Thursday, August 23, 2012
Peacock
What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
William Butler Yeats
Monday, August 13, 2012
Cuckoo, koyal cooing , perched on a tree in India
O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! Shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! Shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
William Wordsworth
Squirrels playing around with each other
Little squirrel, bushy tailed and bright,
You're here, you're there, everywhere in sight,
Frantically you go, through day and night,
With flashing, frenzied, frenetic flight.
Squirrel, how I'd like to hold you still,
And calm your body's twitching ripple,
I, molasses, run slow and tranquil,
You, quick silver, dip and dance and spill.
How shall I love thee, let me find a way,
Maybe you will calm when you are grey,
But I think I'll never see the day
When before me, calmly still, you’ll lay.
O my silver streak, I love your tail,
You’re a flashing fuzzy, I’m a snail,
I’m a bottled message, you’re air mail,
I’m a zephyr, you’re a full-blown gale.
And between us there is a schism,
With no hope of change or revision
Yet someday we will love, that’s my vision,
In spite of your metabolism.
Dennis Lambert
Squirrel on a tree
Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I'd a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.
William Butler Yeats
