Arthur Hughes, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
I want to introduce a lot of modern poetry but am constrained by the copyright rules and, due to lack of time, I am not able to do much at present.
I expect to be less busy in the near future.
This is one of my poems contemplating the turnings of the year and remembrance of times past:
Seasons
Spring brings hope, the ancient theme
Life awakes as Nature’s scheme.
Time to plan for you and me
Before us now our time to be.
Days of Summer, days so long
Underlined by love’s sweet song.
Such joy to have you in my life
Lucky me you became my wife.
Autumns’ days, the trees are weeping.
Silent solitude, softly seeping,
Leaves drift down upon the stream
Thoughts return of loves’ young dream.
Winter chills; the wind is sighing.
All around the World is dying.
Wrap up close and hold me so
As you did in the long ago.
I had known this as a favourite song and was surprised to find that the words are by Robert Burns.
Flow gently sweet Afton
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro’ the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary’s sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green vallies below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild ev’ning leaps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy chrystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Gillygangle 2026
