Two Lovers by George Eliot

{Poem of the Day}

Mary Ann Evans was an important woman writer from the Victorian era. She is mostly known as George Eliot, a male pen name so that her writing would be taken more seriously. Born in Warwickshire, the west midland region of England, this very successful chick of lit wrote poetry, short stories and novels. She was also an assistant editor and translator. Since my last {Poem of the Day} from Eliot was quite serious, here's a poem of hers that celebrates love.

"Starry Night Over the Rhone" by Vincent Van Gogh. Print from $28 on  iCanvas Art

"Two Lovers"

By George Eliot (1819 - 1880)

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:

They leaned soft cheeks together there,

Mingled the dark and sunny hair,

And heard the wooing thrushes sing.

O budding time!

O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept:

The bells made happy carolings,

The air was soft as fanning wings,

White petals on the pathway slept.

O pure-eyed bride!

O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:

Two hands above the head were locked:

These pressed each other while they rocked,

Those watched a life that love had sent.

O solemn hour!

O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:

The red light fell about their knees

On heads that rose by slow degrees

Like buds upon the lily spire.

O patient life!

O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,

The red light shone about their knees;

But all the heads by slow degrees

Had gone and left that lonely pair.

O voyage fast! 

O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor

And made the space between them wide;

They drew their chairs up side by side,

Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"

O memories!

O past that is!

Learn more about George Eliot here

O May I Join The Choir Invisible by George Eliot

{Poem of the Day}

After a recent discussion with some religious friends of ours about what happens after death, I got to thinking: if we could have things John Lennon's way, with no religion, would people value their lives more knowing there is nothing after death? I think all we have is this one life. So I cherish it very much. And I want others to make the most of their lives too. Would there be more peace if there was no misconception of an after-life? "And no religion too."

That is why I choose this semi-morbid topic to be the theme of the poem of the day. Eliot's poem below, to me, says there is no after-life. In her words, "So to live is heaven."

And I completely agree.

Portrait of George Eliot by Eliana Trenam, from here

"O May I Join The Choir Invisible"

By George Eliot (1819 - 1880)

O may I join the choir invisible

Of those immortal dead who live again

In minds made better by their presence: live

In pulses stirred to generosity,

In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn

For miserable aims that end with self,

In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,

And with their mild persistence urge man's search

To vaster issues.

    So to live is heaven:

To make undying music in the world,

Breathing as beauteous order that controls

With growing sway the growing life of man.

So we inherit that sweet purity

For which we struggled, failed, and agonised

With widening retrospect that bred despair.

Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,

A vicious parent shaming still its child

Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;

Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,

Die in the large and charitable air.

And all our rarer, better, truer self,

That sobbed religiously in yearning song,

That watched to ease the burthen of the world,

Laboriously tracing what must be,

And what may yet be better— saw within

A worthier image for the sanctuary,

And shaped it forth before the multitude

Divinely human, raising worship so

To higher reference more mixed with love—

That better self shall live till human Time

Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky

Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb

Unread for ever.

    This is life to come,

Which martyred men have made more glorious

For us who strive to follow. May I reach

That purest heaven, be to other souls

The cup of strength in some great agony,

Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,

Beget the smiles that have no cruelty—

Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,

And in diffusion ever more intense.

So shall I join the choir invisible

Whose music is the gladness of the world.

To learn more about George Eliot (real name was Mary Ann Evans) go here.

Harvest by Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz

{Poem of the Day}

Went out to my car this morning and there was frost on my windshield. Wasn't wearing a jacket and I felt great. Besides my prehistoric-like ways, this is just another reason why I think I was cold-blooded in my past life. Love fall. Love cooler weather. Now we just need some refreshing rain in my city!

Vintage harvest photograph from here

"Harvest"

By Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz (?-1933)

Sweet, sweet, sweet,

Is the wind's song,

Astir in the rippled wheat

All day long,

It hath the brook's wild gayety,

The sorrowful cry of the sea.

Oh, hush and hear!

Sweet, sweet and clear,

Above the locust's whirr

And hum of bee

Rises that soft, pathetic harmony.

In the meadow-grass

The innocent white daisies blow,

The dandelion plume doth pass

Vaguely to and fro, -

The unquiet spirit of a flower

That hath too brief an hour.

Now doth a little cloud all white,

Or golden bright,

Drift down the warm, blue sky;

And now on the horizon line,

Where dusky woodlands lie,

A sunny mist doth shine,

Like to a veil before a holy shrine,

Concealing, half-revealing, things divine.

Sweet, sweet, sweet,

Is the wind's song,

Astir in the rippled wheat

All day long.

That exquisite music calls

The reaper everywhere -

Life and death must share.

The golden harvest falls.

So doth all end, -

Honored Philosophy,

Science and Art,

The bloom of the heart; -

Master, Consoler, Friend,

Make Thou the harvest of our days

To fall within Thy ways.

In The Quiet Land by Aung San Suu Kyi

{Poem of the Day}

This poem is for Aung San Suu Kyi, who is visiting the US and was awarded a US Congressional Gold Medal. Says UN secretary general Ban Ki-moon about Suu Kyi, "She is now a global symbol of human rights. We have great expectations and hope that she will lead this path of reconciliation and greater participatory democracy and development of her country."

This mural was created by Shepard Fairey and can be found here

"In the Quiet Land"

By Aung San Suu Kyi (1945 - present)

In the Quiet Land, no one can tell

if there's someone who's listening

for secrets they can sell.

The informers are paid in the blood of the land

and no one dares speak what the tyrants won't stand.

In the quiet land of Burma,

no one laughs and no one thinks out loud.

In the quiet land of Burma,

you can hear it in the silence of the crowd

In the Quiet Land, no one can say

when the soldiers are coming

to carry them away.

The Chinese want a road; the French want the oil;

the Thais take the timber; and SLORC takes the spoils...

In the Quiet Land....

In the Quiet Land, no one can hear

what is silenced by murder

and covered up with fear.

But, despite what is forced, freedom's a sound

that liars can't fake and no shouting can drown.

To find out more about this inspirational woman, go here.

J.R.R. Tolkien Reads a Poem in Elfish

{Poem of the Day}

With "The Hobbit" coming to theaters on December 14, 2012, I thought it would be fun to do something a little different with this {Poem of the Day}. Tolkien recorded himself reading the poem, Namárië, in Elfish. Guess he knew it would be an Internet hit someday.

Hitting up Oktoberfest tomorrow and I hope to be speaking Elfish by the end of it! Happy Friday, everyone!  xo

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

{Poem of the Day}

I know. You've heard it. Read it. Seen it on Oprah.

But it's so good.

For other out-of-this-world paintings from Corina Chirila, go here

"I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings"

By Maya Angelou (1928 - present)

A free bird leaps on the back

Of the wind and floats downstream

Till the current ends and dips his wing

In the orange suns rays

And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see through his bars of rage

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

Of things unknown but longed for still

And his tune is heard on the distant hill for

The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

And the trade winds soft through

The sighing trees

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright

Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with

A fearful trill of things unknown

But longed for still and his

Tune is heard on the distant hill

For the caged bird sings of freedom.


For more on the latest books, events and news from Maya Angelou, go here.

One Morning, Oh! So Early by Jean Ingelow

{Poem of the Day}

Jean Ingelow, a British poet and writer, showed literary promise at a young age. "A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings," which she wrote at 13 years old, was praises by Alfred Tennyson. She also wrote a children's story, "Mopsa the Fairy," as well as "Off the Skelligs," which is supposed to be a great piece of literature that describes the Irish scenery beautifully.

Ingelow's poetry is famous for themes of religion and nature, both of which can be seen in the poem below. I choose this for our "Poem of the Day" because of its message about peace and love. Recent events in the news had me thinking we all need to combat ignorance with love, not violence. It would be the smartest thing to do, yet, for some people, it seems to be the hardest thing to do.

More info on "Peace and Love" by Benini can be found here

"One Morning, Oh! So Early"

By Jean Ingelow (1820 - 1897)

One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,

All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;

'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"

And the lark sang, "Give us glory!"

And the dove said, "Give us peace!"

Then I hearkened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,

To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;

When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!"

When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!"

She made answer, "Give us love!"

Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;

Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,

And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,

Give for all our life's dear story,

Give us love, and give us peace!"

For (a lot!) more information on Jean Ingelow, read her bio here on something the Gerald Massey website.

Norah by Zoe Akins

{Poem of the Day}

This poet and I share the same birthday! And apparently we both want to run wild in the sea. Akins wrote both poetry and plays. The American writer is mostly known for her plays, "Papa" and "Foot-Loose." Not the Kevin Bacon kind of Foot Loose. I know. Bummer. No matter, I particularly like this poem below because I read it as a wild woman who loves a straight-path man. He may take his laid-down path whenever he wants, but her path is out into a vast unknown! (Today that is referred to as your 20s.)

More info on this beautiful painting here

"Norah"

by Zoe Akins (1886 - 1958)

I knew his house by the poplar-trees,

Green and silvery in the breeze;

"A heaven-high hedge," were the words he said,

"And holly-hocks, pink and white and red. . . ."

It seemed so far from McChesney's Hall -

Where first he told me about it all.

A long path runs inside from the gate, -

He still can take it, early or late;

But where in the world is the path for me

Except the river that runs to the sea!

Learn more about Zoe Akins here.

Wild Wishes by Ethel M. Hewitt

{Poem of the Day}

Today's poem of the day is about losing a loved one. And while I haven't recently lost anyone, it's a lovely poem. Fantastic title.

However, I cannot find any information about the author. So if anyone has any idea, please let me know. I'd like to know more about her.

Buy a print of "Together We Dream" by Sofan Chan here

"Wild Wishes" 

Ethel M. Hewitt

I wish, because the sweetness of your passing

Makes all the earth a garden where you tread,

That I might be the meanest of your roses,

To pave your path with petals passion-red!

I wish, because the softness of your breathing

Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame,

That I might be the fragrance of a flower,

To stir the night breeze with your dearest name!

I wish, because the glory of your dreaming

Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars,

That I might storm the portals of your slumber,

And soar with you beyond night's golden bars!

I wish to be the day you die, Beloved,

Though at its close my foolish heart must break!

But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling,

To be the Blessed Morning when you wake!

Happy Ending? by Shel Silverstein

Continuing on with my Paint exploration!

There are no happy endings,
Endings are the saddest part,
So just give me a happy middle
And a very happy start.







Read more about this magnificent man here.

Love's Prisoner by Mariana Alley Griswold Van Rensselaer

This poem of the day sounds like it could easily be a song.

Von Rensselae, an American author, was the first woman architectural critic and she was president of the Public Education Association of New York.

Architecture and education. That's one smart lit chick. And now onto... love...

When Dreams Come True by Leonid Afremov from here

"Love's Prisoner"
Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer (1851-1934)

Sweet love has twined his fingers in my hair,
And laid his hand across my wondering eyes.
I cannot move save in the narrow space
Of his strong arms' embrace,
Nor see but only in my own heart where
His image lies.
How can I tell,
Emprisoned so well,
If in the outer world be sunset or sunrise?
Sweet Love has laid his hand across my eyes.

Sweet Love has loosed his fingers from my hair,
His lifted hand has left my eyelids wet.
I cannot move save to pursue his fleet
And unreturning feet,
Nor see but in my ruined heart, and there
His face lies yet.
How should I know,
Distraught and blinded so,
If in the outer world be sunrise or sunset?
Sweet Love has freed my eyes, but they are wet.

* * *

What's your interpretation of this poem?

Autumn by Elizabeth Barret Browning

{Poem of the Day}

Since I made pumpkin cream cheese muffins the other day, I assume Mother nature noticed the suggestion and is sending fall soon. If not, I'm dropping another major hint...

Buy this fabulous piece of art by Mary Charles here

"The Autumn"
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1833)

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.

How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.

Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.

Afternoon on a Hill by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I'd like to bring my readers more poetry from women. Small sample of words for motivation and inspiration. With fall coming up soon, I am in a nature-y mood. So today's poem is from a woman known for her Bohemian lifestyle.


"Afternoon on a Hill"
By Edna St. Vincent Millay

I will be the gladdest thing
 Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
 And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
 With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
 And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
 Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
 And then start down!

Picture of Barbarano Vicentino, Province of Vicenza, Italy, courtesy of  Milton's Manor.


Read more about Edna St. Vincent Millay here.