Bee

Thursday, December 30, 2010

O! Where are you going - by J R R Tolkien


O! Where Are You Going?

O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The River is flowing!
O! Tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking!
The bannocks are baking!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly
The valley is jolly
Ha ha!

O! Where are you going,
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
Down into the valley
In June
Ha ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly!
And listen and hark
Till the end of the dark
To our tune.
Ha ha!

The dragon is withered,
His bones are now crumbled!
His armor is shivered,
His splendour is humbled!
Though sword shall be rusted
And throne and crown perish,
With strength that men trusted
And wealth that they cherish,
Here grass is still growing,
And leaves are yet swinging!
The white water is flowing,
And elves are yet singing!
Come! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the valley!

The stars are far brighter
Than gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure:
The fire is more shining
On hearth in the gloaming
Than gold won by mining,
So why so a-roaming?
O! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the Valley!

O! Where are you going?
So late in returning?
The water is flowing!
The stars are all burning!
O! Whither so laden,
So sad and so dreary?
Here elf and elf-maiden
Now welcome the weary!
With tra-la-la-lally
Come back to the Valley,
Tra-la-la-lally
Fa-la-la-lally
Ha ha!

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Deadly Kisses by Pierre Ronsard

      Deadly Kisses

____________________________

 All take these lips away; no more,
No more such kisses give to me.
My spirit faints for joy; I see
Through mists of death the dreamy shore,
And meadows by the water-side,
Where all about the Hollow Land
Fare the sweet singers that have died,
With their lost ladies, hand in hand;
Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes,
How pale their lips that kiss and smile!
So mine must be in little while
If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.
_______________________________
Pierre Ronsard 

Friday, December 24, 2010

Christmas Times

When are the children all happy and gay?
When do they ne'er grow tired of play?
When do their mouths seem like bells in chimes?
It is the merry Christmas times.
When do the little boys all get good?
And bring in coal and cut all the wood,
And every command of their parents mind,
'Tis just a week before Chistmas times.
That is the time when all of the work
Is done without a grumble or shirk.
The little boys then ne'er turn and twist,

When mother says, "Son, come here and do this."
Let the word be said, he's at her command,
Not once does he frown, or attempt to stand,
But goes at her bidding, happy and gay,
For it will soon be Christmas day.
And then old Santa, thro' all the snow,
Will come to those who've been good, you know;
Down the chimney he'll come and will not stop,
Till he fills each stocking full to the top.
When his task is o'er he takes his stand
Gazing at little ones in Dreamland,
Who in that land, all happy and gay,
Their minds all fixed on Christmas day.
And in a few hours, with merry hearts,
Little ones out of their warm beds dart,
All happy and gay, hearts full of cheer,
To see what's been bro't by Santa dear.
How happy is each little mind,
When every stocking full they find,
And presents scattered on the floor,
How could they ever ask for more?
No, no, but for many a year,
Christmas time to them will be dear,
And e'en in their prayers they make a pause
And ask many blessings on Santa Claus.

When are the children all happy and gay?
When do they ne'er grow tired of play?
When do their mouths seem like bells in chimes?
It is the merry Christmas times.
When do the little boys all get good?
And bring in coal and cut all the wood,
And every command of their parents mind,
'Tis just a week before Chistmas times.
That is the time when all of the work
Is done without a grumble or shirk.
The little boys then ne'er turn and twist,
When mother says, "Son, come here and do this."
Let the word be said, he's at her command,
Not once does he frown, or attempt to stand,
But goes at her bidding, happy and gay,
For it will soon be Christmas day.
And then old Santa, thro' all the snow,
Will come to those who've been good, you know;
Down the chimney he'll come and will not stop,
Till he fills each stocking full to the top.
When his task is o'er he takes his stand
Gazing at little ones in Dreamland,
Who in that land, all happy and gay,
Their minds all fixed on Christmas day.
And in a few hours, with merry hearts,
Little ones out of their warm beds dart,
All happy and gay, hearts full of cheer,
To see what's been bro't by Santa dear.
How happy is each little mind,
When every stocking full they find,
And presents scattered on the floor,
How could they ever ask for more?
No, no, but for many a year,
Christmas time to them will be dear,
And e'en in their prayers they make a pause
And ask many blessings on Santa Claus.

________________________________
Maggie Pogue Johnson

How Heavy The Days

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.


Translated by James Wright


Submitted by Holt 

Hermann Hesse 

Friday, December 17, 2010

Acrostic- by Lewis Carroll


Acrostic

Little maidens, when you look
On this little story-book,
Reading with attentive eye
Its enticing history,
Never think that hours of play
Are your only HOLIDAY,
And that in a HOUSE of joy
Lessons serve but to annoy:
If in any HOUSE you find
Children of a gentle mind,
Each the others pleasing ever—
Each the others vexing never—
Daily work and pastime daily
In their order taking gaily—
Then be very sure that they
Have a life of HOLIDAY.
_________________________________________

Lewis Carroll

________________

Notes

for Lorrina, Alice, and Edith Liddell
Christmas 1861

Sunday, December 5, 2010

FALSE THOUGH SHE BE

FALSE THOUGH SHE BE
by: William Congreve (1670-1729)
      ALSE though she be to me and love,
      I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
      For still the charmer I approve,
      Though I deplore her change.
       
      In hours of bliss we oft have met:
      They could not always last;
      And though the present I regret,
      I'm grateful for the past.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Winter Conversation
 gif
by Joyce Wakefield
clr gif

I listen to you explain the difference
between a right brain thought and a left.
I am distracted by the smell
of cold on your face.
I lick it away like a child
with an ice cream cone
sticky fingers and sweet tongue.

Aware that I have been here before
I pause in your words.
I have slept in this flesh,
dreamed these winter bones.

Waking in the darkness between us
I hear frost sweeping the porch,
edging toward the morning.
I reach for your hand.

What, you whisper, voice hoarse with dream.
My lips, swollen with you, cold,
are silent.