Practising Anthem

A summer wind blows through the open porch,

And, ‘neath the rustling eaves,

A summer light of moonrise, calm and pale,

Shines through a vale of leaves.

The soft gusts bring a scent of summer flowers,

Fresh with the falling dew,

And round the doorway, glimmering white as snow,

The tender petals strew.

Clear through the silence, from a reedy pool

The curlew’s whistle thrills;

A lonely mopoke sorrowfully cries

From the far-folding hills.

O lovely night, and yet so sad and strange!

My fingers touch the key;

And down the empty church my Christmas song

Goes ringing, glad and free.

Each sweet note knocks at dreaming memory’s door,

And memory wakes in pain;

The spectral faces she had turn’d away

Come crowding in again.

The air seems full of music all around-

I know not what I hear,

The multitudinous echoes of the past,

Or these few voices near.

Ah me! the dim aisle vaguely widens out,

I see me stand therein;

A glory of grey sculpture takes the light

A winter morn brings in.

No more I smell the fragrant jessamine flowers

That flake a moonlit floor;

The rustling night-breeze and the open porch

I hear and see no more.

Great solemn windows, down a long, long nave

Their shadow’d rainbows fling;

Dark Purbeck shafts, with hoary capitals,

In carven archways spring.

And overhead the throbbing organ waves

Roll in one mighty sea,

Bearing the song the herald angels sang

Of Christ’s nativity.

Dear hands touch mine beneath the open book,

Sweet eyes look in my face,-

They smile, they melt in darkness; I am snatch’d

From my familiar place.

The summer night-wind blows upon my tears;

Its flowery scent is pain.

O cold, white day! O noble minster-when

May I come back again!

To hear the angels’ anthem shake the air,

Where never discord jars,-

The Christmas carols in the windy street,

Under the frosty stars;

The dream-like falling from the still, grey skies,

With falling flakes of snow,

Of mellow chimes from old cathedral bells,

Solemn and sweet and slow.

To hear loved footsteps beating time with mine

Along the churchyard path,-

To see that ring of faces once again

Drawn round the blazing hearth.

When may I come? O Lord, when may I go?

Nay, I must wait Thy will.

Give patience, Lord, and in Thine own best way

My hopes and prayers fulfil.

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Poems in English 

• I’ll go and be a Sodger by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Halloween by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Green Grow The Rashes by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fragment on Sensibility by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fragment of Song—The Night was Still by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fragment of Song—“My Jean!” by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fragment—Her Flwoing Locks by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• For a’ that and a’ that by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fickle Fortune: A Fragment by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Fareweel To A’Our Scottish Fame by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Extempore Reply to an Invitation by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Extempore on some commemorations of Thomson by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Extempore in the Court of Session by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed to an Excise Division by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Esteem for Chloris by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Epitaph on Wm. Graham, Esq., of Mossknowe by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Epitaph on William Muir by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Epitaph on William Hood, Senior by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Epitaph on “Wee Johnnie” by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Epitaph on the same by Robert Burns by Robert Burns

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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