Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
Robert Louis Stevenson
Why did you come when the trees were bare? Why did you come with the wintry air? When the faint note dies in the robin’s throat, And the gables drip and the white flakes float?
What a strange, strange season to choose to come, When the heavens are blind and the earth is dumb: When nought is left living to dirge the dead, And even the snowdrop keeps its bed!
Could you not come when woods are green? Could you not come when lambs are seen? When the primrose laughs from its childlike sleep, And the violets hide and the bluebells peep?
When the air as your breath is sweet, and skies Have all but the soul of your limpid eyes, And the year, growing confident day by day, Weans lusty June from the breast of May?
Yet had you come then, the lark had lent In vain his music, the thorn its scent, In vain the woodbine budded, in vain The rippling smile of the April rain.
Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush, And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush, And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known That the glow of your beauty outshone its own.
So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves ‘twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.
Alfred Austin (1835 – 1913)
An English poet and journalist who succeeded Alfred, Lord Tennyson, as poet laureate. His acerbic criticism and jingoistic verse in the 1870s led Robert Browning to dismiss him as a “Banjo-Byron,” and his appointment to the laureateship in 1896 was much mocked. He also published a series of stiff verse dramas, some novels, and a good deal of lyrical but very minor nature poetry. A patriotic poet of the most confident phase of the British Empire, his work lacked the resonance of Rudyard Kipling’s. (Annotated biography courtesy of Encyclopedia Britannica, with edits.)
Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle, All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain Fly as thick as driving rain; And ever again, in the wink of an eye, Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And there is the green for stringing the daisies! Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill and there is a river: Each a glimpse and gone for ever!
A cup of tea for you and me Is truly something special
Enjoy the time the morning shine Or afternoon splendor Something’s in life are meant to be so simple with much pleasure So enjoy your time and drink your tea and think of something special!
If it should be, that I grow frail and weak, And pain should keep me from my sleep, Then, you must do what must be done For this, the last battle, can’t be won. Don’t let your grief stay your hand, For this day more than the rest, Your love and friendship stand the test. We’ve had so many years, What is to come can hold no fear. You’d not want me to suffer, so When the time comes, please let me go. Take me where my needs they’ll tend, Only, stay with me to the end And hold me firm and speak to me Until my eyes no longer see. I know in time you’ll see it is a kindness you do for me Although my tail its last has waved, From pain and suffering I’ve been saved. Don’t grieve it should be you who this thing decides to do. We’ve been so close, we two, these years, Don’t let your heart hold tears. Smile, for we walked together for awhile.
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