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.

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.