Poetry Sunday: Ode, Composed on a May Morning by William Wordsworth

"All Nature welcomes Her whose sway
Tempers the year's extremes"

It seems a good description of May. It is certainly the month that tempers the year's extremes here for June begins our long, hot summer that lasts through September and sometimes even into October. So let's enjoy this pleasant month while we can. 

Ode, Composed on a May Morning

by William Wordsworth

While from the purpling east departs

The star that led the dawn,

Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.
A quickening hope, a freshening glee,
Foreran the expected Power,
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,
Shakes off that pearly shower.

All Nature welcomes Her whose sway
Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,
Like morning's dewy gleams;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,
The tremulous heart excite;
And hums the balmy air to still
The balance of delight.

Time was, blest Power! when youth and maids
At peep of dawn would rise,
And wander forth, in forest glades
Thy birth to solemnize.
Though mute the song---to grace the rite
Untouched the hawthorn bough,
Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight;
Man changes, but not Thou!

Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings
In love's disport employ;
Warmed by thy influence, creeping things
Awake to silent joy:
Queen art thou still for each gay plant
Where the slim wild deer roves;
And served in depths where fishes haunt
Their own mysterious groves.

Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,
Instinctive homage pay;
Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath
To honor thee, sweet May!
Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs
Behold a smokeless sky,
Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares
To open a bright eye.

And if, on this thy natal morn,
The pole, from which thy name
Hath not departed, stands forlorn
Of song and dance and game;
Still from the village-green a vow
Aspires to thee addrest,
Wherever peace is on the brow,
Or love within the breast.

Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach
The soul to love the more;
Hearts also shall thy lessons reach
That never loved before.
Stript is the haughty one of pride,
The bashful freed from fear,
While rising, like the ocean-tide,
In flow the joyous year.

Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse
The service to prolong!
To yon exulting thrush the Muse
Entrusts the imperfect song;
His voice shall chant, in accents clear,
Throughout the live-long day,
Till the first silver star appear,
The sovereignty of May.

This week in birds - #678

A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment: 

The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is the colorful Mourning Warbler. It is found during breeding season in forest habitats of southeastern Canada and upper northeastern United States and down into Central America and parts of Venezuela, Colombia, and Ecuador in South America during its nonbreeding season. Its population is decreasing but its status is not yet a matter of concern.

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A cruise ship has been stranded in the Atlantic Ocean because of an outbreak of the deadly hantavirus.

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El Niño is headed our way once again but it probably won't reach full force until autumn or winter.

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Our current president seems to be a big fan of coal, because of course he would be. He is directing that aging coal plants be kept open.

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Lithuania is hoping that its restored peat bogs can combat global warming, as well as stopping Russian tanks from invading.

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A preliminary study indicates that building a dam across the Bering Strait could help save the planet from some effects of climate change.

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The current administration in Washington has killed the Public Lands Rule which gave conservation activities on federal land equal priority with mining and logging.

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It appears that the predator-prey ratio of wolves and moose at Michigan's Isle Royale National Park is stabilizing.

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A study of ancient and modern human DNA indicates that our species is still evolving.

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Since building nests is such hard work, some birds choose to steal instead.

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Remora often hitch rides on on marine creatures, sometimes in a very intrusive part of the animal.

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The Devil's Hole pupfish population declined drastically about a year ago and scientists released some fish that they had raised into the hole to help stabilize it.

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Excavations at Pompeii are still finding remains of those who tried to flee the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

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The illegal trade in gibbons has hit an all-time high.

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One million Houston toad eggs have been released into a Texas park to try to help the endangered species make a comeback. 

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An endangered northern quoll has been released back into the wild in central Queensland after it accidentally took a ride on a truck.

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Hyenas are unexpected helpers in the fight against climate change.

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Here are fifteen images that won the German Society for Nature Photography's annual contest.

One more...

Here's one more image from Mother's Day posts - one that I really liked, The image and its caption are a reminder to us all that we should appreciate those who are behind us every day.

 

                         Fear not what is before you for those that care are behind you.

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and I am remembering my mother, gone for many years now. I never appreciated her enough when I was growing up. It was only after I grew up and became a mother myself that I actually realized what a saint she was. I don't think I ever thanked her enough for all that she did for me. How I wish I could have her back to thank her now and to have her rock me to sleep one more time.

Rock Me to Sleep

by Elizabeth Akers Allen

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears,—      

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—   

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,—   

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;

Weary of sowing for others to reap;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother – rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed and faded, our faces between:

Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I tonight for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures,—      

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,

Fall on your shoulders again as of old;

Let it drop over my forehead tonight,

Shading my faint eyes away from the light;

For with its sunny-edged shadows once more

Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;

Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long

Since I last listened your lullaby song:

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem

Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,

With your light lashes just sweeping my face,

Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep! 

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This week in birds - #677

 A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:

The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is the wonderful Yellow-breasted Chat. It's a special favorite of mine because it is one of the first birds that I learned to identify as a child. I identified it mostly by its song which is remarkable and memorable. It is often more heard than seen because it is a skulker that tends to stay deep within thickets and scrublands. Its range extends over most of this country, into Canada, and down through Mexico into Central America. Happily, its population is stable and its status is presently not a concern.

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One of my heroes, David Attenborough, celebrated his 100th birthday this week, as you've probably heard. Here are ten things in Nature that have been named for him.  

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The Neanderthals have always been of special interest to me. We know quite a lot about them but what did they actually sound like?   

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Birdathon is Canada's longest-running bird conservation fundraiser. This year marks its fiftieth anniversary.

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Chonkers, an aptly named massive Stellar sea lion has been causing a stir on San Francisco's Pier 39.

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Did prehistoric people work with copper? A remote cave in Spain contains some indications that that might have been the case.

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"Feed a cold, starve a fever," may actually be good advice, it turns out. Although what do you do if you have a fever with your cold?

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Here are seven interesting facts about the Age of Dinosaurs.

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And here are some tips about how to garden for birds.

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Have we understood the fall of Rome all wrong? A new genetic study says maybe we have.

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Urban birds, like this European Green Woodpecker, seem to be more fearful of women than of men. Why? Well, scientists haven't figured that out yet. 

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Cockatoos are some of the smartest birds around and they have learned to fare quite well in urban environments.

Poetry Sunday: It Is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of the best known and best loved American poets of the 19th century, and though he wrote more than a hundred years ago, many of his poems seem just as current and fresh today. That would include this one, "It Is Not Always May." I have featured it before here on Poetry Sunday, but it struck me as particularly pertinent last week as I searched for a poem to highlight. "Carpe diem," the poet urges us in so many words because, as we all learn to our regret, youth is fleeting and cannot be recalled:

 "Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
 For oh, it is not always May!

It Is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. (Spanish proverb)

The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
  The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
  The bluebird prophesying Spring. 
So blue yon winding river flows,
  It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
  The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves,
  That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;--
   There are no birds in last year's nest! 
All things rejoice in youth and love,
   The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
   The melting tenderness of night. 
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
   Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
   For oh, it is not always May! 
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
   To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
  There are no birds in last year's nest! 

Note to readers: If you are not currently a "follower" of the blog, I invite you to become one. I would like to see an increase in that number under "Thanks for Following" on the right. Thank you!