Poetry Friday 28

I am continuing the Winter theme again this week, so I would like to share the following poems with you.

The Frost

The frost looked forth on a still, chill night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height
I'll silently take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they!"

He flew up, and powered the mountain's crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls; -- and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A bright coat of mail, that it need not fear
The glittering point of many a spear
That hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock was rearing its head

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy crept;
Wherever he breathed -- wherever he stepped --
Most beautiful things were seen
By morning's first light! There were flowers and trees,
With bevies of birds and swarms of bright bees;
There were cities -- temples, and towers; and these
All pictured in silvery sheen!

But one thing he did that was hardly fair --
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That none had remembered for him to prepare,
"Now just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he
"This burly old pitcher -- I'll burst it in three!
And the glass with the water they've left for me
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

Hanna Flagg Gould


The following two poems are by Robert Louis Stevenson and come from A Child's Garden of Verses and Underwoods.

Windy Nights

WHENEVER the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.


Picture Books in Winter

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?