GENTLE SPRING

GENTLE SPRING ! ~ in sunshine clad.
     Well dost thou thy power display !
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
     And thou, ~ thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain,
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
     When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
     Their beards of icicles and snow ;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
     We must cower over the embers low ;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
     When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
     Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud ;
But, Heaven he praised, they step is nigh ;
     Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly.
Who has toiled for nouht both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
     When thy merry step draws near.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Feb. 27, 1807 - Mar. 24, 1882) American poet.

WIND AND WINDOW FLOWER

Lovers, forget your love,
  And list to the love of these.
She a window flower,
  And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veil
  Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
  Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane
  He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
  To come again at dark.

He was a winter wind,
  Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
  And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,
  He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
  Who lay that night awake.

Perchance he half prevailed
  To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
  And warm stove-window light.

But the flower leaned aside
  And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
  A hundred miles away.

~ Robert Frost

The Secret of The Sea

AH!  what pleasant visions haunt me
     As I gaze upon the sea !
All the old romantic legends,
     All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,
     Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailers,
     And the answer from the shore !

Most of all, the Spanish ballad
     Haunts me oft, and tarries long,
Of the noble Count Arnaldos
     And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea-beach,
     Where the sand as silver shines,
With a soft monotonous cadence,
     Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ;-

Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
     With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley,
     Steering onward to the land ;-

How he heard the ancient helmsman
     Cant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
     Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,
     And he cried with impulse strong, --
     "Helmsman ! for the love of heaven,
     Teach me, too, that wondrous song !"

"Wouldst thou," so the helmsman answered,
     "Learn the secrets of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
     Comprehend its mystery !"

In each sail that skims the horizon,
     In each landward-blowing breeze,
I behold that stately galley,
     Hear those mournful melodies ;

Till my soul is full of longing
     For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
     Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Feb. 27, 1807 - Mar. 24, 1882) American Poet,
THE POETICAL WORKS OF LONGFELLOW, Frederick Warne & Co.


[Secret of this sea is a photo of Lake Erie.]

THE TABLES TURNED

Up!  up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double;
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening luster mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books!  'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music!  on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark!  how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher;
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless ~
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things ~
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

~ William Wordsworth, English poet (1770 - 1850) Selected Poems, 1993 Gramercy Books

Gables of Cayuga Hotel Visible - To be Demolished for New Library

 

Hwy 3 & Cayuga Street Intersection ~ Contrast this with Current Location of Library in Village Green

Many of us attended an Open House regarding the proposed new Cayuga branch of the library.  The services and the architecture were discussed.  The resulting location on Highway 3 was not part of the public discussion that we can recall.  Compare the chosen - done deal - future location with the current location in the quiet Village Green.


Village Green

Cayuga Branch Haldimand Public Library in Village Green



Riverfront One Block From Village Green

Haldimand County Council has slated the landmark Cayuga Hotel for demolition for fall, 2016, with the planned new Cayuga Library to begin in the spring.  Unlike Cayuga's current library (see below) set in the quiet Village Green, the new library will be within feet of busy Highway 3, specifically at the intersection of Hwy. 3 and Cayuga Street.



Many of us disagree with relocating the library in Highway 3 intersection.  It is a done-deal.

Village Green

This summer we had crosswalks, sidewalks, streets w/asphalt, hanging plants, planters.  We retained our green space in the Village Green!  We have a proper bridge aligned with the highway. 

New Bridge Looking West

 

Talbot St. Looking West Toward The Bookshop & Bridge

"Places of nestling green for Poets made."  ~ Story of Rimini

I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Their scantly leav'd, and finely tapering stems,
Had not yet lost those starry diadems
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly they slept
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves :
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green.
There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye,
To peer about upon variety ;
Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim,
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ;
To picture out the quaint, and curious bending
Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending ;
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.
I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free
As though the fanning wings of Mercury
Had play'd upon my heels:  I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started ;
So I straightway began to pluck a posey
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.

~ John Keats (1795 - 1821) English romantic poet.  POETICAL WORKS OF KEATS,  Edited by H. Buxton Forman, C.B.  HUMPHREY MILFORD, OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, Great Britain. First published in 1908, reprinted...1940.

How easy to work with birds singing and sunshine! [View from my desk]

THE TREE

I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the truth of things unseen before;
Of Daphne and the laurel bow
And that god-feasting couple old
That grew elm-oak amid the wold.
'Twas not until the gods had been
Kindly entreated, and been brought within
Unto the hearth of their heart's home
That they might do this wonder thing:
Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood
And many a new thing understood
That was rank folly to my head before.

~ Ezra Pound ( b.1885 - 1972) American poet, author, critic.

The Flowers

ALL the names I know from nurse;
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames ~
These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Nature is what we see,

The Hill, the Afternoon, 

Squirrel, Eclipise, the Bumble-bee,

Nay – Nature is Heaven.

Nature is what we hear,

The Bobolink, the Sea, 

Thunder, the Cricket 

Nay, - Nature is Harmony.

Nature is what we know

But have no art to say.

So impotent our wisdom is

To Her simplicity.

~ Emily Dickinson

A THING OF BEAUTY

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching:  yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

~ JOHN KEATS (1795 - 1821) English romantic poet

The Oak Tree

A mighty wind blew night and day.

It stole the oak tree's leaves away,

Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark

Until the oak was tired and stark.

But still the oak tree held its ground

While other trees fell all around.

The weary wind gave up and spoke,

"How can you still be standing, Oak?

The oak tree said, "I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two,

Carry every leaf away,

Shake my limbs, and make me sway.

But I have roots sstretched in the earth,

Growing stronger since my birth.

"You'll never touch them, for you see,

They are the deepest part of me.

Until today, I wasn't sure
Of just how much I could endure
But now I've found, with thanks to you
I'm stronger than I ever knew.

~ Johnny Ray Ryder Jr.

The Heritage Grand River

I'll walk where my own nature would be leading ~
It vexes me to choose another guide ~
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding,
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain-side.

~Emily Bronte [1818 - 1848] Often Rebuked.  Stanza 4

No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
~ from James Russell Lowell

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I~
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference/

~ Robert Frost

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed

Their snow-white blossoms on my head,

With brightest sunshine round me spread

Of Spring's unclouded weather

In this sequestered nook how sweet

To sit upon my orchard seat,

And birds and flowers once more to greet,

My last year's friends together.

~ William Wordsworth

~ Wm. Wordsworth, English Romantic Poet (April 7, 1770 - April 23, 1850)

ME
As long as I live
I shall always be
My Self--and no other,
Just me.

Like a tree,
Willow, elder,
Aspen, thorn,
Or cypress forlorn.

Like a flower,
For its hour--
Primrose, or pink,
Or a violet--
Sunned by the sun,
And with dewdrops wet.

Always just me.

~Walter de la Mare (April 25, 1873 - June 22, 1956)  English poet, novelist best known for his work for children.

Happy Earth Day ~