Poetry Sunday: January
Winter finally did arrive in my neighborhood this weekend. We've had nighttime temperatures in the 20s F and daytime temperatures have barely climbed out of the 30s.
Meanwhile, many places around the country have had heavy snow, even blizzard conditions this week. Nothing like that here in the subtropical South, but we did get our share of rain.
Winter makes its own difficulties for us, of course, but it is actually a good thing for the garden. It gives the plants a chance to sleep. They can, as the poet says,
January
by Helen Hunt Jackson
O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.
Meanwhile, many places around the country have had heavy snow, even blizzard conditions this week. Nothing like that here in the subtropical South, but we did get our share of rain.
Winter makes its own difficulties for us, of course, but it is actually a good thing for the garden. It gives the plants a chance to sleep. They can, as the poet says,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.It can be a good thing for the gardener as well, giving us a chance to rest and to dream of the perfect garden we will have this year!
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
January
by Helen Hunt Jackson
O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.
Once again a most appropriate poem.
ReplyDeleteWinter comes to each heart and the sounds of singing cease, but it is a time to rest in peace and to walk boldly on white untrodden snows. Yes, the poem seemed very appropriate to me, too, especially with temperatures in the 20s!
DeleteEvery time I read one of your poetry picks, you make me wish I was a poet. This one, like so many others you pick, is perfect.
ReplyDeleteAh, I would also wish to be a poet, but since I don't have that talent, at least I can admire in others and share it with my readers.
DeleteWhat a lovely poem, Dorothy! Perfect for this time of year. :-)
ReplyDeleteWinter seems to bring out the best in some poets.
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