In the lamb white days

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F e e l i n g   V i n e

Granby Park

Columbia, South Carolina

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Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,

The night above the dingle starry,

Time let me hail and climb

Golden in the heydays of his eyes,

And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

Trail with daisies and barley

Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns

About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,

In the sun that is young once only,

Time let me play and be

Golden in the mercy of his means,

And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves

Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,

And the sabbath rang slowly

In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay

Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air

And playing, lovely and watery

And fire green as grass.

And nightly under the simple stars

As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,

All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars

Flying with the ricks, and the horses

Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white

With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all

Shining, it was Adam and maiden,

The sky gathered again

And the sun grew round that very day.

So it must have been after the birth of the simple light

In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm

Out of the whinnying green stable

On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house

Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,

In the sun born over and over,

I ran my heedless ways,

My wishes raced through the house high hay

And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows

In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs

Before the children green and golden

Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me

Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,

In the moon that is always rising,

Nor that riding to sleep

I should hear him fly with the high fields

And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

= Dylan Thomas =

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Happy Wednesday

Outside the glittering current

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T h e   L i g h t   B e y o n d

Old Gray Cemetery

Knoxville, Tennessee

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I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.

= Theodore Roethke =

Happy Tuesday

My apologies to time

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P o w e r   R u s h

Saluda River

Columbia, South Carolina

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My apologies to chance for calling it necessity
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologise for my record of minuets

to those who cry from the depths.
I apologise to those who wait in railway stations

for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you

bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year,

always in the same cage,
you gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don’t pay me much attention.
Dignity please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence,

as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then.
My apologies to everyone

that I can’t be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone

that I can’t be each woman and each man.
I know that I won’t be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don’t bear me ill will, speech,

that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

= Wislawa Szymborska =

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Happy Monday

Angel harps forever ringing

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S t o n y   C o m p o s u r e

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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Angel voices, ever singing

'Round Thy throne of light

Angel harps, forever ringing

Rest not day or night

Thousands only live to bless Thee

And confess Thee, Lord of might.

Thou Who art beyond the farthest

Mortal eye can scan

Can it be that Thou regardest

Songs of sinful man?

Can we feel that Thou art near us

And wilt hear us?

Yea, we can.

Yea, we know Thy love rejoices

O'er each work of Thine

Thou didst ears and hands and voices

For Thy praise combine

Craftsman's art and music's measure

For Thy pleasure didst design.

Here, great God, today we offer

Of Thine own to Thee;

And for Thine acceptance proffer

All unworthily

Hearts and minds, and hands and voices

In our choicest melody.

Honor, glory, might and merit

Thine shall ever be

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

Blessed Trinity

Of the best that Thou hast given

Earth and Heaven render Thee.

= Francis Pott =

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And all the angels stood round about the throne,

and about the elders and the four beasts,

and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God,

saying, Amen: Blessing, and glory, and wisdom,

and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might,

be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen.

Revelation 7:11-12

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Happy Sunday

Bliss I cannot weigh

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A g r e e   t o   V e r d i g r i s

Laurel Grove Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

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If I may have it, when it's dead,

I'l be contented -- so --

If just as soon as Breath is out

It shall belong to me --

Until they lock it in the Grave,

'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh --

For tho' they lock Thee in the Grave,

Myself -- can own the key --

Think of it Lover! I and Thee

Permitted -- face to face to be --

After a Life -- a Death -- We'll say --

For Death was That --

And this -- is Thee --

I'll tell Thee All -- how Bald it grew --

How Midnight felt, at first -- to me --

How all the Clocks stopped in the World --

And Sunshine pinched me -- 'Twas so cold --

Then how the Grief got sleepy -- some --

As if my Soul were deaf and dumb --

Just making signs -- across -- to Thee --

That this way -- thou could'st notice me --

I'll tell you how I tried to keep

A smile, to show you, when this Deep

All Waded -- We look back for Play,

At those Old Times -- in Calvary.

Forgive me, if the Grave come slow --

For Coveting to look at Thee --

Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost

Outvisions Paradise!

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday