Category Archives: Spring

The Garden

I dreamt and in my dream I saw
A garden fair behind a door,
The seat of rest from toil and war.

Within, the streams unending flow
And dryads make the bowers grow
As starry hosts above them glow.

By day th’eternal sunlight shines
And flowers bloom as mystic signs,
While water falls on eglantines.

The lark his morning song uplifts
While Philomel her faery gifts
By night unburthens, as the swifts

Their aerie dance for me perform.
This peaceful place no ghastly storm
Can mar, nor broil nor quake deform.

No fetter, bond nor cruel chain
There was to drag me hence again
For there delight and freedom reign,

While under shady eaves I lay.
At last – no more demands t’obey
No interruptions, just the play

Of wind and light in leafy green
No longer mankind’s tiresome spleen,
But free to be alone, unseen.

And in my dream I dreamt I sought
To see if here were missing aught
For as I ’gan to take some thought,

This place of peace, eternal rest
No longer seemed so perfect, blest
That slowly I grew worried lest

My garden should itself undo.
Then on its gates in ivory hue
I found engraved these letters true:

Who first considers neighbours foes
Will banish friends and love also.

And though ’twas filled with fancies nice,
My garden’s walls were deathly ice
To make a selfish paradise.


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Filed under Autumn, Spring, Summer, Winter


I glance and then avoid her eyes
That sometimes seem to pierce my heart
Just when I start to fantasise
That we could ever be a part
Of our vocabulary. The way
She looks – so innocent yet wise
Without her willing, keeps at bay
The one who loves her. But he tries
To please, and though he mope,
A man in love wonʼt give up hope.

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Filed under Love poems, Spring

Wolstonbury Hill

Steep-sloped earth-walled    storm-beaten hill top,
Weather has worn you,    wars have ravaged
Your ancient sanctuary,    safe place in anarchy
And uncertain times.    Sober chieftains
Of the Down Dales,    their doom unwitting,
Ruled on your heights,    holding sway over
The rolling green;    rising and waning
As their fathers before.    Feast and sacrifice,
Year by year since    yore, returned to
The heroeshall    on hill of chalk.
Your virgin maidens,    from morning dance returning,
Their heads crowned and    crested beautifully
With orchid headdress:    awed and shyly
To their elders glancing;    Your glades of oak,
Where maying lovers    met early by dawn;
Your raised unwrought    ring of eldstones
Where forest and field    folk held mootings,
Are all gone, long gone,    lost in history –
Yesteryear’s unknown.
                                                       And yet – when wind
Blows blustering o’er    your battled peak,
I hear an unseen    hillsong singer;
The haunting voice of    your vigilant past.

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Filed under Autumn, Classical, Medieval, Spring, Summer, Winter

Spring I

Silver birches swaying blithely
winding coyly in the windy breeze;
broad-brimmed beeches blowing softly:
faithful, friendly forest-maidens.
Lilting laughter lightly carries,
while treemaids splash in spraying brook;
washing their hair in waterfalls sweet,
bathing in sunlight’s soft-clean warmth.
Master Sun is more than sanguine
shining through leaves and shoots so greenly,
making playful prancing shadows
sprinkling Greenwood in springtime light.
In the clearing, Oaking’s court is joyful
minstrel fauns sing morning hymns, while
river maids dance with ravishing movements
and larchmen lounge, leaves a-whispering
of quieter joys coursing, tingling
right through their veins, thanking the Maker
for the joy of Spring, splend’rous awakening
new life, new love – living, loving.

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Filed under Medieval, Spring


He awakens the dawn,
raises up the golden sun;
each blessed morn’
he lights the world anew,
with swirling light
and sun soaked hue.
How earthman,
created as he is,
won’t understand
and even denies
the beauty of creation,
revealed in a sunrise,
only his Maker can surmise.

At the beginning of this poetry blog, a short dedication to the Poet of Life

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Filed under Morning, Spring