Posts filed under ‘.months’
In the background is the Château de Lusignan, a residence of Jean de Berry.
During the year Kallikantzari are forced to live underground. Here, they spend their time sawing away at the pagan World Tree in hopes of bringing it down, forcing the earth to collapse in on itself and basically killing us and everything we know.
by Thomas Hood
No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! –
by Virna Sheard
October goes, and its colors all pass:
At dawn there’s a silver film on the grass,
And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass,
But yesterweek where the cloud waves rolled
Down a wind-swept sky that was grey, and cold,
Sailed the hunter’s moon,—a galleon of gold!
And now in the very depth of the night
It is just a little flame, blown and white,
Or a broken-winged moth on a weary flight.
But the steadfast trees at the forest rim,
And the pines in places scented and dim,
Still wait for one hunter, and watch for him.
And the wind in the branches whispers, “Why?”
And the yellow leaves that go rustling by,
Say only, “Remember,” and sigh,—and sigh.
by Virna Sheard
Now by every meadow-side the buttercups blow—
(O June, you are spendthrift of your gold!)
Green are the uplands where the little lambs go,
Green and glad the forests that are old.
Once again the summer weaves on her magic loom,
Cloth of clover,—fairy web of wheat;—
Only Mary’s alabaster box of perfume
Ever made the passing wind more sweet.
Even through the city where the dusty roads run,
Blue runs now the river to the sea.
Tender is the twilight when the long day is done,—
Infinite the stars’ tranquillity.
Not forever are the rains or the winter snows,
All these past—nor shall be overlong,—
And with every lovely June cometh the rose,
The sweet blue dusk,—a night-bird’s wonder-song!