Late Winter, Early Spring
Busy gnomes chip away
At the winter’s hard ground,
So that bulbs may burst forth
And spring’s beauty abound.
In the woods, damp and dark,
They must labor below
Crooked roots and cold stones,
Pushing stalks through the snow.
Undines melt snow until
Water can flow again,
Filling the leaves growing
Green with spring rain.
Sylphs, they are dreaming
Of winds softly streaming
Through petals all yellow
And purple and blue.
—Eugene Schwartz
“Saint Giles, His Bells,” watercolor by Charles Altamont Doyle
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
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.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Faery Riders
When the moon is round and white
The Faery Riders shake the night
With song and laughter going by:
I love to hear the noise they make,
The pine trees hear it too, and wake;
It fills the room in which I lie.
I hear the trumpets long and loud,
I hear the voices of a crowd,
I hear the horses prancing by:
All night they pass, and pass, and pass,
But not one little blade of grass
Is trampled down or turned away.
If I could see their faces plain,
Or run beside the bridle rein
Of Mab the Queen, as she comes by:
I might know all the Faeries know,
And follow, follow where they go
Before the sun climbs up the sky.
But though I hurry might and main
To look out through the windowpane,
I never see them passing by.
Just when I reach the window sill
The music stops and all is still:
Only the wind is passing by.
—Ella Young
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.The clouds of gray engulf the day
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining roses down.It is not raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where any buccaneering bee
Can find a bed and room.A health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets!
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining violets.
—Robert Loveman, “April Rain”
“It is summer,” said the fairy,
“Bring me tissue light and airy;
Bring me colors of the rarest,
Search the rainbow for the fairest
Seashell pink and sunny yellow,
Kingly crimson, deep and mellow …
Bring me diamonds, shining brightly
Where the morning dew lies lightly …
With an art no fay discloses
I am going to make some roses!”
—Mary F. Butts
Easter in the Woods
This dawn when the mountain cherry lifts
its frail white bloom among dark pines,
and chipmunks flash small happy paws
along old tumbled boundary lines,
this golden morning when the vixen
nuzzles her five young foxes forth
to roll in ferns in the Easter sun,—
again the woods know soft green birth.
Snuffed by a puffball infant rabbit
are yellow violets by the spring;
among half-opened apple buds
a wood thrush tilts his head to sing.
Risen is He! And they are His,
who scamper under warm blue skies,
who nibble little fists of grass,
and gaze on earth with shy glad eyes.
—Frances Frost
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro’ the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
Oh, I am a little bit excited! Happy Solstice! I don’t know whether to read poetry or rush outside to try to capture the Lunar eclipse with my camera. We didn’t do too much to celebrate ~ apart from spending the day all together, working on our various Christmas projects, making art, relaxing, running through the leaves, and listening to some wonderful music tonight. (Thank you Jethro Tull!) The kids and I read The Winter Solstice, a picture book by Ellen Jackson.
Where exactly is the nearest bonfire?
“Ring Out, Solstice Bells” by Jethro Tull
Now is the solstice of the year,
winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.Join together beneath the mistletoe.
by the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.Praise be to the distant sister sun,
joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.
And here’s one more, that suits my frame of mind on this darkest night.
“Lord of the Dance” (Traditional)
I danced in the morning when the world was begun
I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun;
I was called from the darkness by the song of the earth,
I joined in the singing and she gave me birth.Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!I sleep in the kernel and I dance in the rain,
I dance in the wind, and through the waving grain,
And when you cut me down, I care nothing for the pain —
In Spring I’ll be Lord of the Dance again!Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!I see the maidens laughing as they dance in the sun,
I count the fruits of the of the harvest, one by one;
I know the storm is coming, but the grain is all stored,
So I sing of the dance of the Lady and the Lord.Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!We dance ever slower as the leaves fall and spin
And the sound of the Horn is the wailing of the wind;
The Earth is wrapped in stillness and we move in a trance,
but we hold on fast to our faith in the dance.Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!The sun is in the south and the days lengthen fast,
And soon we’ll sing for the winter that is past,
Now we light the candles and rejoice as they burn,
and Dance the dance of the sun’s return.Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!They cut me down, but I leap up high!
I am life that will never, never die.
I’ll live in you and you’ll live in me—
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he!Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!The moon in her phases and the tides of the sea,
the movement of Earth, and the seasons that will be
Are rhythm for the dancing and a promise through the years—
The Dance goes on through joy and tears.
May your homes be full of love and light. May you find a moment to nurture your own inner spark, that source of all of your own inspiration, generosity, compassion, and love. Let it shine in the darkness!
(painting by Lucas, second grade)
Look to this day,
For it is life,
The very life of life.
In its brief course lie all
The realities and verities of existence,
The bliss of growth,
The splendor of action,
The glory of power—
For yesterday is but a dream,
And tomorrow is only a vision,
But today, well lived,
Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
—Sanskrit proverb
King Sun he climbs the summer sky
Ascending ever higher.
He mounts his gay midsummer throne,
All made of golden fire.
His flowing mantle, flowing free,
His shining gifts he showers
All golden on the earth and sea,
On men and beasts and flowers.
— J. Aulie, from Summer, A Collection of Poems, Songs and Stories for Young Children
Round the May Pole Now We Dance
Nancy Byrd Turner
Round the May Pole now we dance
(Over with blue, under with white),
Wind’s in the ribbons, oh see them lift!
Light’s on the ribbons, oh feel them shift!
While we braid overhead
Colors fair and bright!
Round the May Pole gay we move
(You with your ribbon, I with mine).
The colors cross and the pattern grows
(Over with red and under with rose)
On and on, till we’re done.
See the tall pole shine!
Who doesn’t love rainbow ribbons against a blue sky?
Lucas skipping with his classmates. The second graders blessed the circle with their May song and bouquets of flowers.
The girls gather their ribbons.
Eat your heart out, Degas!
Aren’t they lovely?
So precious, so rare. Every year, it is such a gathering of joy and celebration of spring, of life, of beauty, and of youthful promise. I’m grateful to be a part of this community, and the festival makes my heart sing.
