MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY – department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra, spring, summer, autumn, winter

«« Previous page · Peter Goires photos: Winter · George Eliot: Spring comes hither · William Morris: Spring’s Bedfellow · Gerard Manley Hopkins: Spring and Fall · Ton van Kempen: Winter 3 · Ton van Kempen: Winter 2 · Hans Hermans photos – Rudyard Kipling poem · Ton van Kempen: Winter · William Morris: Meeting in Winter · Monica Richter: The Swan · Eugene Marais: Winternag · Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: Le Hibou van Victor Hugo

»» there is more...

Peter Goires photos: Winter

Peter Goires photos

Dutch landscapes: Winter

kempis poetry magazine 2010

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Dutch Landscapes, Peter Goires Photos

George Eliot: Spring comes hither

George Eliot

(Mary Ann Evans, 1819 – 1880)

Spring comes hither

Spring comes hither
Buds the rose . . .
Roses wither
Sweet spring goes . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would she carry me.

Summer soars
Wide-wing’d day . . .
White light pours
Flies away . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would he carry me.

Soft winds blow
Westward borne . . .
Onward go
Towards the morn
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

Sweet birds sing
O’er the graves
Then take wing
O’er the waves
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

George Eliot poetry

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Spring, Archive E-F, Archive E-F, Eliot, George

William Morris: Spring’s Bedfellow

William Morris

(1834-1896)

Spring’s Bedfellow

Spring went about the woods to-day,

The soft-foot winter-thief,

And found where idle sorrow lay

‘Twixt flower and faded leaf.

She looked on him, and found him fair

For all she had been told;

She knelt adown beside him there,

And sang of days of old.

His open eyes beheld her nought,

Yet ‘gan his lips to move;

But life and deeds were in her thought,

And he would sing of love.

So sang they till their eyes did meet,

And faded fear and shame;

More bold he grew, and she more sweet,

Until they sang the same.

Until, say they who know the thing,

Their very lips did kiss,

And Sorrow laid abed with Spring

Begat an earthly bliss.

William Morris poetry

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *The Pre-Raphaelites Archive, 4SEASONS#Spring, Archive M-N, Archive M-N, Morris, William

Gerard Manley Hopkins: Spring and Fall

Gerard Manley Hopkins

(1844-1889)

Spring and Fall

To a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, 4SEASONS#Spring, Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Hopkins, Gerard Manley

Ton van Kempen: Winter 3

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

(1749–1832)

Natur und Kunst, sie scheinen sich zu fliehen …

Natur und Kunst, sie scheinen sich zu fliehen

Und haben sich, eh man es denkt, gefunden;

Der Widerwille ist auch mir verschwunden,

Und beide scheinen gleich mich anzuziehen.

Es gilt wohl nur ein redliches Bemühen!

Und wenn wir erst in abgemeßnen Stunden

Mit Geist und Fleiß uns an die Kunst gebunden,

Mag frei Natur im Herzen wieder glühen.

So ist’s mit aller Bildung auch beschaffen:

Vergebens werden ungebundne Geister

Nach der Vollendung reiner Höhe streben.

Wer Großes will, muß sich zusammenraffen;

In der Beschränkung zeigt sich erst der Meister,

Und das Gesetz nur kann uns Freiheit geben.

Photos: Ton van Kempen

Poem: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

kempis poetry magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, Ton van Kempen Photos

Ton van Kempen: Winter 2

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

Mad As The Mist And Snow

Bolt and bar the shutter,
For the foul winds blow:
Our minds are at their best this night,
And I seem to know
That everything outside us is
Mad as the mist and snow.

Horace there by Homer stands,
Plato stands below,
And here is Tully’s open page.
How many years ago
Were you and I unlettered lads
Mad as the mist and snow?

You ask what makes me sigh, old friend,
What makes me shudder so?
I shudder and I sigh to think
That even Cicero
And many-minded Homer were
Mad as the mist and snow.

Winter (2) 2010

Photos: Ton van Kempen

Poem: W.B. Yeats

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Dutch Landscapes, Ton van Kempen Photos, Yeats, William Butler

Hans Hermans photos – Rudyard Kipling poem

Rudyard Kipling

(1865-1936)

The White Seal

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.

You mustn’t swim till you’re six weeks old,
Or your head will be sunk by your heels;
And summer gales and Killer Whales
Are bad for baby seals.
Are bad for baby seals, dear rat,
As bad as bad can be.
But splash and grow strong,
And you can’t be wrong,
Child of the Open Sea!

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek – January 2010

Poem: Rudyard Kipling

Photos: Hans Hermans

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Hans Hermans Photos, Kipling, Rudyard, MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra, spring, summer, autumn, winter

Ton van Kempen: Winter

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(1807-1882)

The Cross of Snow

IIn the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changingscenes

And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Winter 2010

Photos: Ton van kempen

Poem: H.W. Longfellow

fleursdumal.nl poetry magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Dutch Landscapes, Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, Ton van Kempen Photos

William Morris: Meeting in Winter

William Morris

(1834-1896)

Meeting in Winter

Winter in the world it is,

Round about the unhoped kiss

Whose dream I long have sorrowed o’er;

Round about the longing sore,

That the touch of thee shall turn

Into joy too deep to burn.

Round thine eyes and round thy mouth

Passeth no murmur of the south,

When my lips a little while

Leave thy quivering tender smile,

As we twain, hand holding hand,

Once again together stand.

Sweet is that, as all is sweet;

For the white drift shalt thou meet,

Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,

Wrapped about with deep-furred gown

In the broad-wheeled chariot:

Then the north shall spare us not;

The wide-reaching waste of snow

Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow

As the reddened sun falls down.

But the warders of the town,

When they flash the torches out

O’er the snow amid their doubt,

And their eyes at last behold

Thy red-litten hair of gold;

Shall they open, or in fear

Cry, “Alas! What cometh here?

Whence hath come this Heavenly

To tell of all the world undone?”

They shall open, and we shall see

The long street litten scantily

By the long stream of light before

The guest-hall’s half-open door;

And our horses’ bells shall cease

As we reach the place of peace;

Thou shalt tremble, as at last

The worn threshold is o’er-past,

And the fire-light blindeth thee:

Trembling shalt thou cling to me

As the sleepy merchants stare

At thy cold hands slim and fair,

Thy soft eyes and happy lips

Worth all lading of their ships.

O my love, how sweet and sweet

That first kissing of thy feet,

When the fire is sunk alow,

And the hall made empty now

Groweth solemn, dim and vast!

O my love, the night shall last

Longer than men tell thereof

Laden with our lonely love!

William Morris poetry

kempis poetry magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Archive M-N, Morris, William

Monica Richter: The Swan

Monica Richter:

T h e S w a n

More in: Monica Richter, MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra, spring, summer, autumn, winter

Eugene Marais: Winternag

E u g e n e M a r a i s

(1871-1936)

W i n t e r n a g

O koud is die windjie

en skraal.

En blink in die dof-lig

en kaal,

so wyd as die Heer se genade,

lê die velde in sterlig en skade.

En hoog in die rande,

versprei in die brande,

is die grassaad aan roere

soos winkende hande.

O treurig die wysie

op die ooswind se maat,

soos die lied van ‘n meisie

in haar liefde verlaat.

In elk grashalm se vou

blink ‘n druppel van dou,

en vinnig verbleik dit

tot ryp in die kou!

Eugene Marais Gedigte

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Archive M-N, Eugène Marais, Marais, Eugène

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: Le Hibou van Victor Hugo

V i c t o r H u g o

L e h i b o u

Et je vis au-dessus de ma tête un point noir.
Et ce point noir semblait une mouche dans l’ombre.

Et rien n’avait de borne et rien n’avait de nombre ;
Et tout se confondait avec tout ; l’aquilon
Et la nuit ne faisaient qu’un même tourbillon.
Quelques formes sans nom, larves exténuées
Ou souffles noirs, passaient dans les sourdes nuées ;
Et tout le reste était immobile et voilé.

Alors, montant, montant, montant, je m’envolai
Vers ce point qui semblait reculer dans la brume,
Car c’est la loi de l’être en qui l’esprit s’allume
D’aller vers ce qui fuit et vers ce qui se tait.
Or ce que j’avais pris pour une mouche était
Un hibou, triste, froid, morne, et de sa prunelle
Il tombait moins de jour que de nuit de son aile. […]