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Tag Archives: lyrical poem

Welcoming the new season: ‘Autumn’ , a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

13 Thursday Oct 2016

Posted by meappropriatestyle in poems, poetry

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'Autumn' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, autumn leaves, autumn poems, lyrical poem, poem about the fall season, poems, poetry, symbolism in poetry, visually evocative poem

 

A poem which evokes a dynamic visual of

the colour rich Fall season …

autumn-leaves-gold

(image from shutterstock)

 

 

 

Autumn

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882)

 

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!
Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven’s o’er-hanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

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Of an inifinite nature: ‘Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep’ a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by meappropriatestyle in poems, poetry

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'Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep' by Mary Elizabeth Frye, contemplative poetry, Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep"- poem, emotive poem, lyrical poem, poems, poetry

 

 

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

is a well-known poem of emotive sentiment.

First appearing circa 1932,

its authorship remained for many decades

a mystery.

 

In the late 1990s,

it was substantiated that

housewife Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004)

had penned the poem.

 

 

It is the only poem written by Ms. Frye.

 

 

Of lyrical beauty

the poem gently reminds, that though

our corporeal self is of finite duration

our essence of self is omnipresent

forever cherished / remembered by those who hold us dear.

 

 

…

 

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

 

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

 

 

 

image, Soft-flower-field image by tanjatingcom

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

 

…

(image from tanjating.com)

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Of an old refrain: peace on earth, good-will to men

25 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by meappropriatestyle in poems, poetry

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"Christmas Bells", Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, lyrical poem

Christmas Bells

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 – 1882
Poet.  Educator.

 I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day

Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

…

One of my favourite holiday poems, set to music in 1872

by the composer Jean Baptiste Calkin.

…

(image from flickr.com)

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Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden

16 Wednesday Oct 2013

Posted by meappropriatestyle in poetry

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emotive poem, Funeral Blues, lyrical poem, poems, poet, W. H. Auden

Somber.   Lyrical.   Emotive.

Funeral Blues

by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

O the valley in the summer where I and my John
Beside the deep river would walk on and on
While the flowers at our feet and the birds up above
Argued so sweetly on reciprocal love,
And I leaned on his shoulder; ‘O Johnny, let’s play’:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O that Friday near Christmas as I well recall
When we went to the Charity Matinee Ball,
The floor was so smooth and the band was so loud
And Johnny so handsome I felt so proud;
‘Squeeze me tighter, dear Johnny, let’s dance till it’s day’:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

Shall I ever forget at the Grand Opera
When music poured out of each wonderful star?
Diamonds and pearls they hung dazzling down
Over each silver and golden silk gown;
‘O John I’m in heaven,’ I whispered to say:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O but he was fair as a garden in flower,
As slender and tall as the great Eiffel Tower,
When the waltz throbbed out on the long promenade
O his eyes and his smile they went straight to my heart;
‘O marry me, Johnny, I’ll love and obey’:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O last night I dreamed of you, Johnny, my lover,
You’d the sun on one arm and the moon on the other,
The sea it was blue and the grass it was green,
Every star rattled a round tambourine;
Ten thousand miles deep in a pit there I lay:
But you frowned like thunder and you went away.

…

(image from bbc.co.uk):

W. H. Auden, 1907 – 1973

…

Listen to a brief excerpt, finishing at end of fourth stanza:

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