General Chat

A Daffodil. (A.A. Milne).


She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead."

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

I remember this from School in the 1950's

Cargoes


QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

John Masefield

Night Mail
This is the Night Mail crossing the border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from the bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.

Dawn freshens, the climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends
Towards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In the dark glens, beside the pale-green sea lochs
Men long for news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from the girl and the boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or visit relations,
And applications for situations
And timid lovers' declarations
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from overseas to Hebrides
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terrifying monsters,
Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
And shall wake soon and long for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
-- W H Auden

The Rose
by Christina Georgina Rossetti
(1830-1894)


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
O Rose, thou flower of flowers, thou fragrant wonder,
Who shall describe thee in thy ruddy prime;
Thy perfect fulness in the summer time;
When the pale leaves blushingly part asunder
And show the warm red heart lies glowing under?
Thou shouldst bloom surely in some sunny clime,
Untouched by blights and chilly Winter's rime,
Where lightninggs never flash, nor peals the thunder.
And yet in happier spheres they cannot need thee
So much as we do with our weight of woe;
Perhaps they would not tend, perhaps not need thee,
And thou wouldst lonely and neglected grow;
And He Who is All-Wise, He hath decreed thee

Have a happy retirement Bridget
Mau x

I am back home now for good, have formally retired so can hopefully restart this thread. i am trying to recall a wonderful poem by Christina Rosetti about a rose. Can anyone help please, and if so please add it to this thread. Have also been wondering if there are some favourite Romantic poems which we could start seeing that we are heading towards valentines day.

I will keep looking to see if anyone replies..I do hope so because it started with such hope

Bridget

Lol I wear quite a lot of purple, well with my name what else could I wear?

I did once knit myself a red beret, but the Norwich Market boys put me off it, kept asking if the saying was true? Red hat, no drawers lol

Lizx

Yes kandj - I have seen that poem a few times and it really does 'hit the spot' I haven't actually done what it suggests..........yet.....apart from I do seem to have quite a bit of purple in my wardrobe ...and I do have a red hat...and after whisky I do like a bit of brandy.......................well its a start...jle

Hello SpanishEyes
Are your Going Home Lyrics sung by Ronan Tynan?
and is this the tune to the "Hovis" ad?
what lovely poignant words. I think that my friend is considering having these read out at her husbands funeral.....
so appropriate I think.

"Warning: When I am Old, I Will Wear Purple":

written by Jenny Joseph........... I really like this one.

When I am an old woman
I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go
and doesn't suit me.
and I shall spend my pension
on brandy and Summer gloves and satin sandals,
and say we have no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops
and press alarm bells
and run with a stick along public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick flowers from other people's gardens
and learn to spit!
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages in one go
or only bread and pickles for a week,
and hoard pens and pencils
and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
and pay our rent
and not swear in the street,
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner
and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little more now
so people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised
when suddenly I am old,
And start to wear purple.

Hi Bidget

she did write other poems, but that one stood out in my mind, I use to have a book called" This England "this was in the 80's and it was all stories and views on and around england among the stories and views people wrote poems and verse..
I wrote a few down and when I saw your thread I got them out.
I am glad you liked the words I thought they were beautiful.
Rita

There must be something about the name Lorelei !
I watched a recording I made about Michael Barrymore going back to a replica of his childhood home and it showed him meeting people from his past.
One was a young woman, I believe a dancer, who was called Lorelei!
Now I have had that recording for several weeks so strange I should watch it last night and hear the name again.

It was quite a moving programme, Michael has aged a lot and seems finally to have found a little acceptance of himself.
I enjoyed the other programmes showing Boy George and Sanjeev Baskar at their old homes.

Lizx

Rita
what a delightful poem. Did Elspeth miles any other poems? As of tomorrow I will not be on the internet but will be looking when I fanllly get home sometime next week

Take care

bridget

Thoughts of Home.

I left behind the old home town
With its flowered "Village Green "
The boats in the bay I left to play
t life in a different scene

Yet whenever I might sail on the sea
Or climb a wearying hill
see stars in the sky in mid July
Or a springtime daffodil
Nod on a breeze which russels the leaves
Of a tree grown great and gnarly
When I pass a farmers market stall
Or fields of wheat and barley
When I hear the peal of tower bells
Or children laughing clearly.
When the sun shines down on another town
Then I know I miss it dearly.


But would I trade the sights I see
The people and the places
To live again in that little town
Full of familar faces ?
I cannot say I should or Would
And yet I do believe
That if I did go back again
I'd surely never leave.

by Elspeth Miles.

Rita

To everyone on here thank you for all your responses.
I will not be around for about 10 days. tomorrow the telephone and the Internet conection will be cut off because I leave onTuesday for the Journey home. As you may know from Bridgets Daily Diary this is a time I have loged for through the last few months and at last it is here. we leave the UK and drive fiirst to Amsterdam to see OHs eledest son his wife and there 1 year old daughter and we are giving them our second car as it will be more useful to them than to us. the only bit I am worried about id driving from the Hook of Holland to sons house. Then we move on to our home in Spain which is a long drive so we will stay one night in a standard hotel on the way and so with a littel bit of luck we should be home on Tusday of next week,

I am very pleased that this day has arrived and if I do get a chance to get on the net I will have a peep on here and I will be asking friends and family for their favs re poems and sayings and will add them sometime next week.

Have a good week everyone and let us see what supporters you all are

bless you all

B




Thank you for being the heart of my life,
Harboring me in the arms of your love,
Anchoring me in the rock of your faith,
Needing me, that I not be in vain,
Knowing me well, yet loving me still.
You are the island I've found in my sea,
Ocean I dwell in and deep where I dive,
Unfailing heaven and passionate earth.

How about this one:

Every position must be held to the last man: there
must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall, and
believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us
must fight on to the end.

Order to British Troops, 12th April. 1918.

or this?

'Do you pray for the Senators, Dr Hale?' 'No, I look
at the Senators, and pray for the Country.'

Edward Everett Hale 1822-1909.

Know the feeling!!!!

Bridget, how lovely that your husband surprised you, have a safe trip to Attleborough today, you won't be far from me here in Norwich.

Lizx

Janet, the words of the song are on page 2 of this thread and the translation, yes she was supposedly a siren luring sailors to the rock but was very beautiful so a lovely name for a daughter especially if they had connections with the area, or German heritage or something.

Lizx

Well I Never, what a coincidence
Husban arrived her today very unexpected, he was going straight tonorfolk from Dover but decided to come and see me, will go to Attleborough tomorrow instead, I had just taken the rubbish to the bins and as I cam out of sai shed there was OH walking towards me...I fellt about 16 again...
He is very tired now and we just went to the laoac Pob, The Robert de Mortain, which is very nice inside now that it has been refurbished and we are both very tired. Oh because of the long drive and me because of all the cleaning, sorting etc

So will not be back on here until tomorrow late afternoon,

Bye for now

Bridget

Isn't the net brilliant.. I thought of a Hov*s bread advert but couldn't remember the piece of music thought it was Dvorak.-jle


"It has been claimed that the theme from the Largo was adapted into a spiritual-like song "Goin' Home", by composer Harry Burleigh, whom Dvorák met during his American sojourn, and lyricist William Arms Fisher, but the song was actually written by Fisher and based on Dvorák's Largo theme. Richard Taruskin, however, states that it is unknown whether or not there already existed a spiritual that was used by Dvorák. What is known for sure, however, is that the tune since became one or was popularised as a result."[

Going Home lyrics

Going home, going home
I'm just going home
Quiet light, some still day
I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
Work all done, care laid by
Going to fear no more
Mother's there expecting me
Father's waiting, too
Lots of folk gathered there
All the friends I knew
All the friends I knew
I'm going home
Nothing's lost, all's gain
No more fret nor pain
No more stumbling on the way
No more longing for the day
Going to roam no more
Morning star lights the way
Restless dream all done
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life begun
There's no break, there's no end
Just a living on
Wide awake with a smile
Going on and on

Going home, going home
I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
I am going home
I'm just going home
Going home, going home

I can remember this being sung Does anyone else recall this song/poetry ?

Lizx I also had my first holiday abroad in germany when I was 16 years old, I went with a school friend named Hazel Leacock and stayin a very small village but decided to visit Berlin and told the people we we staying with that Hazel had another family connection in Berlin and we were going to see them!! If only the new the truth!