School out of doors

. . . while I'm reading The Song of Roland, my twelve year old daughter is decorating her sister's hair . . .

i thank You God for most this amazing

~ E.E. Cummings (1894-9162)

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Hymn for the Third Sunday of Easter

The strife is o’er, the battle done

 ~ tr. from Latin by Francis Potts (1832-1909)

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

The strife is o’er, the battle done,

the victory of life is won;

the song of triumph has begun.

Alleluia!

The powers of death have done their worst,

but Christ their legions hath dispersed:

let shout of holy joy outburst.

Alleluia!

The three sad days are quickly sped,

he rises glorious from the dead:

all glory to our risen Head!

Alleluia!

He closed the yawning gates of hell,

the bars from heaven’s high portals fell;

let hymns of praise his triumphs tell!

Alleluia!

Lord! by the stripes which wounded thee,

from death’s dread sting thy servants free,

that we may live and sing to thee.

Alleluia!

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

The Listeners

~ Walter De la Mare (1873-1956)

“Is there anybody there?” said the Traveler,  
   Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses  
   Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,  
   Above the Traveler’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;  
   “Is there anybody there?” he said.
But no one descended to the Traveler;  
   No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,  
   Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners  
   That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight  
   To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,  
   That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken  
   By the lonely Traveler’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,  
   Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,  
   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even  
   Louder, and lifted his head:—
“Tell them I came, and no one answered,  
   That I kept my word,” he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,  
   Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house  
   From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,  
   And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,  
   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

A Spring Morning

~ Meng Haoran (689-740) [tr. Ulrich Theobald]



I awake light-hearted this morning of Spring,
Everywhere round me the singing of birds—
But now I remember the night, the storm,
And I wonder how many blossoms were broken.

Rain

~ Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

The rain is raining all around,
    It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
    And on the ships at sea.

The Cloud

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
    From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
    In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
    The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,
    As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
    And whiten the green plains under;
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
    And laugh as I pass in thunder.

Welcome, happy morning!

~ Venantius Honorius Fortunatus (540?-600?)
[tr. John Ellerton (1826-1893)]

“Welcome, happy morning!” age to age shall say:
hell today is vanquished, heaven is won today!
Lo! the dead is living, God for evermore!
Him their true Creator, all his works adore!

Earth her joy confesses, clothing her for spring,
all fresh gifts return with her returning King:
bloom in every meadow, leaves on every bough,
speak his sorrow ended, hail his triumph now.

Months in due succession, days of lengthening light,
hours and passing moments praise thee in their flight.
Brightness of the morning, sky and fields and sea,
Vanquisher of darkness, bring their praise to thee.





Maker and Redeemer, life and health of all,
thou from heaven beholding human nature’s fall,
of the Father’s Godhead true and only Son,
mankind to deliver, manhood didst put on.

Thou, of life the Author, death didst undergo,
tread the path of darkness, saving strength to show;
come then, true and faithful, now fulfill thy word,
’tis thine own third morning! rise, O buried Lord!

Loose the souls long prisoned, bound with Satan’s chain;
all that now is fallen raise to life again;
show thy face in brightness, bid the nations see;
bring again our daylight: day returns with thee!

“O wind, where have you been”

~ Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

O wind, where have you been,
    That you blow so sweet?
Among the violets
    Which blossom at your feet.

The honeysuckle waits
    For Summer and for heat
But violets in the chilly Spring
   Make the turf so sweet.

“it smells like spring”

~ Violin Daughter (b. 1998)


it smells like spring

     the grass’s new growth is soft and green and

     the air is alive

peach blossoms are soft beside the dark wood of winter

    and when i look up

    i see new green buds

against

   the

         soft

                  grey

                            sky