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George Meredith
(1828 – 1909)
Winter Heavens
Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul’s haven to have felt.
Photos: Hans Hermans 2010 – Natuurdagboek November 2010
Poem: George Meredith
kempis.nl poetry magazine
More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Hans Hermans Photos, Meredith, George
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Dirge in Woods
by George Meredith
(1828 – 1909)
A wind sways the pines,
And below
Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On the flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine-tree drops its dead;
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead
Rushes life in a race,
As the clouds the clouds chase;
And we go,
And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
Even we,
Even so.
Photos: Hans Hermans 2010 – Natuurdagboek september 2010
Poem: George Meredith
kempis poetry magazine
More in: Hans Hermans Photos, Meredith, George
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