HANNA'S WALK

On A Hot Summer Day

Messing about in boats is a meaningful occupation on a hot summer day ūüôā All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still,… Read More

The Spirit of Poetry by Longfellow

The Spirit of Poetry There¬†is¬†a¬†quiet¬†spirit¬†in¬†these¬†woods, That¬†dwells¬†where’er¬†the¬†gentle¬†south-wind¬†blows; Where,¬†underneath¬†the¬†white-thorn,¬†in¬†the¬†glade, The¬†wild¬†flowers¬†bloom,¬†or,¬†kissing¬†the¬†soft¬†air, The¬†leaves¬†above¬†their¬†sunny¬†palms¬†outspread. With¬†what¬†a¬†tender¬†and¬†impassioned¬†voice It¬†fills¬†the¬†nice¬†and¬†delicate¬†ear¬†of¬†thought, When¬†the¬†fast¬†ushering¬†star¬†of¬†morning¬†comes O’er-riding¬†the¬†gray¬†hills¬†with¬†golden¬†scarf; Or¬†when¬†the¬†cowled¬†and¬†dusky-sandalled¬†Eve, In¬†mourning¬†weeds,¬†from¬†out¬†the¬†western¬†gate, Departs¬†with¬†silent¬†pace!¬†¬†That¬†spirit¬†moves In¬†the¬†green¬†valley,¬†where¬†the¬†silver¬†brook, From¬†its¬†full¬†laver,¬†pours¬†the¬†white¬†cascade; And,¬†babbling¬†low¬†amid¬†the¬†tangled¬†woods, Slips¬†down¬†through¬†moss-grown¬†stones¬†with¬†endless¬†laughter. And¬†frequent,¬†on¬†the¬†everlasting¬†hills, Its¬†feet¬†go¬†forth,¬†when¬†it¬†doth¬†wrap¬†itself In¬†all¬†the¬†dark¬†embroidery¬†of¬†the¬†storm, And¬†shouts¬†the¬†stern,¬†strong¬†wind.¬†¬†And¬†here,¬†amid The¬†silent¬†majesty¬†of¬†these¬†deep¬†woods, lts¬†presence¬†shall¬†uplift¬†thy¬†thoughts¬†from¬†earth, As¬†to¬†the¬†sunshine¬†and¬†the¬†pure,¬†bright¬†air Their¬†tops¬†the¬†green¬†trees¬†lift.¬†¬†Hence¬†gifted¬†bards Have¬†ever¬†loved¬†the¬†calm¬†and¬†quiet¬†shades. For¬†them¬†there¬†was¬†an¬†eloquent¬†voice¬†in¬†all The¬†sylvan¬†pomp¬†of¬†woods,¬†the¬†golden¬†sun, The¬†flowers,¬†the¬†leaves,¬†the¬†river¬†on¬†its¬†way…

The old Thorn

There is a Thorn,‚ÄĒit looks so old, In truth, you’d find it hard to say How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and gray. Not higher than a two years child It stands erect,… Read More

A walk in Fairy Land

Spring is full of poetry. This is one of my favourite poems by William Shakespeare Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the… Read More

Go through that door –

As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens. Stephen Graham

The North Wind Blows…

The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will the dormouse do then, Poor thing? Roll’d up like a ball, In his nest snug and small, He’ll sleep till warm weather comes in, Poor… Read More

January

A walk enclosed in black brown grey and a bit of green colours ūüôā Bare branches of each tree on this chilly January morn look so cold so forlorn. Gray skies dip ever so low left from yesterday’s… Read More