What? No Coleridge? This is the four-day countdown to end the run of no repeats. Beginning 1/1/16, I will no longer seek a new poet each day, but will pull favorite fragments willy nilly; I think I will have made it through two years of no individual poet repeats, except for Christmas Eve’s Moore and the days we lost Tate and Strand. This one’s for the last week of my favorite month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Fragment 3: Come, come thou bleak December / by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
For houses empty and full and also for those empty though full, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from All Hushed and Still within the House / by Emily Brontë (1818-1848)
Through rain and through the wailing wind,
For sails and ice, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from Stanzas for Music / by George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
‘Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin’d turret wreath,
All green and wildly fresh without
For the last evening of Valentine’s weekend, from Poetry Foundation.
from Valentine to RR Written Extempore Feb.14 1802 / by Charlotte Richardson (1775-1825)
May truth and wisdom ever guide
And guard my Valentine.
Last day for silence this week. And, more here and here:
from Silence / by Thomas Hood b. 1789
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
from The Darkling Thrush / by Thomas Hardy
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
And, many things remind me of Clare and his sad path.
from From ‘April,’ The Shepherd’s Calendar / by John Clare
But finer days are coming yet,
With scenes more sweet to charm,
And suns arrive that rise and set
Bright strangers to a storm: