 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
33
The Seasons
A Song from the Grasmere Play.
Come, sweet April, whom all men praise,
Bring your daffodils up to the Raise,
Bid the delicate warbler trill,
Come with the cuckoo over the hill;
Sprinkle the birch with sprays of green,
Purple the copses all between,
Bend the rainbow and swell the brooks,
Fill the air with the sound of rooks,
Rubies lend for the larch to wear,
The lambs are bleating, and May is near.
Bring your daffodils up to the Raise,
Bid the delicate warbler trill,
Come with the cuckoo over the hill;
Sprinkle the birch with sprays of green,
Purple the copses all between,
Bend the rainbow and swell the brooks,
Fill the air with the sound of rooks,
Rubies lend for the larch to wear,
The lambs are bleating, and May is near.
August is here, and the speckled thrush
Sings no more in the lilac bush,
Lambs in the meadow cease to bleat,
The hills are dim with the noontide heat,
From all her hedges the rose is fled,
And only the harebell lifts her head,
But green are the new-mown vales with grass
As if the Spring were again to pass,
The children bring from the far-off fell
The rose-red heather the bee loves well.
Sings no more in the lilac bush,
Lambs in the meadow cease to bleat,
The hills are dim with the noontide heat,
From all her hedges the rose is fled,
And only the harebell lifts her head,
34
As if the Spring were again to pass,
The children bring from the far-off fell
The rose-red heather the bee loves well.
Comes October with breath more cold,
She breathes and the bracken turns to gold,
The cherry blushes as red as blood,
The rowan flames in the painted wood,
The larch-tree tresses are amber bright,
The birch is yellowing up on the height,
And over the valley and over the hill
A deep hush broods and the sheep are still,
But rainbow gossamers fill the air,
The old earth rests and the world is fair.
She breathes and the bracken turns to gold,
The cherry blushes as red as blood,
The rowan flames in the painted wood,
The larch-tree tresses are amber bright,
The birch is yellowing up on the height,
And over the valley and over the hill
A deep hush broods and the sheep are still,
But rainbow gossamers fill the air,
The old earth rests and the world is fair.
Now are the mountains winter-white,
Helvellyn shines in the clear moonlight;
The carollers sing and the Christmas bells
Send sweet messages up the fells;
The old folk meet for their Christmas cheer,
The young folk skate on the frozen mere;
But Spring is coming, the shy buds peep
And the snowdrop moves in her long, long sleep,
There is lemon light on the leafless larch,
And the wood grows purple to welcome March.
Helvellyn shines in the clear moonlight;
The carollers sing and the Christmas bells
Send sweet messages up the fells;
The old folk meet for their Christmas cheer,
The young folk skate on the frozen mere;
But Spring is coming, the shy buds peep
And the snowdrop moves in her long, long sleep,
There is lemon light on the leafless larch,
And the wood grows purple to welcome March.
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Fair, how fair, are the changing days
That keep us happy beneath the Raise!
We who in honour of Oswald, king,
Our ‘bearings’ still to the old Church bring.
We who here in the silent time
Act our part and carol our rhyme;
Seasons change and our hair grows grey,
But merrily goes the Grasmere play,
And two things stay with us all the year,
Love of our valley—and heart of cheer!
That keep us happy beneath the Raise!
We who in honour of Oswald, king,
Our ‘bearings’ still to the old Church bring.
We who here in the silent time
Act our part and carol our rhyme;
Seasons change and our hair grows grey,
But merrily goes the Grasmere play,
And two things stay with us all the year,
Love of our valley—and heart of cheer!
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