John's Quiet Corner

2011-05-09T08:00:00.001+01:00

Cherry Ripe, by John Everett Millais

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CHILDREN
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Come to me, O ye children,
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,

That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.

Come to me, O ye children,
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said,
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.

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Bubbles, by John Everett Millais

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Last week's post was the one hundredth to John's Quiet Corner and today's post brings the series to an end.
Perhaps regular followers of Quiet Corner will find things of interest in some of my other blogs.

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2011-05-02T08:00:00.002+01:00

The Garden at Bayou Bend, Houston, Texas

If it's drama that you sigh for, plant a garden and you'll get it.
You will know the thrill of battle, fighting foes that will beset it.
If you long for entertainment and for pageantry most glowing,
Plant a garden and this summer spend your time with green things growing. (Edward A. Guest)

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What is so sweet and dear
As a prosperous morn in May,
The confident prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing that asks for bliss,
Asking aright, is denied,
And half of the world a bridegroom is,
And half of the world a bride? (William Watson)

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The Garden at Schönbrunn Palace, Vienna

The world's favourite season is the spring.
All things seem possible in May. (Edwin Way Teale)

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'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume:
There's crimson buds, and white and blue,
The very rainbow showers
Have turned to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers. (Thomas Hood)

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The Japanese Garden at the Devonian Botanical Gardens, Edmonton, Alberta

Be like a flower and turn your face to the sun. (Kahlil Gibran)

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Thanks to "Public Domain Photos and Images" for the photographs
http://public-domain-images.blogspot.com

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Now online "Let's Hear That Song Again!" - http://letshearthatsongagain.blogspot.com
and starting on Wednesday
"That Was Another Good Read!" (Great Moments from Classic Fiction) http://thatwasanothergoodread.blogspot.com

2011-04-25T08:00:00.001+01:00

"Bird on a Branch"
12th century silk painting by Li Anzhong

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Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, “I love and I love!”
In the winter they’re silent - the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don’t know, but it sings a loud song,
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving - all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
Then he sings and he sings, and for ever sings he -
“I love my Love, and my Love loves me.”
(Samuel Taylor Coleridge 1772-1834)

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Down in the forest something stirred
So faint that I scarcely heard,
But the forest leapt at the sound,
Like a good ship homeward bound.
Down in the forest something stirred,
It was only the song of a bird.
(Harold Simpson ?)

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All through the night there’s a little brown bird singing,
Singing in the hush of the darkness and the dew.
Would that his song through the stillness could go winging
To you.

All through the night-time my lonely heart is singing
Sweeter songs of love than the brown bird ever knew.
Would that the song of my heart could go winging
To you.
(Harry Rodney Bennett 1890-1948 , under the pseudonym Royden Barrie)

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Finally, this little video lasts only 28 seconds. When I found it, I kept playing it again and again.

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2011-04-18T08:04:00.001+01:00

Here are two verses from “A Garden Song” by Henry Austin Dobson

Here, in this sequestered close,
Bloom the hyacinth and rose;
Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Here, without a pang, one sees
Ranks, conditions, and degrees.

Here, in alleys cool and green,
Far ahead the thrush is seen;
Here along the southern wall
Keeps the bee his festival;
All is quiet else-afar
Sounds of toil and turmoil are.

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Dove Cottage, Grasmere where William Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy lived.

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Wordsworth wrote this poem just before they were leaving home for a few months.

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Sweet Garden-orchard! of all spots that are
The loveliest surely man hath ever found.
Farewell! we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care.
Thee and the cottage which thou dost surround -

Dear Spot! whom we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own -

O happy Garden! loved for hours of sleep,
O quiet Garden! loved for waking hours.
For soft half-slumbers that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers -

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This photo was taken some years ago in the gardens of Brodick Castle

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Because of continued interest being shown in my JOHN'S GALLERY blog, I intend to add more paintings to the site beginning this Saturday.
The address is - http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

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2011-04-11T08:04:00.000+01:00

One day a friend called on Michelangelo and found him busy at the final stages of a statue he had been working on.

A week or so later he returned and, finding the sculptor at the same task, said “It appears that you have been idle since I was last here.”

“Indeed, no,” was the answer, “I’ve retouched this part, I’ve polished that part, I’ve softened this feature, I’ve brought out that muscle and I’ve given more expression to the lower lip.”

“But surely all these things are just trifles?” said his friend.

“Perhaps so,” Michelangelo replied, “But trifles make perfection and perfection is no trifle.”

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This short slide show "Victorian Ladies" is a compilation old photographs and paintings.

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Finally, some good advice from Sam Levinson -

For attractive lips,
Speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes,
Seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure,
Share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair,
Let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.
For poise,
Walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.
People, even more than things,
Have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed,
And redeemed; never throw out anyone.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand,
You will find one at the end of each of your arms.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands;
One for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

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2011-04-04T08:02:00.000+01:00

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Bird’s Nest by John Clare 1793-1864

‘Tis spring, warm glows the south,
Chaffinch cherries the moss in his mouth
To filbert hedges all day long,
And charms the poet with his beautiful song;
The wind blows bleak o’er the sedgy fen,
But warm the sun shines by the little wood,
Where the old cow at her leisure chews her cud.

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Spring by the Pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais 1829-1896

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The theme of spring continues with this colourful video.
Music by Dmitri Shostakovitch 1906-1975

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Because of increased interest in my Pre-Raphaelite blog, I have been planning a fourth series and this will begin on Wednesday 6th April
http://myownselection.blogspot.com

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2011-03-28T08:02:00.000+01:00

Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp,

but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

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[thanks to http://www.freefoto.com for this photograph]

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To a Butterfly
by
William Wordsworth

I’ve watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! Indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

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An Irish Blessing

May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun
And find your shoulder to light on,
To bring you luck, happiness and riches
Today, tomorrow and beyond.

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MONDAY 21ST MARCH

2011-03-19T20:08:00.010Z

A Field of Lavender
[with thanks to FreeFoto.com]

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And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
Shall be, ere awhile, in arid bundles bound
To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,
And crown her kerchiefs with mickle rare perfume.
(William Shenstone from “The Schoolmistress” 1742)

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Here’s your sweet lavender,
Sixteen sprigs a penny,
That you’ll find my ladies
Will smell as sweet as any.
(London lavender seller’s cry 1900)

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A Lavender Farm at Hokkaido, Japan

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Lavender, sweet lavender;
Come and buy my lavender,
Hide it in your trousseau, lady fair.
Let its lovely fragrance flow
Over you from head to toe,
Lightening your eyes, your cheek, your hair.
(Cumberland Clark - Flower Song Book 1929)

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The well-known song "Lavender's Blue, dilly dilly" dates from the 17th century. There are around 30 verses to the song and there are many variations to the words. However, there's just one verse in a children's book "Songs for the Nursery" which was published in 1805 and here are the words -

Lavender blue and Rosemary green,
When I am king you shall be queen;
Call up my maids at four o'clock,
Some to the wheel and some to the rock,
Some to make hay and some to shear corn,
And you and I will keep the bed warm.

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The music here was composed by Nigel Hess for the film "Ladies in Lavender." The violinist is Joshua Bell and the video was devised by "xyCuriosityxy"

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Norman tells me that there are 152 million blogs worldwide. He invites you to join him at the new blog COME SURF THE NET when it begins on Saturday 26th March
http://comesurfthenet.blogspot.com

Thanks to http://www.graphicshunt.com for the cartoon image

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2011-03-14T08:02:00.000Z

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The Selfsame Song

A bird sings the selfsame song,
With never a fault in its flow,
That we listened to here those long
Long years ago.

A pleasing marvel is how
A strain of such rapturous rote
Should have gone on thus till now
Unchanged in a note!

But it’s not the selfsame bird.
No, perished to dust is he. . . .
As also are those who heard
That song with me. (Thomas Hardy)

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A Bouquet of Flowers by William Arthur Breakspeare

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In this video Francesco Libetta plays the Pizzicato Polka (Sylvia) by Leo Délibes.
Notice how he plays much of the main theme with one finger!

Norman the Nerd says, “Hallo again! Did you know that 21.4 million new websites were added during 2010?”

The new blog COME SURF THE NET beginning on 26th March looks at just a few of the many interesting and fascinating sites. The address is - http://comesurfthenet.blogspot.com

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Thanks to http://www.graphicshunt.com for the cartoon image

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2011-03-07T08:02:00.000Z

Some wise words from Sweden . . . .

Fear less, hope more.
Whine less, breathe more.
Talk less, say more.
Hate less, love more,
And all good things are yours.

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Something different . . . .

Painted by the Chinese artist Huang Quan 903-965

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A short story . . . .

Once upon a time a rich man had planned a great banquet to celebrate a military victory. However only one thing threatened the success of the meal; because of severe storms at sea, no boat had been able to set sail, and so there wasn’t a fish to be had anywhere in the whole area.

Early in the morning of the great day, an old fisherman appeared at the gate carrying an enormous fish, big enough to feed the whole company. The rich man was delighted and told the old fellow to name his price, and promised to give him anything he wanted.

“My price is one hundred lashes on my bare back,” was the answer, “and unless you give that, I won’t give you the fish!”

Of course the rich man was astonished at this, but the fisherman insisted, and so a servant was ordered to administer the flogging.

When fifty lashes had been given, the old man said, “Stop there! I have a partner in my work, and it’s only fair that he should have his share.”

“All right,” said the rich man, “And where is he?”

“He’s at your gate,” was the reply, “He’s your porter - he wouldn’t let me in, till I promised that he should have half of whatever I got for the fish.”

So the porter was summoned and, somewhat bewildered, received his fifty lashes.

As the fisherman turned to leave, the rich man called him back and gave him fifty gold coins.

There should be a moral in this tale somewhere, but I’m not sure what it is!

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This music here is “Gabriel’s Oboe” by Ennio Morricone. The soloist is Carlo Romano, accompanied by the RAI National Symphony Orchestra

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“Hi there! Excuse me butting in at Quiet Corner. I’m Norman the Nerd from COME SURF THE NET which begins on 26th March. More details next week. Bye just now!”

Norman appears thanks to - http://www.graphicshunt.com

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2011-02-28T08:02:00.000Z

A picture, a poem, a painting

and a piece of music

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Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep at night; study and ease
Together mixed; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

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the picture - from stumbleupon.com
the poem - Alexander Pope 1688-1744
the painting - A Summer Morning by E.A. Walton 1860-1922
the music - Aquarium (The Carnival of the Animals) by Saint-Saens played by 4 girls 4 harps and choir

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2011-02-21T08:02:00.000Z

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Two poems by Thomas Hardy

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Waiting Both

A star looks down at me,
And says, “Here I and you
Stand, each in our degree;
What do you mean to do -
Mean to do?”

I say, “For all I know,
Wait, and let Time go by,
Till my change come,” “Just so,”
The star says, “So mean I -
So mean I.”

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Any Little Old Song

Any little old song
Will do for me,
Tell it of joys gone long,
Or joys to be,
Or friendly faces best
Loved to see.

Newest themes I want not
On subtle strings,
And for thrillings pant not
That new song brings;
I only need the homeliest
Of heartstrings.

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A Scene at Arran, Scotland by William Dyce

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Thanks to “pray2U4ever” for this video. The music is Boccherini’s Minuet which comes from his String Quintet in E.

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Tomorrow at John’s Gallery - Five paintings by John William Godward
http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

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For Valentine's Day . . . .

2011-02-14T08:04:00.001Z

“Oh, ‘tis love, ‘tis love that makes the world go around” -
- according to the Duchess, in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.
The origin of the phrase may be a French song from the early 18th century:
C’est l’amour, c’est l’amour
Qui fait la monde
A la ronde.

A love letter

Yes, I now feel that it was then on that evening of sweet dreams - that the very first dawn of human love burst upon the icy night of my spirit. Since that period I have never seen nor heard your name without a shiver half of delight, half of anxiety. For years your name never passed my lips, while my soul drank in, with a delirious thirst, all that was uttered in my presence respecting you. (Edgar Allan Poe 1809-1849)

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A love poem

True love is a sacred flame
That burns eternally,
And none can dim its special glow
Or change its destiny.

True love speaks in tender tones
And hears with gentle ear,
True love gives with open heart
And true love conquers fear.

True love makes no harsh demands
It neither rules nor binds,
And true love holds with gentle hands
The hearts that it entwines. (Anon)

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And a love song by Jack Payne and his Orchestra from 1932

Today at John’s Gallery -
Five paintings by Adolphe-William Bouguereau
http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

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2011-02-07T08:02:00.000Z

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The Fallow Deer at the Lonely House
by
Thomas Hardy

One without looks in tonight
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white;
One without looks in tonight
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.

We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow;
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wondering, aglow,
Fourfooted, tiptoe.

With thanks to FreeFoto.com for the use of both photographs

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I'm very enthusiastic about this video which was devised by Myriliam of Austria. "Winter" is performed by Qntal, a German group who describe their style as “electro-medieval.” The singer is Syra and the words are old German.

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Today’s painting at JOHN’S GALLERY
The Soul of the Rose, by John William Waterhouse
http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

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2011-01-31T08:02:00.001Z

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see nature at all.

But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself. (William Blake 1757-1827)

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. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. (John Keats 1795-1821)

A Stream beneath Poplars (Lilla Cabot Perry 1848-1933)

I can enjoy society in a room, but out-of-doors company is enough for me. (William Hazlitt 1778-1830)

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This video was devised by the pianist Edward Weiss
http://www.quiescencemusic.com

Have you discovered the Poetry Path yet?

http://thepoetrypath.blogspot.com

***The Poetry Path***The Poetry Path***The Poetry Path***

2011-01-24T08:05:00.001Z

Loveliest of lovely things are they

On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
(William Cullen Bryant)

Thanks to FreeFoto. com

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her of hope; tell her of spring,
Tell her of all I fain would sing,
Oh! were I like thee, so fair a thing.
(Michael Beverly)

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Here are a few quotations that took my fancy . . . .

A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom. (Chinese Proverb)

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time. (Edmund Spenser)

I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds round my neck. (Emma Goldman)

The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose. (George William Curtis)

Send two dozen roses to Room 424 and put "Emily, I love you" on the back of the bill. (Groucho Marx)

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Robert Burns was born on 25th January 1721, so it seems appropriate to include his best known poem here.

O, my love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
My love is like a melody
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonny lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love!
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

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Thanks to “rulivede” for this short “time lapse” video

My new paintings blog began on Saturday at -
http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

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2011-01-17T08:10:00.001Z

This is a story about a monk who was in charge of a Zen Temple garden. He made sure that all the flower beds, bushes and trees were always kept neat and tidy.

He was thrilled to hear that a famous Zen Master, having heard of the beautiful garden, was coming to see it. On the day before the visit the monk worked tirelessly to make sure that everything was in order.

Accompanied by his students, the Master walked round the garden, smiling approval at everything he saw. Finally he walked over to the tree in the centre of the garden, seized hold of it by the trunk and shook it violently. Leaves showered down all over the ground. He turned to the monk and said, “You have a real garden now.”

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"In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful." (Abram L. Urban)

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Breezes in the long grass ruffling my hair,
Hollyhock and bluebell scenting the air;
Nothing in the world can ever be
Such a sweet memory.
Nothing in the world was ever so fair.

I leave my heart in an English garden,
Safe where the elm and the oak stand by.
Though the years rise and roll away,
Still shall those watchmen stay,
Bold in the blue of an English sky.

I leave my dreams in an English garden,
Safe where the breezes of England blow.
When the highways are dark and drear,
I know there's sunshine here,
Bright where the roses of England grow.
(Christopher Hassall)

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Click to enlarge
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A second series of Pre-Raphaelite paintings has now begun at -
http://myownselection.blogspot.com

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MONDAY 10TH JANUARY

2011-01-07T14:04:00.007Z

A Village in the Snow (artist unknown)
To enlarge, click on the painting
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Two Thomas Hardy poems with a Christmas flavour . . . .

SEEN BY THE WAITS

Through snowy woods and shady
We went to play a tune
To the lonely manor-lady
By the light of the Christmas moon.

We violed till, upward glancing
To where a mirror leaned,
It showed her airily dancing,
Deeming her movements screened.

Dancing alone in the room there,
Thin-draped in her robe of night;
Her postures, glassed in the gloom there,
Were a strange phantasmal sight.

She had learnt (we heard when homing)
That her roving spouse was dead;
Why she had danced in the gloaming
We thought, but never said.

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CHRISTMASTIDE

The rain-shafts splintered on me
As despondently I strode;
The twilight gloomed upon me
And bleared the blank high-road.
Each bush gave forth, when blown on
By gusts in shower and shower,
A sigh, as it were sown on
In handfuls by a sower.

A cheerful voice called, nigh me,
“A Merry Christmas, friend!”
There rose a figure by me,
Walking with townward trend,
A sodden tramp’s, who, breaking
Into thin song, bore straight
Ahead, direction taking
Toward the Casual’s gate.

The Casual referred to here is a 19th century lodging house where homeless people, if they were lucky, could find accommodation for the night.

This painting “The Casual Ward” by Samuel Luke Fildes shows a group waiting to be admitted.

To enlarge, click on the painting
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Thanks to http://www.dhuting.com for this video taken at the Havasupai Indian Reservation, Arizona

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My new blog THE POETRY PATH is now active at -
http://thepoetrypath.blogspot.com

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2010-12-20T08:10:00.005Z

Winter, by François Boucher

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The Months of the Year, by Sara Coleridge

January brings the snow;
Makes the toes and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen ponds again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,
Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daises at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses;
Fills the children’s hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,
Strawberries and gilly-flowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the Harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are falling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,
blazing fire and Christmas treat.

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Somehow, not only for Christmas,
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.

And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing
Returns to you glad. (John Greenleaf Whittier)

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The New Year is a good time for new ideas, new plans and new beginnings. I’ve been re-thinking my blogs and making some changes.

With the exception of Christmas and New Year week-ends, Quiet Corner will continue on Mondays, A Touch of Culture on Fridays, and Wise Men Say daily.
80 plus will become an occasional blog appearing every so often on Thursdays.
The Pre-Raphaelite site will come to an end this week, when 80 paintings will have been collected.
And a new weekly blog The Poetry Path will start on Wednesday 5th January. You can have a look at that website now at -
http://thepoetrypath.blogspot.com

BEST WISHES TO EVERYONE FOR CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW YEAR

2010-12-13T08:10:00.000Z

If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change (Buddha)

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When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not. (Georgia O’Keefe)

And ‘tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes. (William Wordsworth)

Lilacs in a Window, by Mary Cassatt

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Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens a rose today. But you will ask in vain tomorrow what it is; and yesterday it was the dust,
the sunshine, and the rains. (Christina Rossetti)

Where flowers bloom so does hope (Lady Bird Johnson)

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Finally, this is a colourful slide show of photographs taken at Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island.

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2010-12-06T08:10:00.000Z

A MOON REVERIE

[Image by FreeFoto.com]

The moon pulled off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight,
(Mysterious veil of brightness made,
That’s both her lustre and her shade)
And in the lantern of the night
With shining horns hung out her light. (Samuel Butler)

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The moon is a white, strange world, great, white, soft-seeming globe in the night sky, and what she actually communicates to me across space I shall never fully know. But the moon that pulls the tide, and the moon that controls the menstrual periods of women, and the moon that touches the lunatics, she is not the mere dead lump of the astronomer. When we describe the moon as dead, we are describing the deadness in ourselves. When we find space so hideously void, we are describing our own unbearable emptiness. (D.H. Lawrence)

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Untitled (Archip Iwanowitsch Kuindshi)

There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery. (Joseph Conrad)

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And I raise my eyes to the moon, with tears blurring my vision.
I ask Her why, what’s the reason, what’s my mission?
My toes going numb with the frost on the ground,
My arms spread out wide as I circle around.
When I fall to the earth, my energy spent at last,
I ask Her again with one final gasp,
Where did I come from and where shall I be,
What will be left when there’s nothing of me? (Anon)

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Moon Nymph (Luis Ricardo Falero)

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I see the moon, the moon sees me
Under the shade of the old oak tree;
Please let the light that shines on me
Shine on the one I love. (Popular Song)

Moon on the Delaware River (Thomas B. Griffin)

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2010-11-29T08:10:00.000Z

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly tree,
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
(Emily Bronte)

[Thanks to FreeFoto.com for the images]

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This great video was compiled by “hilberts.” The pictures are by the Dutch artist Rien Poortvliet (1932-1995) and the music is Toselli’s Serenata.

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2010-11-22T08:02:00.004Z

Berthe Morisot and her daughter Julie, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir 1841-1919

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Reverie by Sophia Scott

The Campsie Fells lay dreaming in the soft sweet summer light,
Little breezes played and whispered round her knees,
She dreamed of days we knew not when the waters lapped her feet
And the glaciers slithered steeply from her sides -
Days when mammoths roamed the valley through the sand dunes weird and high,
And our coal was mosses, ferns and tropic trees.

The long low line of hills was swept by western winds,
And the bracken’s green was long since turned to brown,
Her dreams were sore and troubled, for she heard the tramp of feet
As the Romans marched to Cadder o’er the down;
Till they pitched their tents and sheltered from the winter’s wildest wrath,
And beneath her flanks they built for them a town.

All these days are long since over, long ago and far away,
Changeless still the Campsies lie in summer sheen;
We discover Roman forts and we dig up mammoth bones
In our age of petrol, aeroplanes and steam;
And we build our little houses and we live our little lives,
But the great hills hug their secrets still - and dream.

[The Campsie Fells lie to the north of Kirkintilloch where the late Mrs Scott lived for many years.]

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“Floating Heads” by Sophy Cave has been a great attraction at Kelvin grove Art Gallery and Museum, Glasgow.

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SOME BLOG NEWS

Because of increased interest being shown in my Pre-Raphaelite site -
http://myownselection.blogspot.com - I’m planning a second series. Beginning on Tuesday 23rd November, I’ll be adding a painting to the collection every day.

My other blogs will continue - Eighty Plus on Thursdays, A Touch of Culture on Fridays, John’s Quiet Corner on Mondays, and Wise Men Say daily.

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MONDAY 15TH NOVEMBER

2010-11-14T20:05:00.006Z

An old Cherokee was telling his grandson of the battle that goes on inside everyone - a battle between two wolves.

“One of them is Evil,” he said, “full of anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, lies, false pride and superiority.”

“And the other?” asked the boy.

“He is Good,” the old man replied, “full of joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth and compassion.”

The boy thought for a moment and then spoke. “Who will win?”

“The one you feed,” was the answer.

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Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.

Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o'erflow with wine;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.

Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.

All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.

The summer hath his joys
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.
(Thomas Campion 1567-1620)

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This painting “The New Bonnet” is the work of the American artist Francis William Edmonds 1806-1863. The girl is obviously proud of her purchase, but her little sister looks worried. Is that the bill for the bonnet the father is frowning over?

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This sound-only YouTube is the Romance from The Gadfly by Dmitri Shostakovitch, played by the violinist Tasmin Little accompanied by Piers Lane.

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Now on A TOUCH OF CULTURE - A Visit to Kyoto
http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

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Monday 8th November

2010-11-05T11:15:00.005Z

Every winter
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay -
The leaps in spring to his returning kisses. (Charles Kingsley)

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire; it is the time for home. (Edith Sitwell)

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There is a spot ‘mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But, if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight’s dome;
But what on earth is half so dear -
So longed for - as the hearth of home?

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o’ergrown,
I love them - how I love them all!

A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains, circling every side.

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. (Emily Bronte)

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This video has been made available on YouTube by Masami Takeuchi who is featured playing the Londonderry Air. The theremin, an electronic instrument, was invented by Leon Theremin who patented it in 1928. The sound it produces is heard regularly on television, for it’s a theremin which plays the theme tune of “Midsomer Murders.”

2010-11-01T07:59:00.000Z

                                                                                         taking a short cut
                                                                                   the squirrel hurries home
                                                                                      on the telephone wire

                                                                                        cold November day
                                                                                  little bushytail still appears
                                                                                         at the bird-feeder

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No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day -
No sky - no earthly view -
No distance looking blue -
No road - no street - no “t’other side the way” -
No end to any Row -
No indications where the Crescents go -
No top to any steeple -
No recognitions of familiar people -
No courtesies for showing ‘em -
No knowing ‘em! -
No travelling at all - no locomotion,
No inkling of the way - no notion -
No go; - by land or ocean -
No mail - no post -
No news from any foreign coast -
No Park - no Ring - no afternoon gentility -
No company - no nobility -
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds -
November!

(Thomas Hood 1799-1845)

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If that poem has made you a bit depressed, this will cheer you up.
A mail order company called Solutions from Renwoods is offering a Christmas wall-clock that plays a festive tune every hour! Favourites include Silent Night and Santa Claus is coming to Town!! And all for £12.95 plus postage and packing!!! Wow!!!!

2010-10-25T15:14:00.004+01:00

                      A Poem from the 19th century. The Victorians were very keen on this kind of thing.

                                                                      If you are tempted to reveal
                                                                     A tale to you someone has told
                                                                     About another, make it pass
                                                                     Before you speak, three gates of gold.
                                                                     These narrow gates: First, “Is it true?”
                                                                     Then, “Is it needful?” in your mind
                                                                     Give truthful answer. And the next
                                                                     Is last and narrowest, “Is it kind?”
                                                                     And if to reach your lips at last
                                                                     It passes through these gateways three,
                                                                     Then you may tell the tale, nor fear
                                                                     What the result of speech may be.

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A Girl Reading (The Reader) by Jean-Honoré Fragonard 1732-1806.

Fragonard was the complete opposite of an impoverished artist. He became rich by painting the kind of pictures that wealthy people liked. However, when the French Revolution began, he had to escape from Paris and, by the time it was all over and he was able to return, his name had been forgotten. He spent the rest of his life in poverty.

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This video devised by Phlip Scott Johnson is an astonishing example of "morphing." More then 70 actresses are featured in "Women in Film." The music is the Prelude from Bach's Cello Suite No1 in G, played by Yo-Yo- Ma.

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Now on A Touch of Culture - Looking at Some Paintings by Scottish Artists
http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

***A Touch of Culture***A Touch of Culture***A Touchof Culture***A Touch of Culture***

2010-10-18T21:29:00.000+01:00

A Day in Autumn, Sokolniki painted by the Russian artist Isaac Levitan 1860-1900

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One day Ryokan a Zen master was walking on the beach. There had been a severe storm and thousands of little starfish had been washed up on to the sand. Realising that they would soon die, he started to pick them up and throw them back into the sea.

A fisherman who was going for his boat saw what Ryokan was doing and told him he was wasting his time. There were thousands of starfish lying on the shore and, since there was no possibility of rescuing them all, his efforts would make no difference.

Indicating the starfish in his hand, Ryokan replied, “It will to this one.”

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O Autumn, laden with fruit and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

“The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

“The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

(William Blake 1757-1827)

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The music on this video is the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Pietro Mascagni 1863-1945, with views of the Terrazo Mascagni in Livorno, the town where Mascagni was born.

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On A Touch of Culture this week - four poems by Thomas Hardy
http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

***A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture***

2010-10-11T18:12:00.000+01:00

                                                    Remembering last spring and looking forward . . . .

                                       Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

                                                            I dreamed that as I wandered by the way
                                        Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
                                                            And gentle odours led my steps astray,
                                                            Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
                                        Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
                                                            Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
                                                            Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
                                                            But kissed it, and then fled, as Thou mightest in dream.

                                                        (Percy Bysshe Shelley, from "A Dream of the Unknown")

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The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home, first with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms.

Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said “Bother!” and “Oh blow!” and also “Hang spring-cleaning!” and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat.

Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, “Up we go! Up we go!” till at last, pop! His snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

“This is fine!” he said to himself. “This is better than whitewashing!” The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout.

Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.

[from “The Wind in the Willows” by Kenneth Grahame 1859-1932]

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"It was a Lover and his Lass" - Thomas Morley's setting of Shakespeare's words, sung and played here by Flauto Dolce.

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This week the subject of A TOUCH OF CULTURE is the ballet and includes short extracts from four popular ballets.http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

***A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture***

2010-10-04T21:42:00.000+01:00

No Spring nor Summer Beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one Autumnal face. (John Donne 1572-1631)

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Within the orchard’s many shadows,
Flitting softly round our feet,
While burning hot, the sunlight shot
Between them in the summer heat;
We went, at times, by dock-leaves, falling
Limp, beside the mossy walling.

The way from garden into orchard
Through an arched gateway led,
Where rose a dovecote up above
The grey old arch, above the head,
By flower-beds of the oldest fashion,
Sweet with rose and red carnation.

There spreading trees of mossy oldness,
This and that way leaning lay;
And others, young and upright, sprung
For year-stunned old ones cast away;
Within a thorny hedge that girded
Ground, and tree bough, many birded.

There shone the boughs, in May’s gay sunshine,
Out in blooth as white’s a sheet;
Or else their flowers fell in showers
Softly down about their feet;
Or else they nodded, many-appled,
Green, or lastly ruddy-dappled.

And then the time of apple-taking
Came, and apples pattered down
Below the trees, in twos and threes,
Full thick; and yellow, red and brown,
To folks that filled, from baskets by them,
Bags as full as they could tie them.
(William Barnes 1801-1886)

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Thanks to Elsa Laura of Mexico for this video. The music is from The Four Seasons by Antonio Vivaldi 1678-1741

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My new blog A TOUCH OF CULTURE is now online and this week is showing five great paintings by the American artist William Merritt Chase 1849-1916.

http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

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2010-09-27T22:54:00.001+01:00

                                             12th century silk painting “Bird on a Branch” by Li Anzhong

I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have won. (Henry David Thoreau 1817-1862)

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A linnet in a gilded cage -
A linnet on a bough -
In frosty winter one might doubt
Which bird is luckier now.
But let the trees burst out in leaf,
And nests be on the bough,
Which linnet is the luckier bird,
Oh, who could doubt it now? (Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-1894)

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Within a churchyard, on a recent grave,
I saw a little cage
That jailed a goldfinch. All was silence save
Its hops from stage to stage.

There was inquiry in its wistful eye,
And once it tried to sing;
Of him or her who placed it there, and why,
No one knew anything. (Thomas Hardy 1849-1928)

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Thanks to “puntocaramelo” for this video. The music - “Gabriel’s Oboe” by Ennio Morricone comes from the film The Mission

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my new blog . . . . . . A TOUCH OF CULTURE . . . . . . my new blog

                             Starting Friday 1st October

Every Friday     http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com   Every Friday


My other blogs Eighty Plus, Quiet Corner and Wise Men Say are continuing as usual

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2010-09-20T23:10:00.001+01:00

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night. (Hal Borland)

“Full Moon” attribution - Arun.blue at en.wikipedia

How like a queen comes forth the lonely moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds
Walking in beauty to her midnight throne. (George Croly)

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Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon:
This way, and that, she peers and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam
By silver reeds in a silver stream. (Anon)

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“Moonlight and Roses” is the title of this popular song published in 1921. The tune was taken without permission from an organ piece “Andantino in D flat” by Edwin Lemare 1866-1934. After legal action in 1925, the composer was granted share of the royalties.

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2010-09-13T23:01:00.002+01:00

Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower (Albert Camus)

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A piece of prose, a poem and two haiku - I’ve chosen them because they show the kind of attitude poets have for what we consider to be households pests.

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House or Window Flies

These little indoor dwellers, in cottages and halls, were always entertaining to me; after dancing in the window all day from sunrise to sunset they would sip of the tea, drink of the beer, and eat of the sugar, and be welcome all summer long.

They look like things of mind or fairies, and seem pleased or dull as the weather permits. In many clean cottages and genteel houses, they are allowed every liberty to creep, fly, or do as they like; and seldom or ever do wrong.

In fact they are the small or dwarfish portion of our own family, and so many fairy familiars that we know and treat as one of ourselves.
(John Clare 1793-1864)

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An August Midnight

A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor;
On this scene enter - winged, horned and spined -
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;*
While ’mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly that rubs its hands.

Thus meet we five, in this still place,
At this point of time, at this point in space,
My guests besmear my new-penned line,
Or bang at the lamp and fall supine.
“God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why?
They know Earth-secrets that know not I.
(Thomas Hardy 1849-1928))

* dumbledore = bumblebee (old modern English)
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Two haiku by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)

don’t worry
little spider
I won’t touch your web

I’m going out
you flies can relax
make love

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2010-09-06T23:20:00.000+01:00

When we were on holiday in Arran a few years ago, I took this photograph of the Holy Isle in the Firth of Clyde.

The old Gaelic name for the island was Eilean Molaise, named after a 6th century monk Saint Molaise who lived in a cave there.

The island has always had religious connections. There was a monastery in the 13th century and there’s a spring which is said to have healing properties.

The Holy Isle is now the perfect setting for the Samyé Ling Buddhist Community who have frequent residential courses and retreats.

Part of the island is a nature reserve with ponies, sheep and goats. I found this photo of one the ponies on Wikipedia.

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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cells.
(From “To Autumn” by John Keats 1795-1821)

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This is a portrait of Maria Theresia von Paradis (1759-1824) an Austrian composer and musician. She lost her sight when a very young child. It’s believed that Mozart wrote his Piano Concerto No.18 in B flat especially for her.

Sicilienne, one of her compositions, has always been a great favourite of mine. It’s played here by the cellist Jacqueline Du Pré (1945-1987) accompanied by Gerald Moore.

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2010-08-30T23:15:00.000+01:00

Thomas Gray the poet was born in London in 1716 and died in 1771. He was one of 12 children, and incredibly he was the only one who survived infancy. He was educated at Eton and then at Cambridge where he later became a Professor.

Quite a number of common English phrases have their origin in Gray’s poetry:-
“Ignorance is bliss” comes from his “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College,” and “kindred spirit,” “celestial fire,” “paths of glory” and “far from the madding crowd” can be found in “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.”

Here are the first three verses of the Elegy -

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

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A few years ago, when visiting Painswick in Gloucestershire, I took this photograph of part of the churchyard.

St. Mary’s church was built during the 15th and 16th centuries, with the spire being added in 1632.

The 99 yew trees in the churchyard are the great attraction for visitors. They were planted in 1792 and it’s said that there can be no more than 99, for if a hundredth tree were to grow the devil would pull it up.

However, I understand that some time ago a count was made and the total came to 103.

If that‘s the case, then that’s not good news for the young men of the district, for an old rhyme says -

“Painswick maidens shall be true
Till there grows the hundredth yew.”

Yew trees were sacred in pre-Christian times. They were associated with the three stages of a woman's life - maiden, mother and crone, and also with death and rebirth. The wood of the yew was used for making all sorts of tools and utensils, and the magical properties of the tree was important in the making of lutes.

So to finish, I’ve found some magical lute music from Venice -

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2010-08-24T13:37:00.003+01:00

“At the Seaside” by William Merritt Chase 1849-1916

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It is nine o’clock.

There is still light on the sky.

Father and mother, basking in one another’s love, are sitting in chairs on the steps of the boarding-house; behind the front door peeps the inevitable castor oil plant in its china pot. Beside them sit the younger children, unnaturally good and quiet for fear they shall be sent up to bed while it is still light and while the moon rises huge and yellow above the purple bay.

The elder children, grown up now, are off to the dance halls. Only a few rejected young men sit sadly on the steps among the ancients and the infants.

The girls wear white dancing shoes and that is how you know whither they are bound. Two shillings or four-and-six, somewhere round that, is the cost of a ticket to dance.

I like the Palace dance hall best. It has a parquet floor of sixteen thousand square feet and room for five thousand people. It is in a gay baroque style, cream and pink inside, and from the graceful roof hang Japanese lanterns out of a dangling forest of flags.

A small and perfect dance band strikes up - ah, the dance bands of the Isle of Man! Soon a thousand couples are moving beautifully, the cotton dresses of the girls like vivid tulips in all this pale cream and pink, the sports coats and dark suits of the men a background to so much airy colour. The rhythmic dance is almost tribal, so that even a middle-aged spectator like me is caught up in mass excitement, pure and thrilling and profound.
[Extract from “The Isle of Man” by John Betjeman 1906-1984, published by Penguin Modern Classics in “The Best of Betjeman.”]

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Continuing the nostalgic theme, some seaside images from the past -

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And finally, this is probably the kind of music they would be dancing to at John Betjeman’s Palace in the Isle of Man.

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2010-08-14T09:11:00.000+01:00

THE NEXT POST HERE will be on TUESDAY 24th AUGUST

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2010-08-10T08:25:00.004+01:00

Thanks to FreeFoto.com for this view of Crummock Water, Cumbria

Thinking about silence . . .

I think the first virtue is to restrain the tongue; he approaches nearest to gods who knows how to be silent. (Cato the Elder)

My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music and silence. (Edith Sitwell)

Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute. (Josh Billings)

‘Tis better to be silent and thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. (Abraham Lincoln)

Silence is golden, when you can’t think of a good answer. (Mohamed Ali)

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A rather sad poem by Thomas Hardy -

WHERE THE PICNIC WAS

Where we made the fire
In the summer time
Of branch and briar
On the hill to the sea,
I slowly climb
Through winter mire,
And scan and trace
The forsaken place
Quite readily.

Now a cold wind blows,
And the grass is grey,
But the spot still shows
As a burnt circle - aye,
And stick-ends, charred,
Still strew the sward
Whereon I stand,
Last relic of the band
Who came that day!

Yes, I am here
Just as last year,
And the sea breathes brine
From its strange straight line
Up hither, the same
As when we four came,
- But two have wandered far
From this grassy rise
Into urban roar
Where no picnics are,
And one - has shut her eyes
For evermore.

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I like this - The Orchard, by the English painter Thomas Cooper Gotch

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Finally, this is the Waltz from the ballet Coppélia by Léo Delibes, with some marvellous pictures to accompany the music.

2010-08-03T08:25:00.015+01:00

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapours are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! (Stephen Foster 1826-1864)

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This painting “Flora” is the work of Titian (1477?-1576)

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The singer here is Chloe Agnew.

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After an interval of four months my EIGHTY PLUS blog begins again this week end at -
http://80plus.blogspot.com

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2010-07-27T08:13:00.014+01:00

People say “I want peace.“
If you remove I (ego) and want (desire), you are left with peace. (Sathya Sai Baba, b1926)

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Whence comes solace? Not from seeing,
What is doing, suffering, being;
Not from noting Life’s conditions,
Not from heeding Time’s monitions;
But in cleaving to the Dream
And in gazing at the Gleam
Whereby grey things golden seem. (Thomas Hardy 1840-1928)

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2010-07-20T08:17:00.005+01:00

The Skylark, by James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd (1770-1835)

Bird of the wilderness
Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o’er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling place -
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth,
Where on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O’er fell and fountain sheen,
O’er moor and mountain green,
O’er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow’s rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing away.

Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling place -
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

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In this video the music is “On Wings of Song” by Felix Mendelssohn, not Franz Liszt. The name of the pianist is not given.

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2010-07-13T08:26:00.001+01:00

Thanks to http://www.photoeverywhere.co.uk for the use of the above photograph

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The naked earth is warm with Spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze. (Julian Grenfell 1888-1915)

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Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.

The village church among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze
And point with taper spire to Heaven. (Samuel Rogers 1763-1855)

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2010-07-06T08:39:00.002+01:00

The painting is the work of John McWhirter 1839-1911

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I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever. (Alfred Lord Tennyson 1809-1892)

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Traumerei (Dreaming) by Robert Schumann. The pianist is Yundi Li.

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2010-06-29T08:26:00.002+01:00

Two views from a carriage window -

Just a peep from a carriage window,
As we stood for a moment still,
Just one look - and no more - till the engine
Gave a whistle sharp and shrill.

But I saw in that moment the heather,
That lay like a purple sheet
On the hills that watch o’er the hamlet
That sleeps like a child at their feet.

O, sweet are those hills when the winter
Flings round them his mantle of snow,
And sweet when the sunshine of summer
Sets their fair green bosoms aglow.

But sweeter and grander in autumn,
When the winds are soft with desire,
When the buds of the heather take blossom,
And run to their summits like fire.

I saw each and all through the heather
That purple lay spread like a sheet
On the hills that watch over the hamlet,
That sleeps like a child at their feet. (Alexander Anderson 1845-1909)

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Yes. I remember Adlestrop -
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop - only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Then the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and around him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. (Edward Thomas 1878-1917)

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2010-06-22T08:31:00.002+01:00

The lake lay blue below the hill,
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.

The sky above was blue at last,
The sky beneath me blue in blue,
A moment, ere the bird had passed,
It caught his image as he flew. (Mary Coleridge 1861-1907)

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The music here is the Prelude to Act One of “La Traviata” by Verdi.

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2010-06-15T08:15:00.001+01:00

Tonight the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes,
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose. (E. Pauline Johnson)

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The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle -
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain’d its brother:

And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me? (Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)

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The music is the well-known Liebestraum.

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2010-06-08T08:38:00.001+01:00

The Mandolin Player by Edouard Bisson 1856-?

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Two poems by Ben Jonson 1572-1637

Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before the rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver,
Or swan’s down ever?
Or have smelt the bud of the briar,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!

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Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And send'st it back to me:
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear
Not of itself, but thee.

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This video, the Thousand Hand Guan Yin performed by the China Deaf Group of Dancers, has been made available by Bryce who lives in Singapore. He adds the following -
“As long as you are kind and there is love in your heart, a thousand hands will naturally come to your aid. As long as you are kind and there is love in your heart, you will reach out with a thousand hands to help others.”

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2010-06-01T19:15:00.001+01:00

Thanks to freefoto.com for this view of Lochmaben in Dumfriesshire

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The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and the trees;
There’s a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo’s sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.

Who would go “parading”
In London, and “masquerading,”
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
0n such a night as this is! (William Wordsworth 1770-1850)

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Just a-wearyin’ for you
All the time a-feelin’ blue,
Wishin’ for you, wond’rin’ when
You’ll be comin’ home again,
Restless, don’t know what to do,
Just a-wearyin’ for you.

Evenin’ comes, I miss you more
When the dark glooms round the door,
Seems just like you ought to be
Here to open it for me,
Latch goes tinklin’, thrills me through,
Just a-wearyin’ for you. (Frank Stanton 1857-1927)

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NEW - My Own Selection of Pre-Raphaelite Paintings begins today at -
http://myownselection.blogspot.com

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2010-05-25T19:58:00.005+01:00

“Gather Ye Rosebuds” by John William Waterhouse 1849-1917

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Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And the same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying. (Robert Herrick)

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“To Daffodils” by Robert Herrick 1591-1674

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising Sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a Spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or any thing.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away
Like to the Summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
Ne’er to be found again.

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2010-05-18T18:56:00.006+01:00

As a white candle
In a holy place
So is the beauty
Of an aged face.
As the spent radiance
Of the winter sun,
So is a woman
With her travail done,
Her brood gone from her,
And her thoughts as still
As the waters
Under a ruined mill.
(Joseph Campbell 1879-1944, Irish poet also known as Seosamh MacCathmhaoil)

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Father Time is not always a hard parent, and, though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young and in full vigour. With such people the grey head is but the impression of the old fellow's hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life. (Charles Dickens 1812-1870)

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The music is "Elizabethan Serenade" by Ronald Binge

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2010-05-11T18:55:00.002+01:00

“La Donna Velata” by Raphael (1483-1520)

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The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies. (Ewen McColl 1915-1989)

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You'll love me yet and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look? that pays a thousand pains.
What's death? You'll love me yet! (Robert Browning 1812-1889)

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2010-05-04T22:39:00.001+01:00

“View of Laerdalsaren on the Sognefiord” by Themistokles von Eckenbrecher (1842-1921)

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Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing;

Where in the whitethorn
Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs
Arching high over
A cool greenhouse;

Full of sweet scents
And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
“We spread no snare;

“Here dwell in safety,
Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
And a mossy stone.

“Here the sun shineth
Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
Of the far sea,
Though far off it be.” (Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-1894)

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“Spring in Norway” is the title of this slide show. The music is “Spring” by Edvard Grieg (1843-1907) played by the Oslo Camerata.

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And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. (Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)

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2010-04-27T19:17:00.006+01:00

How fair is a garden amidst the trials and passions of existence (Benjamin Disraeli)

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This is an extract from “Of Gardens,” an essay by Francis Bacon (1561-1626)

And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music), than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight, than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.

That which, above all others, yields the sweetest smell in the air, is the Violet, especially the white double Violet, which comes twice a year, about the middle of April, and about Bartholomew-tide. Next to that is the Musk-Rose; then the Strawberry leaves dying, with a most excellent cordial smell; then the flower of the Vines, it is a little dust like the dust of a Bent, which grows upon the cluster in the first coming forth; then Sweet-Briar, then Wallflowers, which are very delightful to be set under a Parlour or lower chamber window; then Pinks and Gillyflowers, specially the matted Pink and Clove Gillyflower; then the flowers of the Lime-tree; then the Honeysuckles, so they be somewhat afar off.

Of Bean-flowers I speak not, because they are field-flowers; but those which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed by as the rest, but being trodden upon and crushed, are three; that is, Burnet, Wild Thyme, and Water-Mints; therefore you are to set whole alleys of them, to have the pleasure when you walk or tread.

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“Flowering garden at Sainte-Adresse” by Claude Monet (1840-1926)

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Finally, a brief look at Monet’s garden at Giverny.

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2010-04-20T19:30:00.008+01:00

“I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott”

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There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay,
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

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“The Lady of Shalott”

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And down the river’s dim expanse -
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

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Both those paintings are by John William Waterhouse (1849-1917) and the verses are from “The Lady of Shalott” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892).

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This is an interesting slide show of sketches and drawings by Waterhouse.

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2010-04-13T19:03:00.003+01:00

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome. (Anne Bradstreet 1612-1672)

Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;
To-day the glint of green is there;
Tomorrow will be leaflets spare;
I know no thing so wondrous fair,
No miracle so strangely rare.
I wonder what will next be there! (L. H. Bailey 1858-1954)

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“Spring Morning” by the English painter William Joseph Bond 1833-1926

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The Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds is come,
And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy’s excess, ‘mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love. (John Clare 1793-1864)

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I‘m delighted to have discovered this YouTube item - “It was a lover and his lass” played and sung by an Early Music Ensemble from Belgrade called “Flauto Dolce.”

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This week at EIGHTY PLUS FOUR (an octogenarian looks back) I look back to the 19th century when many Scots set off for the unknown to begin new lives in America.

http://80plus4.blogspot.com

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2010-04-06T19:26:00.037+01:00

A pretty girl is like a melody that haunts you night and day (a popular song by Irving Berlin)

The pale moon was rising above the green mountain
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain
That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee.

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading
And Mary all smiling was listening to me
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.

Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee. (William Pembroke Mulchinock 1820-1864)

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Now in the Louvre, Paris, Leonardo’s famous painting is also known as “La Gioconda” and “La Jaconde.“ Both titles can be translated as “the jocund lady”, though it’s possible that it was so named because the subject may have been the wife of Francesco del Giocondo.

Throughout the past 400 years, people have talked and argued about her smile. The writer Lawrence Durrell suggested “She has the smile of a woman who has just dined off her husband.”

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To complete the trio of pretty girls, here is “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair” by Debussy (1862-1918), played by Tony Tobin. The photographs are of the Claude Debussy Museum at St. Germaine-en-Laye, the house in which the composer was born.

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The first post of my new blog EIGHTY PLUS FOUR (an Octogenarian looks back) can now been seen at -

http://80plus4.blogspot.com
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2010-03-30T19:59:00.014+01:00

Spring has its hundred flowers,
Autumn its moon,
Summer has its cooling breezes,
Winter its snow.
If you allow no idle concerns
To weigh on your heart,
Your whole life will be one
Perennial good season. (from The Golden Age of Zen)

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“Fur Traders on Missouri River” by the American painter George Caleb Bingham (1811-1897)

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What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.

'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river. (Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806-1861)

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Water, sea waves, rivers, lakes and ponds feature in this unusual slide show, devised by Maire McSorley. The music comes from Mozart’s Serenade No10 for 13 wind instruments, played by the soloists of the Chamber Orchestra of Europe.

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2010-03-23T19:23:00.009Z

I may look at a flower and be drawn into the depths of its beauty. I may sit in meditation and be drawn into the depths of my soul. (from fragrantheart.com)

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“A Kiss” by Lawrence Alma-Tadema 1836-1912

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Happy the man and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Be fair or foul or rain or shine
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. (John Dryden 1631-1700)

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And finishing with an arrangement for 'cello and piano of a popular Bach melody.

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2010-03-16T19:05:00.006Z

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher. (William Wordsworth)

“Lines written in Early Spring”

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreathes;
And ‘tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion that they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man? (William Wordsworth)

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This clip shows the work of the Russian landscape painter Ivan Shishkin 1832-1898.

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2010-03-09T21:23:00.007Z

“Still Life and Flowers” by the Italian painter Giuseppe Recco (1634-1695)

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Three short poems by William Blake (1757-1827)

As I wandered the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a Wild Flower
Singing a song.

I slept in the earth
In the silent night,
I murmured my fears
And I felt delight.

In the morning I went
As rosy as morn,
To seek for new joy;
But oh! met with scorn.

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A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said "I've a pretty rose tree,"
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

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The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble Sheep a threatening horn,
While the Lily white shall in Love delight,
Nor a thorn, nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

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Finally this slide show continues the floral theme.

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2010-03-02T22:03:00.001Z

This unusual picture was taken by the American photographer Edward S. Curtis 1868-1952.

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Among North American Indians one legend tells that in the beginning all creatures were spirits living in space. They kept on searching for a place where they could have physical bodies and live settled lives. First they flew up to the sun, but found it unsuitable there; they investigated the moon with no success; they came down to the earth and saw it was completely covered with water. They were on the point of moving on when they saw a huge rock rising out of the water and burst into flames; steam floated upwards, clouds formed and the spirits were delighted to see land appearing with grass and trees. As they landed on firm ground, they were transformed into human beings. There was great rejoicing as they expressed their thanks to Wakonda, the Maker of All Things.

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All plants are our brothers and sisters. They talk to us and, if we listen, we can hear them. (A saying of the Arapaho tribe)

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TWO HUNTERS

There were but two beneath the sky -
The thing I came to kill, and I.
I, under covert, quietly
Watched him sense eternity
From quivering brush to pointed nose
My gun to shoulder level rose.
And then I felt (I could not see)
Far off a hunter watching me.
I slowly put my rifle by,
For there were two who had to die -
The thing I wished to kill, and I. (Anon)

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This slide show consists of a variety of photographs of North American Indians.

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2010-02-23T18:51:00.010Z

The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is to love and be loved in return.
(from the song “Nature Boy” by Eden Ahbez)

“Romeo and Juliet” by the English painter Frank Dicksee 1853-1928

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. (William Shakespeare -Sonnet 116)

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Love is a many splendoured thing
It's the April rose
That only grows in the early spring
Love is nature's way of giving
A reason to be living
The golden crown that makes a man a king

Once on a high and windy hill
In the morning mist
Two lovers kissed
And the world stood still
Then your fingers touched
My silent heart and taught it how to sing
Yes, true love's
A many splendoured thing (Paul Francis Webster)

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This video of the violinist Maxim Vengerov playing Liebesfreud (Love’s Joy) by Fritz Kreisler was made available by “Rojaviva” of Venezuela. The accompanist is Lilya Zilberstein.

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2010-02-16T19:33:00.007Z

Sunday 14th February was the Chinese New Year and that reminded me that some time ago I made a note of three Chinese poems which I particularly liked. They were written by Li Po (701-762) and here they are - his Mountain poems -

1)
All the birds have flown up and gone.
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Just the mountain and I.

2)
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain.
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream
and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

3)
As down Mount Emerald at eve I came,
The mountain moon went all the way with me.
Backward I looked to see the heights aflame
With a pale light that glimmered eerily.
A little lad undid the rustic latch
As hand in hand your cottage we did gain,
Where green limp tendrils at our cloaks did catch,
And dim bamboos o’erhung a shadowy lane.
Gaily I cried, “here may we rest our fill.”
Then choicest wines we quaffed, and cheerily
“The Wind among the Pines” we sang, until
A few faint stars hung in the Galaxy.
Merrily were you, my friend and drunk was I,
Blissfully letting the world go by.

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Finally this slide show has some lovely Chinese pictures. I believe the music is South American in origin, but for me the tune goes very well with the images.

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2010-02-09T19:51:00.005Z

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires (William Blake 1757-1827)

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I find one vast garden spread out all over the universe.
All plants, all human beings, all higher mind bodies are about in this garden in various ways, each has its own uniqueness and beauty.
Their presence and variety give me great delight.
Every one of you adds with his special feature to the glory of the garden. (Sri Anandamayi Ma 1896-1827)

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The music here performed by Secret Garden is “Nocturne”. This was the winning entry for Norway in the 1995 Eurovision Song Contest.

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2010-01-26T22:05:00.004Z

“San Cristoforo, San Michele and Murano from Fondamenta”
painted by Canaletto (1697-1768)

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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar. (Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)

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Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day. (Matthew Arnold 1822-1888)

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This short video features pictures of sakura, the Japanese flowering cherry, and it’s accompanied by Japanese music.

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2010-01-19T22:35:00.004Z

They call me a dreamer - well, maybe I am. (a line from a song by Joan Whitney and Alex Kramer)

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The pianist here is Tzimon Barto

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We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
(Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy 1844 - 1881)
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Finally, Fritz Kreisler playes one of his own compositions "Schon Rosmarin", accompanied by Carl Lamson

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2010-01-12T19:32:00.007Z

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
(William Shakespeare from The Merchant of Venice)

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This is the first movement of the famous sonata

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Finally, three quotes about Moonlight:-

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. (Jean Paul Richter 1763-1825)

Follow your inner moonlight. Don’t hide your madness. (Allen Ginsberg 1926-1997)

The loveliest faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy. (A Persian Saying)

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2010-01-06T09:39:00.000Z

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? (William Blake 1757-1827)

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I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow. (William Blake)

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And now, quite a contrast - a collection of Zen paintings by Yao Feng Shakya with music by Karunesh.

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2009-12-30T10:36:00.009Z

Let this coming year be better than all the others. Vow to do some of the things you've always wanted to do but couldn't find the time. Call up a forgotten friend. Drop an old grudge, and replace it with some pleasant memories. Vow not to make a promise you don't think you can keep. Walk tall, and smile more. You'll look ten years younger. Don't be afraid to say, 'I love you'. Say it again. They are the sweetest words in the world. (Ann Landers)

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This is my favourite painting - “The Girl with the Pearl Earring” by Jan Vermeer (1632-1675)

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The Months of the Year by Sara Coleridge, daughter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

January brings the snow;
Makes the toes and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen ponds again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,
Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses;
Fills the children’s hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,
Strawberries and gilly-flowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the Harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant,
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are falling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire and Christmas treat.

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The music clip will be familiar to older folks. It was the theme tune for a long-running BBC radio series “Listen with Mother.“ Played here by two pianists Jacqueline Bonneau and Genevieve Joy, “Berceuse” is the first movement of the Dolly Suite by Gabriel Fauré.

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Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. (Alfred Lord Tennyson)

WISHING EVERYONE A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR

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2009-12-23T10:17:00.002Z

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home. (J. H. Payne 1795-1852)

There is a spot, 'mid barren hills
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But, if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight’s dome;
But what on earth is half so dear,
So longed for, as the hearth of home?

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o’ergrown,
I love them, how I love them all!

A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains, circling every side.

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. (Emily Bronte 1818-1848)

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The music here is part of the slow movement from the New World Symphony by Dvorak, played by the Dublin Philharmonic conducted by Derek Gleeson

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WISHING EVERYONE A HAPPY CHRISTMAS

2009-12-16T13:54:00.003Z

12th century silk painting “Bird on a Branch” by Li Anzhong

I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have won. (Henry David Thoreau)

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All through the night there’s a little brown bird singing,
Singing in the hush of the darkness and the dew.
Would that his song through the stillness could go winging
To you.

All through the night-time my lonely heart is singing
Sweeter songs of love than the brown bird ever knew.
Would that the song of my heart could go winging
To you.

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“Bird Songs at Eventide” (words - Royden Barrie, music - Eric Coates) sung by Robert White accompanied by Stephen Hough.

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2009-12-09T09:57:00.003Z

"The Concert" by Jan Vermeer (1632-1675)

Music is the only language in which you cannot say a mean or sarcastic thing. (John Erskine)

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If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.
(William Shakespeare, from Twelfth Night)

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This is the 16th century melody “Greensleeves” played by Andre Rieu and his Orchestra.

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2009-12-01T22:03:00.001Z

The Fairy Festival painted by Gustav Dore 1832-1883

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We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world is bobbing,
Then’s the time for orchard robbing,
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing. (Leigh Hunt 1784-1859)

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The music here is “Walking in the Air” sung by Chloe Agnew of Celtic Women

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This Friday on SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD -
“True Thomas and the Elfin Queen”
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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HAIKU HOMESTEAD resumes today -
http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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2009-11-25T13:58:00.001Z

"The Bridal Journey to Hardanger” was painted by Adolph Tidemand 1814-1876 and Hans Gude 1825-1903

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Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods or craggy mountain yields.

There we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs,
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

(Christopher Marlowe 1564-1593)

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This is the famous Intermezzo from the opera “Cavalleria Rusticana” by Mascagni, with some really outstanding images to accompany the music.

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This Friday on SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD -
“The Story of Norrie’s Law”
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-11-18T09:59:00.006Z

Down in the forest something stirred

So faint that I scarcely heard,
But the forest leapt at the sound,
Like a good ship homeward bound.
Down in the forest something stirred,
It was only the song of a bird. (from verses by Harold Simpson)

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The Irish poet John O’Donohue in his book “Anam Cara” tells a fascinating story of a journalist friend who arranged to interview an old Native American chief.

When they met, the old man said he would like the two of them to have some time together before the interview proper. The journalist had assumed that they would have an informal chat, and so he was rather taken aback when the chief looked directly at him, and sat for a very long time in complete silence with his eyes holding the other’s eyes. The journalist said that at first he was terrified, but gradually he responded by gazing deeply into the old man’s eyes. And so they sat, without a word being spoken, for more than two hours!

He told O’Donhue that he soon felt that there was no need for an interview. It seemed to him that they had known each other all their lives.

A strange incident indeed. Is there a lesson here?

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Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till by broad spreading it disperses to nought. (William Shakespeare)

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This is a slide show of 20 paintings by Renoir. The music is “La vie en rose” and the trumpet playing sounds very much like Eddie Calvert.

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This week’s Scottish Tale from the Other World is “The Fisherman and the Fairy Cap” and will be posted on Friday,
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-11-11T09:54:00.002Z

"Westphalia" painted by Albert Bierstadt 1830-1902

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O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies not plenty;
Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
(William Shakespeare 1564-1616)

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The song is “Pokarekare Ana”, the singer is Hayley Westenra.

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You may have tangible wealth untold,
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold,
Richer than I you can never be -
I had a mother who read to me.
(Strickland Gillilan)

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SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD continue on Friday with “The Tailor who minded the bairn.”
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-11-04T09:51:00.001Z

This is the last in the series of Flower paintings by Joy Shaylor

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A ZEN STORY

One day a young student came to Zen Master Bankei with a problem.

“Master,” he said, “I can‘t control my temper and I go into a terrible rage. What can I do?”

“Show me what happens,” replied Bankie.

The young man shook his head and explained that it just happened unexpectedly.

“Well,” said the master," this bad temper can’t be the real you. If it was, you’d be able to show it to me at any time. What’s more, you didn’t have it when you were born, and it didn’t come from your parents. Why don’t you go away and think about that.”

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A FAVOURITE POEM

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

(from Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray 1716-1771)

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" O for the wings of a dove" from “Hear my prayer” by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

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SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD continues on Friday 6th November with “MacCrinnoch’s Lament.”

http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-10-28T09:36:00.007Z

To meditate is to listen with a receptive heart (Anon)

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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)

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May you have -
Walls for the wind,
A roof for the rain,
Drinks beside the fire,
Laughter to cheer you,
Those you love near you,
And all that your heart may desire. (A Celtic Blessing)

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SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD
My new site begins on Saturday 31st October with ”A Hallowe’en Story” and will feature a different tale every week.
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-10-21T11:26:00.005+01:00

One evening lately there was a completely cloudless sky here, and I was so impressed with the very bright full moon that I called on Jean to come and have a look.

I then went to get something to read, and I found a book I had bought many years ago, but hadn’t looked at for quite a while - “365 Tao” by Deng Ming-Dao, a collection of thoughts for every day of the year. As I picked it up, it fell open at 3rd October - what a coincidence! Yes, that very day was October 3rd.

You can imagine my astonishment when I read what was on the page. Here it is -

Silver disc: Let me call you goddess -
You, with your mirrored face,
Tonight, of all nights, your shape is perfect,
Your presence sublime.
You know it too. You appear before the sun has even set,
Glorious without your cloak of night,
Gazing down in supreme splendour,
To make this dusty world pastoral.

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The following poem was written by Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

I love thee, I love thee,
‘Tis all I can say;
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray,
I love thee, I love thee,
Is all I can say.

I love thee, I love thee,
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young;
I love thee, I love thee,
A thousand maids among.

I love thee, I love thee,
Thy bright and hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee, I love thee,
Whatever be thy chance.

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This slide show “A Tribute to Vincent Van Gogh” was put together by “Shaelrion.” The song is “Starry Night” by Don MacLean.

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Finally, you might be interested in my new website which begins appropriately on Hallow’een Saturday 31st October -

SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD

http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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2009-10-14T10:44:00.004+01:00

Only as high as I reach can I grow,
Only as far as I seek can I go,
Only as deep as I look can I see,
Only as much as I dream can I be. (Anon)

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Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly tree;
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom more constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may have they garland green. (Emily Bronte 1818-1848)

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CLICKING FOR CHARITY

For many years now my day on the computer begins by logging on to the Ecology website. By clicking half-a-dozen times, I’m making a donation to a Fund which helps to save rainforests and endangered wilderness. So far I have personally saved more than five and a half acres.

I then log on to the Hunger site and my click results in a sponsor donating a cup of food. From the top of the Hunger site page you can access more charity sites - Breast Cancer, Child Health, Literacy, Rainforest and Animal Rescue, and by clicking at the relevant place on each one you are making donations at no cost to yourself.

The two addresses are -

http://www.ecologyfund.com

http://www.thehungersite.com

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2009-10-07T09:38:00.004+01:00

He who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden. (Plato)

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My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

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Thanks to FreeFoto for the rainbow photograph
The poem is by William Wordsworth 1770-1850
“Autumn Pastoral” painted by Francois Boucher 1703-1770
The video was devised by “Thespadecaller”

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This week at HAIKU HOMESTEAD -
When is a haiku not a haiku?

http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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2009-09-30T14:22:00.011+01:00

A ZEN STORY

Two monks Tanzan and Ekido were travelling along a very muddy road in heavy rain, when they met a lovely young girl dressed in a beautiful silk kimono. She was standing, uncertain what to do, for at that point the mud was particularly messy.

Tanzan immediately stepped forward, lifted her up in his arms and carried her on to a spot where the ground was less muddy.

Later, when the two monks had reached their destination, Ekido, who had been very quiet during the final stages of their journey, spoke up. “Tanzan,” he said, “We monks aren’t allowed to have any physical contact with females. I can’t understand what you did today.”

Tanzan replied, “I left the girl back there. Are you still carrying her?”

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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, Later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cells.

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(If an advert appears on the screen, click on the small cross on the right to remove it)

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The flower painting is No5 in the series by Joy Shaylor
“Autumn Woods” was painted by Albert Bierstadt
The poem is taken from “To Autumn” by John Keats
The music for the video “Autumn” is “La petite fille de la mer” by Vangelis who wrote the film scores for Chariots of Fire and Blade Runner

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FRIDAY 25TH SEPTEMBER

2009-09-24T14:07:00.007+01:00

Thanks to FreeFoto.com

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water.
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken.
Although its light is wide and great,
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide.
The whole moon and the entire sky
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. (Dogen 1200-1253)

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Painted by Theodore Rousseau 1812-1867

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THINKING ABOUT NATURE

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. (John Muir)

Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard. (Standing Bear who was a Ponca Native American chief)

Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. (Kahlil Gibran)

The poetry of the earth is never dead. (John Keats)

The human spirit needs places where nature has not been re-arranged by the hand of man. (Anon)

To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment. (Jane Austen)

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. (Lao-Tzu)

I can enjoy society in a room; but out-of-doors nature is company enough for me. (William Hazlitt)

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This week EIGHTY PLUS includes “Tam O’Shanter and the Witches” and a video clip of Barbara Dickson singing “The Skye Boat Song”
http://80plus.blogspot.com

This week at HAIKU HOMESTEAD - “Caterpillars and Butterflies” plus the 5-7-5 rule, Yes or No?
http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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FRIDAY 18TH SEPTEMBER

2009-09-16T14:29:00.009+01:00

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Some Taoist sayings -

Intelligent people know others,
Enlightened people know themselves.

You can conquer others with power,
But it takes true strength to conquer yourself.

When people see beauty, they think - that’s beautiful!
Thinking of something as being beautiful makes you think other things are ugly.
Calling something “good” forces you to call some other things “bad.”

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This is Flower Painting No4 by Joy Shaylor

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THE OLD WORKMAN

“Why are you so bent down before your time,
Old mason? Many have not left their prime
So far behind at your age, and can still
Stand full upright at will.”

He pointed to the mansion-front hard by,
And to the stones of the quoin against the sky;
“Those upper blocks,” he said, “that there you see,
It was that ruined me.”

There stood in the air up to the parapet
Crowning the corner height, the stones as set
By him - ashlar whereon the gales might drum
For centuries to come.

“I carried them up,” he said, “by a ladder there;
The last was as big a load as I could bear;
But on I heaved; and something in my back
Moved, as ‘twere with a crack.

“So I got crookt. I never lost that sprain;
And those who live there, walled from wind and rain
By freestone that I lifted, do not know
That my life’s ache came so.

“They don’t know me, or even know my name,
But good I think it, somehow, all the same
To have kept ‘em safe from harm, and right and tight,
Though it has broke me quite.

“Yes; that I fixed it firm up there I am proud,
Facing the hail and snow and sun and cloud,
And to stand storms for ages, beating round
When I lie underground.” (Thomas Hardy 1840-1928)

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"The Grand Canal, Venice" by Canaletto (1697-1768)

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I was very pleased with the Haiku Homestead blog which I re-started last week.

The theme of today’s posting is Autumn and I give some interesting answers to the question “What exactly is a haiku?”

http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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Finally, a recording of the Londonderry Air played by Nigel Kennedy.

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FRIDAY 11TH SEPTEMBER

2009-09-09T19:05:00.011+01:00

Look in the perfume of flowers and of nature for peace of mind and joy of life. (Wang Wei 701-circa 761 AD, Chinese painter, poet and musician)

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This is the 3rd of Joy Shaylor’s flower paintings

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SOLITUDE

Two poems by Wang Wei

My Retreat at Mount ZhongNan

In middle life I became immersed
In the philosophy of Tao.
Later I went to live
At the foot of South Mountain.
When I am happy I walk alone in the hills.

I know within my heart
What is good and which is beautiful.
When I arrive at the source of the stream
I sit down to rest and to watch the mists rising.
Sometimes I need a time-worn woodcutter,
Talking and laughing together,
We forget it is time to go home!

In a Retreat among Bamboos

Leaning alone in the close bamboos,
I am playing my lute and humming a song
Too softly for anyone to hear,
Except my comrade, the bright moon.

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This is by the Russian painter Arkhip Ivanovich Kuindzhi (1842-1910)

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A ZEN STORY

Twenty monks and one young nun were practising meditation under a famous Zen Master.

The nun was very beautiful and before long many of the monks had secretly fallen in love with her. Only one of them however showed his feelings, by slipping a love letter to her when nobody was looking.

The next day they were all assembled to hear a lecture from the Master. When it had finished, the nun stood up and, in front of everyone, said to the one who had written to her, “If you really love me, come and embrace me now.”

And the moral of course is - If you love, love openly.

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She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent! (Lord Byron 1788-1824)

The poet was inspired to write this by the beauty of his cousin Mrs Wilmot.

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Many years ago this Chopin piano piece became known as "So Deep is the Night". It's the Etude Op10 No3 in E major “Tristesse” by Chopin, played by the Polish-born American Arthur Rubinstein.

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After a break of three months, my HAIKU HOMESTEAD blog is in operation again. I’ve made some changes to the format and to the style, and you can see it at -

http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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FRIDAY 4TH SEPTEMBER

2009-09-02T16:45:00.009+01:00

Rainbows are just to look at, not to understand. (Anon)

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Inside each raindrop swims the sun.
Inside each flower breathes the moon.
Inside me dwell ten million stars,
One for each of my ancestors -
The elk, the raven, the mouse, the man,
The flower, the coyote, the lion, the fish.
Ten million different stars am I,
But only one spirit connecting all. (Nancy Wood)

What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
And loses itself in the sunset. (Crowfoot)

Crowfoot (1830-1890) Chief of the Blackfoot people, Canada

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“Iona” by the Scottish painter Francis Cadell (1883-1937)

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Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
(Oliver Goldsmith 1730-1774, an extract from The Deserted Village)

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The singer here is Chloe Agnew and the melody comes from The Four Seasons by Vivaldi. The song is “Signore guidami” and the English translation is shown below.

Lord, guide me and tell me what to do,
I’ve seen the love of my life and he has seen me.
I want to tell him that I love him and I hope he’ll say the same.
Life goes by fast, my heart beats strong,
Lord, guide me and grant me peace.
I ask you what to say, how to say it.
Show me how to say I love him,
Show me how to say he loves me,
I’m praying that he’ll say that he loves me.

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FRIDAY 28TH AUGUST

2009-08-26T14:19:00.010+01:00

A small child looked at a star and began to weep.
And the star said "Child, why do you weep?"
The child said "You are so far away. I will never be able to touch you."
And the star answered "Child, if I were not already in your heart, you would not be able to see me now." (John Magliola)

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This is the second in a series of six paintings by Joy Shaylor

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Morning, Noon and Night -

early morning dew -
teardrops from the willow
sparkle on the grass

cool summer breezes -
shadows of the windmill blades
scything through the grass

sparkling through the trees
fingers of fading sunlight
dance on the river

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"The Pioneer" by the Australian painter Frederick McCubbin (1855-1917)

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BILLY AND ME by James Hogg (1770-1835)

Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to track the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the water and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

[James Hogg, poet and author, became known as “The Ettrick Shepherd.” He was born in 1770 on a small farm near Ettrick in Scotland and died in 1835]

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The music here is the popular song The Rose, written and composed by Amanda McBroom, and performed by Gheorghe Zamfir on panpipes.

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I was delighted to learn that John's Quiet Corner had been recommended to stumbleupon.com by a viewer in Philadelphia who wrote "This old man blogger has some really amazing images and poetry selected - and he updates frequently."

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FRIDAY 21ST AUGUST

2009-08-21T08:00:00.000+01:00

This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love - the more they give, the more they possess. (Rainer Maria Rilke 1875-1926)

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"Bluebells" by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836-1912)

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I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou art not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.

Thy eyes are gazing upon mine
When thou art out of sight;
My lips are always touching thine
At morning, noon, and night.

I think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest,
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's breast.

I hide it from the world's wide eye
And think and speak contrary,
But soft the wind comes from the sky
And whispers tales of Mary.

The night-wind whispers in my ear,
The moon shines on my face;
The burden still of chilling fear
I find in every place.

The breeze is whispering in the bush,
And the leaves fall from the tree,
All sighing on, and will not hush,
Some pleasant tales of thee.
(John Clare 1793-1864)

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This is the first of 6 flower paintings by Joy Shaylor

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This is a beautiful piece of music by Gabriel Faure (1845-1924) - Pavane.

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FRIDAY 14TH AUGUST

2009-08-14T08:00:00.000+01:00

The clouds above us join and separate,
The breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns;
Life is like that, so why not relax?
Who can stop us from celebrating? (Lu You 1125-1210)

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“Wang Xizhi” by the Chinese painter Qian Xuan (1235-1305)

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Three more of my haiku -

sketching the roses -
time and time again falling
petals change my view

a speck of yellow
among the blue wild flowers -
one small buttercup

sunny afternoon -
the fish and their shadows make
the pond seem crowded

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The Girl with the Flaxen Hair by Debussy played by Jascha Heifetz and Emanual Bay

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Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
(Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)

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Finally, someone has put together this slide show of 44 paintings by a number of 19th century artistes. The whole thing lasts 6 minutes and 44 seconds, but it's well worth watching.

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FRIDAY 7TH AUGUST

2009-08-05T14:24:00.000+01:00

There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as if everything is. (Albert Einstein)

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All the breath and bloom of the year in the bag of one bee;
All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem;
In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea;
Breath and bloom, shade and shine -
Wonder, wealth and - how far above them -
Truth, that’s brighter than gem,
Trust, that’s purer than pearl -
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe
All were for me in the kiss of one girl. (Robert Browning 1812-1889)

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"Madame Moitessier" by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780-1867)
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Something to think about -

ONCE UPON A TIME a traveller was journeying across the desert when he met two strange men. As they were all going roughly in the same direction, they chatted as they walked.

The men told the traveller that their names were Fear and Plague and they were going to a big city where they intended to kill 20,000 of the inhabitants.

Shocked, the man asked Plague if he would do all the work.

Plague shook his head, “No, I’ll kill only a few hundred. My friend Fear will do the rest.”

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This piece of music is a particular favourite of mine - Romance from the Gadfly Suite by Shostakovich.

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Finally, a haiku -

stillness of twilight
the aspen leaves quivering
in eerie silence

[In the Scottish Highlands the aspen tree, also known as the trembling poplar, is said to have magical powers]

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FRIDAY 31ST JULY

2009-07-30T11:36:00.000+01:00

Life is the flower for which love is the honey. (Victor Hugo)

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O my love is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my love is like a melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Love,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Love,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile! (Robert Burns 1721-1784)

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“Wivenhoe Park Essex” by John Constable (1776-1837)

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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,
Nor shall death brag thou wandrest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. (William Shakespeare 1564-1616)

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FRIDAY 24TH JULY

2009-07-23T13:35:00.000+01:00

For a good few years now I have been interested in haiku and have
enjoyed composing them. Many books have been written explaining what the haiku is, but the simplest definition would be a 17 syllable poem of three non-rhyming lines, the distribution of the syllables being 5/7/5. Using as few words as possible, it encapsulates a moment in time.

Those three haiku of mine are not connected - I wrote them at different times.

searching for the moon -
there it is, hiding behind
the old sycamore

midnight on the shore -
among the rocks a silver
moon in every pool

calm spring night, a stone
thrown in the pond shatters the
silence - and the moon

This poem "New Moon" written by Tu Fu (712-770) was translated by Kenneth Rexroth and is found in the anthology "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese"

The bright thin new moon appears,
Tipped askew in the heavens.
It no sooner shines over
The ruined fortress than the
Evening clouds overwhelm it.
The Milky Way shines unchanging
Over the freezing mountains
Of the border. White frost covers
The garden. The chrysanthemums
Clot and freeze in the night.

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Moonlight by J.M.W.Turner (1775-1851)

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Moonlight becomes you, it goes with your hair,
You certainly know the right thing to wear;
Moonlight becomes you, I'm thrilled at the sight
And I could get so romantic tonight.

You're all dressed up to go dreaming,
Now don't tell me I'm wrong,
And what a night to go dreaming,
Mind if I tag along?

If I say “I love you”
I want you to know
It's not just because there's moonlight, although -
Moonlight becomes you so. (song lyrics by Johnny Burke)

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Finally, this 5 minute video is a real delight!

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FRIDAY 17TH JULY

2009-07-13T15:49:00.000+01:00

Silence is deep as Eternity, speech is as shallow as Time. (Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.
Some see nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see nature at all.
But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself. (William Blake 1757-1827)

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This painting “Small Meadows in Spring” is by Alfred Sisley (1839-1899), one of the French Impressionists.

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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there’s a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story;
There’s a flower that shall be mine,
‘Tis the little Celandine. (William Wordsworth 1770-1850)

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The music here is the well-known Serenade by Schubert played on violin and piano. I don't know who the musicians are.

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FRIDAY 10TH JULY

2009-07-08T14:42:00.000+01:00

“Music has charms to soothe the savage breast.” So said William Congreve in his play The Mourning Bride (1697)

Here are some of my favourite quotes on the subject of music -

Of all noises, I think music is the least disagreeable. (Samuel Johnson)

I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to. (Elvis Presley)

Wagner's music is better than it sounds. (Edgar Wilson Nye)

Music is the only language in which you cannot say a mean or sarcastic thing. (John Erskine)

Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the musicians. (G.K. Chesterton)

In the presence of great music we have no alternative but to live nobly. (Sean O’Faolin)

An intellectual snob is someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture and not think of The Lone Ranger. (Dan Rather)

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. (Aldous Huxley)

Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings. (Ed Gardner)

Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence. (Robert Fripp)

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This painting “Jeunes Filles au Piano” is by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919)

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Continuing the theme of music, the following lines by W.G. Rothery are very often sung to a melody by Handel -

Art thou troubled?
Music will calm thee,
Art thou weary?
Rest shall be thine,
Rest shall be thine.

Music, source of all gladness,
Heals thy sadness
At her shrine,
Music, music, ever divine.
Music, music calleth
With voice divine.

When the welcome spring is smiling,
All the earth with flow'rs beguiling,
After winter's dreary reign,
Sweetest music doth attend her,
Heav'nly harmonies doth lend her,
Chanting praises in her train,
Chanting praises in her train.

Art thou troubled?
Music will calm thee.

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“The Music Lesson” is by one of the Pre-Raphaelite painters Sir Frederick Leighton (1830-1896)

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Finally, this piece of music used to be a favourite with youngsters learning the piano. It was known as the “Celebrated Minuet by Boccherini.” The accompanying paintings and drawings are all from the 18th century.

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Thanks to Webweaver for the use of the clipart item.
http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/victorian.shtml

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FRIDAY 3RD JULY

2009-07-01T14:43:00.000+01:00

A GARDEN SONG by Henry Austin Dobson (1840-1921)

Here, in this sequestered close,
Bloom the hyacinth and rose;
Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Here, without a pang, one sees
Ranks, conditions, and degrees.

All the seasons run their race
In this quiet resting place;
Peach, and apricot, and fig
Here will ripen and grow big
Here is store and overplus, -
More had not Alcinous! *

Here, in alleys cool and green,
Far ahead the thrush is seen;
Here along the southern wall
Keeps the bee his festival;
All is quiet else - afar
Sounds of toil and turmoil are.

Here be shadows large and long;
Here be spaces meet for song;
Grant, O garden-god, that I,
Now that mood and moment please, -
Find the fair Pierides! **

* In Greek mythology Alcinous was a very wealthy ruler of the island Scheria. He features in the story of Jason and the Argonauts.

** The Pierides were the nine daughters of the King of Emathia. They challenged the Muses to a song contest. The Muses won and changed the girls into magpies. Confusingly, the Muses themselves are also known as the Pierides.

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This is a photograph of Dove Cottage where William Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy lived from 1799 till 1808.

The house is a great tourist attraction, and Jean and I visited it on one of our Lake District Holidays.

Originally an inn called the Dove and Onion, it’s thought that it was probably built in the early part of the 17th century. It was while they lived at Dove Cottage that William produced his finest works.

This poem "Dove Cottage Garden" he wrote just before he and Dorothy were leaving home for a few months.

Sweet Garden-orchard! of all spots that are
The loveliest surely man hath ever found.
Farewell! we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care.
Thee and the cottage which thou dost surround ...

Dear Spot! whom we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own ...

O happy Garden! loved for hours of sleep,
O quiet Garden! loved for waking hours.
For soft half-slumbers that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers ...

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This is a rather spectacular painting by the Chinese artist Yun Shouping (1633-1690)

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Live more and more in the present, which is ever beautiful and stretches away before and beyond the limits of the past and the future. (Meher Baba 1894-1969)

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The music here is the Humming Chorus from Madam Butterfly by Puccini, provided by Andre Rieu the Dutch violinist, conductor and composer.

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FRIDAY 26TH JUNE

2009-06-23T15:09:00.000+01:00

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble Sheep a threatening horn;
While the Lily white shall in Love delight,
Nor a thorn, nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
………………………………...........William Blake (1757-1827)

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A haiku -

in the hermit’s hut
a bowl, a bed, a table
and peace

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A Zen story -

One day a poor farmer found a stray horse in his yard. He kept it and found it a great help with his work in the fields.

The neighbours said, “Aren’t you lucky?” The farmer replied, “Perhaps.”

Some time later his son tried to ride the horse, fell off and broke his leg.

The neighbours said, “Aren’t you unlucky?” The farmer replied, “Perhaps.”

When war was declared, all the young men had to go to fight, but, because of his injury, his son was excused.

The neighbours said, “Aren’t you lucky?” The farmer replied, “Perhaps.”

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This picture "Young Woman Drawing" is by the French painter Marie-Denise Villers (1774-1821)

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MAX EHRMANN (1872-1945) was an attorney in Indiana, USA. At the age of 40 he gave up his work to become a writer and nowadays he is best known for his prose poem “Desirata.”

This video gives a visual presentation of the poem against a background of beautiful scenery and the sublime musical accompaniment of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.

The whole thing is quite long - 10 minutes, but I’ve watched it many times now and find it very rewarding. If you don’t have time to spare right now, you can see all the words below.

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Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

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FRIDAY 19TH JUNE

2009-06-18T16:00:00.000+01:00

In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you. (Deepek Chopra)

Spring has its flowers,
Autumn has its moon,
Summer has its cooling breezes,
Winter has its snow.
If you allow no idle concerns to weigh on your heart,
Your whole life will be one perennial good season. (John C. Wu)

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LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle -
Why not I with thine?

See the mountain’s kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain’d its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

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This painting is by Albrecht Durer (1471-1528)

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DO YOU ASK WHAT THE BIRDS SAY? by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, “I love and I love!”
In the winter they’re silent - the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don’t know, but it sings a loud song,
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving - all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
Then he sings and he sings, and for ever sings he -
“I love my Love, and my Love loves me.”

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I like this version of the Air on a G string by J. S. Bach. It's beautifully played by the Swedish guitarist Per-Olov Kindgren.

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