
— Annette Wynne

Dear reader will absolutely love when a poem has a lot of imagery in it, and this one is quite literally a painting of the kind of scenery you would see. Annette Wynne pulls the colors from things like the sun, the grass, the river, the sky, etc., so you can use your imagination to picture what she was seeing when she wrote this poem. : : : :

Image via pixnio : For Educational Purposes only. : June By lottie brown allen

“June” : : by lottie brown allen : : : : : : : :. : : : : Oh what is more sweet than the month of June When our senses thrill and our hearts keep tune To the song of the birds and the rose in bloom? Oh what is more joy than the early gray Of the dewy morn and the sun’s first ray That herald the dawn of a perfect day? Oh what is more fair as the sun climbs high Than the azure hue of the summer sky And the snow-white clouds drifting idly by? Oh what is more pure than the summer air That wafts from the woodlands and gardens fair A fragrance and perfume so rich and rare? Oh what is more dear than the twilight hour When the daylight fades and each nodding flower Is kissed by the moonbeams’ mystic power? O, Summer Queen! you are gone too soon With your sunny days and your shining moon, With your golden grain and your wealth of bloom. And if we could hold in some magic way To your trailing robes for a single day, Dear month of June, we would bid you stay.

From pickmeuppoetry.org For Educational Purposes only.

“June” Poem is quite a tribute to June, but more so the entirety of summer; this could be guessed by the ending of the poem—“O, Summer Queen! you are gone too soon / With your sunny days and your shining moon, / With your golden grain and your wealth of bloom.”

June : Carl Sandburg : : June Poems : : Months Poems : :

Carl Sandburg in 1955 : Carl August Sandburg ( January 6, 1878 – July 22, 1967 ) was an American poet, biographer, journalist, and editor. He won three Pulitzer Prizes: two for his poetry and one for his biography of Abraham Lincoln. During his lifetime, Sandburg was widely regarded as “a major figure in contemporary literature”, especially for volumes of his collected verse, including Chicago Poems (1916), Cornhuskers (1918), and Smoke and Steel (1920). : : He enjoyed “unrivaled appeal as a poet in his day, perhaps because the breadth of his experiences connected him with so many strands of American life”. : : When he died in 1967, President Lyndon B. Johnson observed that “Carl Sandburg was more than the voice of America, more than the poet of its strength and genius. He was America.”: : Alma Mater : Lombard College (non-graduate ) Spaus: Lilian Steichen (m. 1908) Pulitzer Prize (1919, 1940, 1951)
Robert Frost Medal (1952) : Notable works: : Chicago Poems
The People, Yes
Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years and The War Years
Rootabaga Stories Best Poems of Carl Sandburg
Primer Lesson
Muckers
Happiness
Dream Girl
Upstairs
Goldwing Moth
Moonset
Under The Harvest Moon
Child
Losers
Upstream
Circles Of Doors
Fire-logs
The Hammer
Gone
Hydrangeas
Onion Days
Picnic Boat
Passers-by
Crimson , Sky scraper, Grass.
Long lasting colour of the Crabapple trees : Blossom & fruition in late summer. There are many varieties, but here are the best crabapple trees for colorful flowers, showy fruit, and fall foliage. In addition, crabapple trees have good disease resistance when planted in a sunny spot.
crabapple variety’s long-lasting, deep pink buds are known to open into nearly pure white flowers. Its blooms develop into abundant orange-red fruits that hang on into early winter. Adirondack’s leaves are green most of the year before turning yellow in fall.
Shutterstock/Doug Matthews : cottonwood earned its place as a landscape tree because it grows rapidly, adding up to 6 feet a year. It’s also a favorite for shade, with the large spread helping to cast cooling shade over homes and streets. often planted in parks. In the wild, cottonwood grows along rivers, ponds and other bodies of water. It also thrives in floodplains and dry riverbeds The leaves have flat stems, so they shimmer and rustle in the wind. The effect is eye-catching and distinctively attractive. The tree offers strong fall color, with leaves fading to glowing shades of gold. the cotton that helps carry seeds on the breeze can be a nuisance, especially when it sticks to window screens, blocks air conditioning units or coats a swimming pool. There’s a workaround, though. Cottonwood trees are male and female, and only the female types form seeds (and cotton). Gardening experts recommend removing cottonwood trees on residential properties.They can add 6 feet in height each year making them the fastest growing trees in North America.

June : : by Carl Sandburg : : : : Chicago Poems. 1916. : : ( 103 ) June : :

Paula is digging and shaping the loam of a salvia,
Scarlet Chinese talker of summer.
Two petals of crabapple blossom blow fallen in Paula’s
hair,
And fluff of white from a cottonwood.

— Carl Sandburg

“June” By American Poet Carl Sandburg ( January 6, 1878 Galesburg, Illinois, U.S. – July 22, 1967 July 22, 1967 :aged 89 :
Flat Rock, North Carolina, U.S. ) is About a glimpse of “summer blossoms” including “two petels of crabapple Blossom that blow fallen in Paula’s Hair”. : : The petals of Crabapple blossoms on full flowering , is of everlasting colour. Abundant semi-double deep pink blooms. . Crabapple trees light up spring landscapes with their fragrant blooms. The springtime show is followed by jewel-like fruit that attracts birds and adds pretty fall color. This crabapple variety’s long-lasting, deep pink buds are known to open into nearly pure white flowers. Its blooms develop into abundant orange-red fruits that hang on into early winter. : : There are many varieties, but here are the best crabapple trees for colorful flowers, showy fruit, and fall foliage. In addition, : : A Nature’s Gift to a Gardner Girl who cares for the Soil and wants to see the foliage and the flowers and fruition that gives joy and happiness and pleasure. “Paula is digging and shaping the loam of salvia” ( Salvia isa cosmopolitan herbs , any of plants of genus salvia. : Loam is an equal mixture of sand & clay ; likewise of pit moss & cow manure : decaying organics material used in a garden soil ) transposed to an Apple Garden and its ( change over or rebirth ) Soil , being conversed in to admixture with downside taken to layer the upside and mixed with garden pit & manure of herbs is picturised in a brief description, happening somewhere in the midwestern United States / ( Chicago ? ).: :The Poem , June ends with the line,” fluff of white from a cottonwood.” that also is blown fallen believably in Paula’s hair like that of two petals of Crabapple trees pink flower. The fastest growing , huge cotton tree is — over 100 feet tall and wide found along streams , rivers, plains and even residential settings across the North American.. They’re famous (or maybe infamous) for producing seeds attached to a cottony mass that floats on the breeze, coats any surface in their wandering way. Their look is architectural , magical and sculptural visual to the summertime visual to the landscape. : : The summer world , that John Clare depicted in a long Poem with so much of the picturesque descriptions found abundantly in Nature in the month of “June”: : What Sandburg depicts here in the poem “June” even though it is on a much smaller, more imagistic scale through the 5 / 6 lines , which is a summer show in Pink & White colours. : It is ( 103 )Poem from Sandburg’s Poems Collection , Chicago ( 1916 ) : : The basic theme of Sandburg’s “Chicago” is to celebrate the city. The poem develops several alternative names for Chicago that note its connections to industry, such as “Hog Butcher of the World” and “Stacker of Wheat.” The poem acknowledges that the city can be rough around the edges but proudly defends Chicago. : : : :

“June” , By American Poet Carl Sandburg, Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 12 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

More Than Enough : Marge Piercy : : June Poems : : Months Poems : :

Marge Piercy (born March 31, 1936 (age 86)
Detroit, Michigan ) is an American progressive activist and writer. BA, University of Michigan ; & M A from Northwestern University. : : Spouse – Ira Wood (married 1982-present) : : Her work includes Woman on the Edge of Time; He, She and It, which won the 1993 Arthur C. Clarke Award; and Gone to Soldiers, a New York Times Best Seller and a sweeping historical novel set during World War II. Piercy’s work is rooted in her Jewish heritage, Communist social and political activism, and feminist ideals. : : : : margepercy.com writes : : Marge Piercy has written 17 novels including The New York Times Bestseller Gone To Soldiers; the National Bestsellers Braided Lives and The Longings of Women; the classics Woman on the Edge of Time and He, She and It; and most recently Sex Wars. Among her 20 volumes of poetry the most recently published is On the Way Out, Turn Off the Light. Her critically acclaimed memoir is Sleeping with Cats. Born in center city Detroit, educated at the University of Michigan and Northwestern, the recipient of four honorary doctorates, she is active in antiwar, feminist and environmental causes.The Boston Globe had written, “Marge Piercy is not just an author, she’s a cultural touchstone. Few writers in modern memory have sustained her passion, and skill, for creating stories of consequence.” Her latest book of poetry is “Colors Passing Through Us” (Knopf, 2003); her new novel Sex Wars (Morrow/Harper Collins) will be out in December 2023.

More Than Enough
BY MARGE PIERCY
The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist. 5

The arrowhead is spreading its creamy
clumps of flower and the blackberries
are blooming in the thickets. Season of
joy for the bee. The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly. 10

new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads
into the wind. Rich fresh wine
of June, we stagger into you smeared
with pollen, overcome as the turtle
laying her eggs in roadside sand. 15 — Marge Piercy : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : From poetryfoundation.org : For Educational Purposes only.

“More Than Enough”, A June Poem By Marge Piercy is About Celebration of June’s arrival. It is Green for Nature for which she says, “The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly.” : It’s a pleasure to the Senses finding it’s luxuriance and voluptuousness. And we may link up again to the world and Time Of June depicted by John Clare.

spring­time has a near­ly over­whelm­ing and con­ta­gious ener­gy, cap­tur­ing the action-filled dra­ma of spring. A climbing multiflora rose is woven in celebration of June’s arrival.

Notes for each of the 3 Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March 11 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

When June is Past, The Fading Rose ( Ask me no more where Jove bestows ) : : Thomas Carew : : June Poems: : Months Poems: :

“When June is past, the fading rose.. . “
A beautiful girl with a dark hair holding Sun in her hands ; the sunrays are filtering through the space between her two palms. : : “Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day”
Singing Thrush nightingale (Luscinia luscinia) against grey background.Nnear Moscow, Russia :
“Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there,
Fixed become as in their sphere.”the
Adeptus Mechanics : A Phoenix Girl : : : : : : “The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.”

A Song: When June is past, the fading rose
BY THOMAS CAREW
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty’s orient deep
These flowers as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there,
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

“When June is Past, The Fading Rose ( Ask me no more where Jove bestows ) , A June Poem By Thomas Carew , is About beauty of the Earthward orientation is moving from nature to the body of a beautiful Woman ; and about how it never dies even in cold days of Winter. : : Each of the 5 stanzas of 4 lines Quatrains begins telling his listener / who is his lover, to stop asking a question about nature and its change in time Onwards; associated with the changing of the season from summer to winter. : The forbidden question is followed in next two lines of answer. : : Being an admirer of beauty his girl , his love holds , the Speaker wants to inform this and explain her that the beauty of the world never ceases to exist , even though it may disappear from its origins. The heavenly 🔯 starlight relocates to her eyes, the weathering flowers to her beauty and the sweet songbird nightingale to her voice. She becomes the Avatar : incarnation of such beauteous , pure and lovely constituents that have existed in the spring and post- spring summer and are carried along the cold days of Winter : : : :

Stanza 1 : : “Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 1
When June is past, the fading rose; 2
For in your beauty’s orient deep 3
These flowers as in their causes, sleep.” 4 : : lines 1 To 4 : : : :

About Not Asking anymore where the Roman God Jupiter / Zeus : “Jove” who “bestows” : ‘grants as gift’ ( to the Greeks. ). When the seasons change as said, “When June is past,” ( line 2 ) and ,” the fading rose;” disappear(s) , where does its beauty go? The Speaker tells her that the rose “Orient deep” ( line 3 ) , that is, substantiated or incarnated within her own beauty. The changeover of beauty in Nature to her humanly constituent is “caused” while the roses “sleep.” ( line 4 ) : : Her gorgeous beauty exists not according to the rules of Nature of the Earthward orientation , but has otherworldly connection and the beauty’s transcendental characteristics that follow intuititive and spiritual system in Time and Space. His girl should understand this , so that she would not have to ask the questions highlighted in the poem. : : : :

“Stanza 2 : : “Ask me no more whither doth stray 5
The golden atoms of the day; 6
For in pure love heaven did prepare 7
Those powders to enrich your hair.” 8 : : lines 5 To 8 : : : :

About Not Asking anymore where the “golden atoms of the day” go during the darker time of the Night , as stated in “whither doth stray” ( line 5 ) : Meaning ‘ To what place ( whither ) does ( doth ) drift ( stray ) away. : The straying light of the day go wandering and disappear in the night 🌃 , but will return next day. It will return as “those powders” for “enriching ( her ) dark hair.” : ( line 8 ) For in pure love heaven did prepare” ( line 7 ) : : “pure love” is a pristine quality ( clean & unused ) ; and making / keeping pure is heavenly preparations. : : : :

Stanza 3 : : “Ask me no more whither doth haste 9
The nightingale when May is past; 10
For in your sweet dividing throat 11
She winters and keeps warm her note.” 12 : : lines 9 To 12 : : : :

About Not Asking anymore “whither doth haste” : “The nightingale when May is past” ( lines 9 & 10 ) : Meaning , ‘To what place does the songbird nightingale haste ( hurriedly moved ) when May is past ‘!? What condition of urgency is necessary for making the songbird of Spring to move away in haste !? The speaker explains her that the nightingale “winters” ( line 12 ) in her “sweet dividing throat.” ( line 11 ) : that is , a songbird partakes in ( dividing ) her throat / so they both jointly use it to remain active in their singing a song of love in her sweet voice. During the days of cold , it finds guard within her body where it “keeps his /her note warm .” ( line 12 ) Thus, It is more advantageous for both for sharing the melodious note of the sweet songs in her throat. : : : :

Stanza 4 : : “Ask me no more where those stars light 13
That downwards fall in dead of night; 14
For in your eyes they sit, and there, 15
Fixed become as in their sphere.” 16 : : lines 13 To 16 : : : :

About Not Asking anymore “where those stars light falls downwards in day and night;” ( line 13 & 14 ) : : The Speaker explains her that the starlight “sit in her eyes,” ( line 15 ) and “become fixed there, as ( if ) they were in their ( new ) sphere.” ( line 16 ) : If they appear as disappeared during the dark days of Winter, their sphere of influence , the arena must have changed with their activity of providing lightness that will be in her beauteous eyes. : : : :

Stanza 5 : : “Ask me no more if east or west 17
The phoenix builds her spicy nest; 18
For unto you at last she flies, 19
And in your fragrant bosom dies.” 20 : : lines 17 To 20 : : : :

About Not Asking anymore “if The phoenix builds her spicy nest ( in ) east or west;” ( lines 17 & 18 ) : It doesn’t matter if it is east or west, where sun rises and sets in ; that the spicy nest of Phoenix is built . A riskey ( riskey ) story of reproductive act and procreation activity ( represented in the word,”spicy nest” ) is a kind of decorum suggestive of phoenix ( A legendary Arabian bird said to periodically burn itself to death and emerge from the ashes as a new Phoenix ; As per many versions , only one phoenix lived at a time and it renewed itself every 500 years. ) : The Speaker explains her that “For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.” ( lines 19 & 20 ) : Meaning , the phoenix’s dying and re-emerged birth : again and again , happens in her fragrant bosom / Chest of love . : : Thus , beauty never moves away or backward , from summer to winter, from the song of a songbird in trees of spring to the sweet voice / song of a WOMAN OF LOVE and their beauty should be appreciated in the Poetic words of Simple Tale of LOVE SONG. : : : :

When June is Past, The Fading Rose ( Ask me no more where Jove bestows ) : : Thomas Carew : : June Poem Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 10 , 2023 : : : : :

2126406047

Milan, Italy – January 24, 2022: Florence Nightingale celebrated on portuguese postage stamp.
1405518290

Florence Nightingale ( 1820 – 1910 ) Pioneer in Modern Medicine treatment / healthcure. Nurse (The lady of the lam ) Portrait from Great Britain 10 Pounds 1975-1992 Banknotes.
A depiction of a phoenix by Friedrich Justin Bertuch, (1806) :
5th-century mosaic of a nimbate phoenix from Daphne, Antioch, in Roman Syria (Louvre ) Grouping
Mythical creature
Folklore
Greek mythology
Country
Ancient Greece
In Greece, the phoenix rising from flames was the symbol of the First Hellenic Republic under Ioannis Kapodistrias, the Mountain Government and the Regime of the Colonels.
“Time and Death”, 1898 illustration by E. J. Sullivan for Sartor Resartus. The phoenix is an immortal bird associated with Greek mythology (with analogs in many cultures) that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again.[1] In the Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, a tool used by folklorists, the phoenix is classified as motif B32.
According to Harris Rackham, Pliny the Elder’s description of a phoenix in Natural History “tallies fairly closely with the golden pheasant of the Far East”

A Red, Red Rose : Robert Burns : : June Poems : : Months Poems : :

A Black and white Portrait of Robert Burns.: Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images : :
“A Red Red Rose”By Robert Burns: 4 Stanzas depicted in a Vector illustration. ( From bbc.co.uk )

A Red, Red Rose
BY ROBERT BURNS
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.

So 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 love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

“A Red Red Rose”, A June Poem of Love like a “red, red rose” is About the relationship of man to the Natural World , Everlasting or Enduring love , and the Power of Human Emotions. : : “A Red, Red Rose” is a 1794 song in Scots by Robert Burns based on traditional sources. The song is also referred to by the title “(Oh) My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” and is often published as a poem. Many composers have set Burns’ lyric to music, but it gained worldwide popularity set to the traditional tune “Low Down in the Broom” : :

Burns intended “A Red, Red Rose” to be published in Thomson’s collection ,called the Scots Musical Museum ( published in six volumes between ( 1787-1803 ). : : He , likewise, gave ( Pietro Urbani ) a simple old Scots song which he had pickt up in this country, which Urbani had promised to set in a suitable manner. Urbani was the first to press with “A Red, Red Rose” in 1794, publishing it in the second book of his anthology and coyly referred to Burns without naming him, “the words of the RED, RED ROSE were obligingly given to him by a celebrated Scots poet, Urbani began to boast of a partnership with Burns on the Scots Songs anthology. Burns called this a “damned falsehood”, and ended their friendship. Niel Gow ‘s( 1799 ) Version , & Traditional Version ( 1821 ) came into the light. Burns also contributed to George Thomson’s five-volume A Select Collection of Original Scottish Airs for the Voice (1793–1841). : : : :

The speaker / The Poet announces his intense love for another. He compares his everlasting love to a rose 🌹 : After indicating an imminent separation, the speaker concludes by insisting that His love will endure even on such separation between the lovers.

With the sentiment , emotion, and conventions of ballads , the image of a determinant lover with his unmitigated feelings , unaffected by time or distance, is conveyed. Yet, Burns transmits sadness for the lovestruck Speaker with uncontrollable Emotions. : : : :

Stanza 1 : : “O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June; 2
O my Luve is like the melody 3
That’s sweetly played in tune.” 4 : : lines 1 To 4 : : : :

About ‘metonymical expression’ of “love” which ” is like a red, red rose : That’s newly sprung in June;” ( lines 1 & 2 : Name of red, red rose 🌹 for his girl : “my love” with which it is closely related. ) : : The analogy runs poetically very high. He says in another such simile : ” my luve is like the melody : That’s sweetly played in tune.” ( lines 3 & 4 ) : : The Speaker is dignified , sober and solemn to exclaim for his love. Selection of red rose as a symbol of love, is decorous too. Red colour is ‘comely’ and ‘relator’; upwardly ‘infant’ : “newly””sprung”; repeated twice ( red, red rose ) , and its Rosy Appearance is in June’s Post Spring time when his love is developing in full bloom. His love , like a tuned melody played, is “sweetly”: that is , fresh, pleasing and charming. : : “O my luve” to open lines 1 & 3 laud his love with intensity and possession. : : : :

Stanza 2: : “So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 5
So deep in luve am I; 6
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 7
Till a’ the seas gang dry.” 8 : : lines 5 To 8 : ::

About a ‘beautiful woman’ , emphatically described in two expressions : viz. ” So fair art thou ,” & my “bonnie lass” ( line 5 ) : Meaning , very pleasing to the eye ( ” bonnie”) & a ‘young unmarried girl ( “lass” ) The Speaker wants his reader would rightly get an idea of her beauty and admirable quality , attention and respect she holds, of light haired / blonde with a fairish complexion. : : : :

Stanza 3 : :
“Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, 9
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; 10
I will love thee still, my dear, 11
While the sands o’ life shall run.” 12 : : lines 9 To 12 : : : :

About his promise to love her ‘FOREVER’. : :::

Stanza 4 : : “And fare thee weel, my only luve! 13
And fare thee weel awhile! 14
And I will come again, my luve, 15
Though it were ten thousand mile. 16 : : lines 13 To 16 : : : :

About his bidding FAREWELL and PLEDGE to return to her again in future even though “it were ten thousand mile.” ( line 16 ) : : : :

Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem in all 16 lines of 4 Stanzas. : : : : ” A Red, Red Rose By Robert Burns Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 9 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

The Echo Elf Answers : Thomas Hardy : : June Poems : : Months Poems : :

Thomas Hardy ( 1840 – 1928 ) : Photo by Downey/Getty Images : :Hardy’s long career spanned the Victorian and the modern eras. : : One of the most renowned poets and novelists in English literary history, Hardy explored through the rustic characters in many of his novels. : : : : Thomas Hardy was born in 1840 in the English village of Higher Bockhampton in the county of Dorset. He died in 1928 at Max Gate, a house he built for himself and his first wife, Emma Lavinia Gifford, in Dorchester, a few miles from his birthplace. Hardy’s youth was influenced by the musicality of his father, a stonemason and fiddler, and his mother, Jemima Hand Hardy, often described as the real guiding star of Hardy’s early life.: : From 1898 until his death in 1928 Hardy published eight volumes of poetry; about one thousand poems were published in his lifetime. Moreover, between 1903 and 1908 Hardy published The Dynasts—a huge poetic drama in 3 parts, 19 acts, and 130 scenes.: : Hardy’s lyric poetry is by far his best known, and most widely read. Incredibly influential for poets such as Robert Frost, W.H. Auden, Philip Larkin, and Donald Hall, Hardy forged a modern style that nonetheless hewed closely to poetic convention and tradition. Innovative in his use of stanza and voice, Hardy’s poetry, like his fiction, is characterized by a pervasive fatalism. In the words of biographer Claire Tomalin, the poems illuminate “the contradictions always present in Hardy, between the vulnerable, doomstruck man and the serene inhabitant of the natural world.” Hardy’s lyrics are intimately and directly connected to his life: the great poems of 1912 to 1913 were written after the death of Emma on November 27, 1912. Some of these works are dated as early as December 1912, a month after her death, and others were composed in March of the following year, after Hardy had visited St. Juliot, Cornwall, where he first met Emma. Tomalin described Emma’s death as “the moment when Thomas Hardy became a great poet,” a view shared by other recent critics. Hardy’s Emma poems, Tomalin goes on to point out, are some the “finest and strangest celebrations of the dead in English poetry.” Hardy was notorious for his relationships with younger women throughout his life, and he married Florence Dugdale, a woman almost 40 years his junior, shortly after Emma’s death. Hardy’s Emma poems, then, according to Thomas Mallon in the New York Times, are “racked with guilt and wonder.” They are poems in which he attempts to come to terms with the loss of both his wife and his love for her, many years earlier.

Though frequently described as gloomy and bitter, Hardy’s poems pay attention to the transcendent possibilities of sound, line, and breath—the musical aspects of language. As Irving Howe noted in Thomas Hardy, any “critic can, and often does, see all that is wrong with Hardy’s poetry but whatever it was that makes for his strange greatness is hard to describe.” Hardy’s poetry, perhaps even more so than his novels, has found new audiences and appreciation as contemporary scholars and critics attempt to understand his work in the context of Modernism. But Hardy has always presented scholars and critics with a contradictory body of work. : : Virginia Woolf, a visitor to Max Gate, noted some of Hardy’s enduring power as a writer: “Thus it is no mere transcript of life at a certain time and place that Hardy has given us. It is a vision of the world and of man’s lot as they revealed themselves to a powerful imagination, a profound and poetic genius, a gentle and humane soul.”

The Echo Elf Answers
THOMAS HARDY : : : :
How much shall I love her?
For life, or not long?
“Not long.”

Alas! When forget her?
In years, or by June?
“By June.”

And whom woo I after?
No one, or a throng?
“A throng.”

Of these shall I wed one
Long hence, or quite soon?
“Quite soon.”

And which will my bride be?
The right or the wrong?
“The wrong.”

And my remedy – what kind?
Wealth-wove, or earth-hewn?
“Earth-hewn.”

“The Echo Elf Answers” ,A June Poem By Thomas Hardy is About the protagonist of Thomas Hardy who will part with his love “by June”, through no fault of his own. The Poem consists of 6 Stanzas , each one of 3 lines , with 2 Questions in first two lines and the Answer in the 3 Rd line . : : : :

Notes for each of the Stanza Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March 2023 : : : : : : : :

From A Window : Charlotte Mew : : June Poems : : Months Poems : :

Charlotte Mew : Grainy Black and white Portrait : : ( 1869 – ) British writer Charlotte Mew was born in London in 1869 into a family of seven children; she was the eldest daughter. While she was still a child, three of her brothers died. Later, another brother and then a sister were committed to psychiatric hospitals, where they would spend the rest of their lives. That left only Charlotte and her sister Anne, both of whom did not choose to have children, partly in hopes of avoiding passing these traits on to any potential children. The traumatic issues Mew grappled with during her childhood—death, mental illness, loneliness, and disillusionment—became themes in her poetry and stories. : : Mew published her first work when she was in her mid- 20s. Although today she is best remembered for her poetry, she also wrote a number of short stories, including this first published work titled “Passed,” which appeared in the new journal Yellow Book, in 1894. : : she would gain her first real attention with the publication of a poem, “The Farmer’s Bride,” in the Nation in 1912. : : Mew was introduced into the world of literary community of London. Wilfred Owen, Robert Frost and Ezra Pound were familiar faces. In the famous ‘Poetry bookshop’ run in Devonshire Street in Bloomsbury, London , by proprietor & Publisher, Harold Munro who would publish Mew’s books during his time. Her Most notable are the poems “Madeleine in Church” and “The Fete,” published in the Egoist in 1914. Mew’s first collection of poetry titled The Farmer’s Bride ( 1916 ) won Mew praise most notably from Siegfried Sassoon, Sara Teasdale, Ezra Pound, Thomas Hardy, and Virginia Woolf who called Mew “the greatest living poetess.” : : In 1926, Anne was diagnosed with cancer and Charlotte took on duties of nursing her sister nearly full time. Mew gradually sank into despair after death of Anne. Becoming delusional, she entered a nursing home in 1928 for treatment, where she died by suicide later the same year. “The Rambling Sailor” in 1929 brings together her early work with her more mature and successful poetry from the teens and twenties.Humbert Wolfe wrote in ‘Observer’, “She has no tricks or graces. She is completely mistress of her instrument, but she does not use it for any but the most austere purpose. … All that she wrote had its quality of depth and stillness. No English poet had less pretensions, and few as genuine a claim to be in touch with the source of poetry.” There has been a renewed interest in Mew’s prose and poetry and a re-evaluation of her contribution to literature. In 2021 a new biography of Charlotte Mew, This Rare Spirit by Julia Copus, was released and it seems that Charlotte Mew is belatedly having her moment in the spotlight with her distinct voice which once was eclipsed by Big name of T S Eliot of her time ( Active from 1889 – 1928 ) : : the meanings associated with the different colours of the Pride flag: red for ‘life’, orange for ‘healing’, yellow for ‘sunlight’, green for ‘nature’, blue for ‘art’, violet for ‘spirit’. Today’s choice for ‘nature’ is ‘From a Window’ by Charlotte Mew.

From a Window
BY CHARLOTTE MEW
Up here, with June, the sycamore throws
Across the window a whispering screen;
I shall miss the sycamore more, I suppose,
Than anything else on this earth that is out in green.
But I mean to go through the door without fear,
Not caring much what happens here
When I’m away:—
How green the screen is across the panes
Or who goes laughing along the lanes
With my old lover all summer day.
— Charlotte Mew

“From A Window , “up here, with June” , A “whispering screen” : her own paradigm to see in to her self through an outside world of Nature; is A June Poem By Charlotte Mew which is About her vision of death at the spread and extension of Green Tree of June / summer : : The sycamore ( plane tree(s) also like Eurasian Great Mapple, African / Asiatic Mulberry Fig/ Also Biblical Sycamore – thick , buttressed with branches raised from near the ground, cluster of edible but inferior figs on short leafless twigs ) : :As seen From a Window by Charlotte Mew, while she has mulled over her own mortal state of existence, she supposes that she will miss this Sycamore more. . . Yet, Her own connotations as suggested in the poem is, “I mean to go through the door without fear, / Not caring much what happens here / When I am away .” : : She is contemplating not just viewing the fenestral display of Green Nature or leaving the house , but also ‘demise’ and ‘departure’ from her living , by ‘death’. She is pondering over the “Green screen with “Sycamore” tree “across the pane” of the glass panelling , fixed on her walled existence , yet in full use of watching the outside World. In this way, she is filling her worldview completely, alongside her heartfelt “whispering”, in a soft murmuring voice, perhaps from her memory which is also her emotional strength. : : : :

Her thoughts on her going “away without fear” or “caring”, that is ‘departure’ or ‘demise’ should involve the timing checks and such measures to control. Yet she would not wish to control with any restricting measures from her side as she is ready for her departure from the scene. Care is a cause of feeling for concern and anxiousness. Yet , she has said, “I mean to go through the door without fear,
Not caring much what happens here
When I’m away:—” : : : : : : : : : Should anyone feel for any thoughtful sadness !? Especially , when she says in the next line, “How green the screen is across the panes” : “A whispering screen .. . Sycamore’s Green” has thrown out.. . ! ? It appears, she wants to throw herself along all memories and with full energy to go forward. : : Yes, there is one more memory that emerges and she merely mentions in last two lines , saying,” Or who goes laughing along the lanes
With my old lover all summer day. ” : : : : Her previous lover is laughing along the lanes. : : : : Do you want to believe , dear reader , if this “lover along the lanes” would successfully deride her from her pathway with his ridiculous laughter that she could hear faintly. The answer is Definitely, ” No”. Because she has deliberately and firmly chosen the loss of measures to control and for restrictions. : : She speaks about “pane” and has intentionally not about ‘pain”. : : She has merely by mentioning the same, revealed her commitment to go away with ensuring meaningfully to go through the door without fear,
Not caring much what happens here
When I’m away:— : : : : : : : : : : She “shall miss the sycamore more,” She supposes,
“Than anything else on this earth that is out in green.” : : As a matter of fact , Only one thing she will definitely miss MORE , and that is The Green Tree Of ” Sycamore ” Green is associated for Nature. For Mew this Green is “From A Window” : : : :

“From A Window” , A June Poem By Charlotte Mew Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 7 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

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