Practising The 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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Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• November by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Mutation by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Love and Folly by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• June by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• William Cullen Bryant – William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Hymn To Death by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Hymn of the City by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Consumption by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• After a Tempest by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• A Song of Pitcairn’s Island by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• A Forest Hymn by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• William Henry Davies by Fledermaus
• The Example by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• The Dark Hour by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• The Child and the Mariner by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• The Boy by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• The Bird of Paradise by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• The Best Friend by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies
• Sweet Stay-at-Home by William Henry Davies by William Henry Davies

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Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

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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