ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The trees stand strangely still.
The vale ne’er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.

An awful sense of quietness,
A fulness of repose,
Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,
The silent garden rows.

As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse
Heard far across a plain,
A nearer knowledge of great thoughts
Thrills vaguely through my brain.

I lean my head upon my arm,
My heart’s too full to think;
Like the roar of seas, upon my heart
Doth the morning stillness sink.

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850- 1894)


By Mar_eli

Summertime has been the blossom over
Autumn chill has seen off meadow clover
A circling flock of starlings I can see
Come roosting on the rowan berry tree
I do so yearn for days of early spring

I contemplate the cold October sky
A starlit night with frost descending
I shiver at the moon so bright on high
While deep within a sigh ascending
I do so yearn for days of early spring

Considering the snowy winter scene
The furry squirrel darting on the green
A flurrying of snowflakes in the wake
The icing on my frosted Christmas cake
I do so yearn for days of early spring

Aware of the advancing march of time
Awakening I stretch my limbs and yawn
A serenade of melodies sublime
Blackbirds sing in chorus at the dawn
I do so yearn for days of early spring

With disregard of frequent April showers
I fond regard a feathered friend I made
Flitting to and fro among the bowers
Now perching on the handle of my spade
A fine return for days of early spring

Joe Sharp