Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the tag “Thoreau”

POM: April 26

This is oh so Thoreau. The way he observes nature, breaking the whole into bits without dissembling the phenomena.

 Mist by Henry David Thoreau

Low-anchored cloud,

Newfoundland air,

Fountain-head and source of rivers,

Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,

And napkin spread by fays;

Drifting meadow of the air,

Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,

And in whose fenny labyrinth

The bittern booms and heron wades;

Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,—

Bear only perfumes and the scent

Of healing herbs to just men’s fields.

August POMs

The subtle theme that ties these three poems together is the intertwining of nature as the speaker reflects upon his or her circumstance.

Summer Rain

Amy Lowell

All night our room was outer-walled with rain.
Drops fell and flattened on the tin roof,
And rang like little disks of metal.
Ping!—Ping!—and there was not a pin-point of silence between them.
The rain rattled and clashed,
And the slats of the shutters danced and glittered.
But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-colored
With your brightness,
And the words you whispered to me
Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain.
Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!

The Thaw by Henry David Thoreau
I saw the civil sun drying earth’s tears —

Her tears of joy that only faster flowed,

 Fain would I stretch me by the highway side,

To thaw and trickle with the melting snow,

That mingled soul and body with the tide,

I too may through the pores of nature flow.

 But I alas nor tinkle can nor fume,

One jot to forward the great work of Time,

‘Tis mine to hearken while these ply the loom,

So shall my silence with their music chime.

Summer Morn in New Hampshire

 by Claude McKay

All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat

Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,

    Upon the grass like running children’s feet.

And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,

    Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,

Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,

    And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast.

But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!

    The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,

The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,

    The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.

And all things were transfigured in the day,

    But me whom radiant beauty could not move;

For you, more wonderful, were far away,

    And I was blind with hunger for your love.


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