A swarm of bees in July is not worth a fly. Is she on a vacation - Who knows where did she go? Tell, what was she wearing; A zephyr breeze and rosebud Or grass and wild berry? Could she be honeymooning With spring or early fall Or has she gone so far away She'll not return at all?
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing; And I have loved you all too long and well To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring. Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes, I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums, That you may hail anew the bird and rose When I come back to you, as summer comes. Else will you seek, at some not distant time, Even your summer in another clime.
O harvest of my lands! O boundless summer growths!
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O lavish, brown, parturient earth! O infinite, teeming womb! A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee. Have you nothing for me? And what with the dawn of night began With the dusk of day was done; For that is the way of woman and man, When a hazard has made them one. Arc upon arc, from shade to shine, The World went thundering free; And what was his errand but hers and mine -- The lords of him, I and she?
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one. Foss, Summer Rain. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips. Garofalo, Cuttings. Summer's warmth is in them still. Good my friend Now is there silence through the summer woods, In whose green depths and lawny solitudes The light is dreaming; voicings clear ascend Now from no hollow where glad rivulets wend, But murmurings low of inarticulate moods, Softer than stir of unfledged cushat broods, Breathe, till o'er drowsed the heavy flower-heads bend.
Now sleep the crystal and heart-charmed waves Round white, sunstricken rocks the noontide long, Or 'mid the coolness of dim lighted caves Sway in a trance of vague deliciousness; And I,--I am too deep in joy's excess For the imperfect impulse of a song. After night comes the dawn. And after every storm, there comes clear, open skies. Oh, where's Polly? It was the fifth month in the early calendar of the ancient Romans. Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springth the wude nu, Sing cuccu!
And then I wondered why this mad instead Perverts our praise to uncreation, why Such savour's in this wrenching things awry. Does sense so stale that it must needs derange The world to know it? To a praiseful eye Should it not be enough of fresh and strange That trees grow green, and moles can course in clay, And sparrows sweep the ceiling of our day?
It makes you happy to be alive, doesn't it? We can't let the sun outshine us! We have to beam, too! No kin they bear to labour's drudgery, Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose; And where they fly for dinner no one knows-- The dew-drops feed them not--they love the shine Of noon, whose sun may bring them golden wine. All day they're playing in their Sunday dress-- Till night goes sleep, and they can do no less; Then, to the heath bell's silken hood they fly, And like to princes in their slumbers lie, Secure from night, and dropping dews, and all, In silken beds and roomy painted hall.
So merrily they spend their summer day, Now in the cornfields, now the new-mown hay. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again Half-past eight and there is not a spot Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown That might turn out a man or woman, not A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.
I have what every poet hates in spite Of all the solemn talk of contemplation. Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight Of being king and government and nation. A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king Of banks and stones and every blooming thing. Upon a southward-facing wall I bask, and feel my juices dimly fed And mellowing, while my bloom comes golden grey: Keep the wasps from me! O for an iceberg or two at control! O for a vale that at midday the dew cumbers!
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O for a pleasure trip up to the pole! The purple of it all. O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of pain! Forever and forever shalt thou be To some the gravestone of a dead delight, To some the landmark of a new domain. The summer of a dormouse. The game begins in the spring, when everything is new again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains comes, it stops, and leaves you to face the fall alone. Press close, magnetic, nourishing Night!
Night of south winds! Night of the large, few stars! Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night! I have observed, for example, that we all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summertime and the poor get it in the winter. I know the realms where people say The flowers have not their fellow; I know where they shine out like suns, The crimson and the yellow.
I know where ladies live enchained In luxury's silken fetters, And flowers as bright as glittering gems Are used for written letters. But ne'er was flower so fair as this, In modern days or olden; It groweth on its nodding stem Like to a garland golden. Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new - created in all the freshness of childhood. Springtime for birth, Summertime for growth; and all Seasons fo the summer sun - reason enough to plod ahead.
Springtime flows in our veins. Beauty is the Mistress, the gardener Her salve. A soul is colored Spring green. Complexity is closer to the truth. All metaphors aside - only living beings rise up in the Springtime; dead beings stay quite lie down dead.
Fresh fruit from the tree - sweet summertime! Gardens are demanding pets. Shade was the first shelter. When the Divine knocks, don't send a prophet to the door. One spring and one summer to know life's hope; one autumn and one winter to know life's fate. Somehow, someway, everything gets eaten up, someday. Relax and be still around the bees. Paradise and shade are close relatives on a summer day.
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Absolutes squirm beneath realities. To garden is to open your heart to the sky. Dirty fingernails and a calloused palm precede a Green Thumb. Garofalo, Pulling Onions. The sun is a smouldering fire, That creeps through the high gray plain, And leaves not a bush of cloud To blossom with flowers of rain. The sun is a wounded deer, That treads pale grass in the skies, Shaking his golden horns, Flashing his baleful eyes. The sun is an eagle old, There in the windless west. We continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, May 1, Bible verse For May, Sing to God, you kingdoms of the earth. Sing praises to the Lord. Sing to the one who rides across the ancient heavens, his mighty voice thundering from the sky. Tell everyone about God's power.
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His majesty shines down on Israel; his strength is mighty in the heavens. Monday, April 1, Bible verse for April, How great is our Lord! His power is absolute!
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His understanding is beyond comprehension! The LORD supports the humble, but he brings the wicked down into the dust. Friday, March 1, Bible verse For March, Everyone will praise him! His righteousness will be like a garden in early spring, with plants springing up everywhere.
Isaiah Friday, February 1, Bible verse for February, I cried out, "I am slipping! Tuesday, January 1, Bible verse for January, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! Saturday, December 1, Bible verse for December, He was with God in the beginning.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. John and Thursday, November 1, Bible verse for November, I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints.