The Rivulet: Lord Tennyson

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,

Thy tribute wave deliver :

No more by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,

A rivulet and then a river :

No where by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,

And here thine aspen shiver;

And here by thee will hum the bee,

For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,

A thousand moons will quiver;

But not by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

Summary: In this poem, ‘The Rivulet’, the poet Lord Tennyson describes about a farewell. He depicts a picture of death. He compares life with a small stream. This cold stream will grow into a river and flow into the sea. Like this stream our life begins. We grow up and at last we die. After the death, the process of funeral begins. It is a natural event. In every step, we leave our mark in this world. We will be buried, but the mark will be left alone. The nature will remain as usual – the alder tree, the low continuous sound of the bee, the sun and the moon. Only our lives will fade away from this world.

To the Cuckoo: William Wordsworth

O blithe New-comer ! I have heard,

I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass

Thy twofold shout I hear,

From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off, and near.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring !

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery.

Summary: ‘To the Cuckoo’, written by William Wordsworth is a poem that is addressed to a Cuckoo bird. This poem has been written in admiration and glorification of the cuckoo. The cuckoo becomes a symbol of beauty, innocence and childhood for the poet. The poet hears the cuckoo is singing in a garden. Her song reminds him of the golden days of his childhood. The poet calls the cuckoo a happy stranger. He enjoys her song, but he is unable to see her. The cuckoo is more like a wandering voice than a bird to him.

A Little Farm: Katharine Tynan

When a little farm I keep,

I shall tend my kine and sheep,

And my pretty lambs shall fold

I deep pastures starred with gold.

On green carpets shall they tread,

Gold and purple be their bed,

Honey clover make their food 

In a watered solitude.

'Twixt the mountains and the sea

There my little farm will be.

in a heart-remembered spot

I shall have my happy lot.

In a heart-remembered place,

Where the mountains lift their face,

I shall tend my sheep and kine,

And a thankful heart be mine. 

Summary: In the poem, ‘A Little Farm’, the poet Katharine Tynan describes about her little farm. She is thinking of the little farm she would like to keep. In her farm, she will take care of cattle, sheep and pretty lambs. There will be deep pastures in her farm. The cattle, sheep and lambs will walk on green carpets. Their bed will be gold and purple. Their food will be made with honey clover in a watered solitude. Her little farm will be between the mountains and the sea. She will be very happy in this heart-remembered spot. The mountains lift their face in this heart-remembered place. The poet will be thankful if she can take care of her sheep and cattle in her little farm.

November: Thomas Hood

No sun--no moon!

No morn--no noon--

No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--

No sky--no earthly view--

No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--no 't'other side the way.'

No travelling at all--no locomotion,

No inkling of the way--no notion--

'No go'--by land or ocean--

No mail--no post--

No news from any foreign coast.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member--

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds--

November!

Summary: In this poem, ‘November’, the poet Thomas Hood describes the bleakness of a November. A heavy fog obscures everything: the sun, the moon, the steeples, the roadways, the parks, even the faces of people on the streets. Travel close down because of the fog. As a result, there are no mail deliveries and no ships arriving with news from foreign countries. Visitors stay away because the autumn has stripped the leaves from the trees, killed the flowers and fruits, and banished birds, bees, and butterflies. There is nothing left to cheer those venturing through the city. 

The Wind from the West: Ella Young

Blow high, blow low,

O wind from the West:

You come from the country

I love the best.

O say, have the lilies

Yet lifted their heads

Above the lake-water

That ripples and spreads?

Do the little sedges

Still shake with delight,

And whisper together

All through the night?

Have the mountains the purple

I used to love,

And peace about them,

Around and above?

O wind from the West,

Blow high, blow low,

You must come from the country

I loved long ago.

Summary: In this poem, ‘The Wind from the West’, the poet Ella Young expressed her deep feelings about the country which is from the West. She told the west wind to blow high and low and come from the country which she loves the best. She asked the west wind about the lilies those lifted their heads above the lake-water, the little sedges those shake with delight and whisper together all through the night. She also asked it about the mountains the purple she used to love and peace about them, around and above. She requested the west wind to blow high and low and must come from the country that she loved long ago.

Time, You Old Gipsy Man!: Ralph Hodgson

Time, you old gipsy man,

Will you not stay,

put up your caravan

Just for one day?

All things I'll give you,

Will you be my guest,

Bells for your jennet

Of silver the best.

Goldsmiths shall beat you

A great golden ring,

Peacocks shall bow to you, 

Little boys sing.

Oh, and sweet girls will

Festoon you with may,

Time, you old gipsy;

Why hasten away?

Summary: In this poem, ‘Time, You Old Gipsy Man’, the poet Ralph Hodgson told about time. He said that time never stays. It always runs and runs. For this, he names the time “Old gipsy man”. To stop the time, he offered the time things such as belts for its jennet of the best silver, a big golden ring etc. He told time that peacocks will bow, little boys will sing songs, sweet girls will festoon the time with may. He requested the time to put up its caravan just for one day, but the time never stays.  It passes and passes. Nobody can stop its ever-busy frigate even for a second. We know how precious thing is time for us. If we don’t use it properly, it will run away and never come back. So, we need to use the time properly.

Rain in Summer: H.W. Longfellow

How beautiful is the rain!

After the dust and heat,

In the broad and fiery street,

In the narrow lane,

How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,

Like the tramp of hoofs!

How it gushes and struggles out

From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window-pane

It pours and pours;

And swift and wide,

With a muddy tide,

Like a river down the gutter roars

The rain, the welcome rain!

Summary: In this poem, ‘Rain in Summer’, the poet H.W. Longfellow describes about the beauty and comfort of rains in summer. The rain is very expected in summer. In summer, rain brings beauty and comfort after the dust and heat. It washes away the dust. So, everything becomes fresh. It creates a beautiful rhythmic sound on the roof. When summer rain comes everybody welcomes it.

The Beggar Maid: Lord Tennyson

Her arms across her breast she laid;

She was more fair than words can say;

Bare-footed came the beggar maid

Before the king Cophetua.

In robe and crown the king stept down,

To meet and greet her on her way;

'It is no wonder,' said the lords,

'She is more beautiful than day.'

As shines the moon in clouded skies,

She in her poor attire was seen:

One praised her ankles, one her eyes,

One her dark hair and lovesome mien.

So sweet a face, such angel grace,

In all that land had never been:

Cophetua sware a royal oath:

'This beggar maid shall be my queen!'

Summary: In this poem, ‘The Beggar Maid’, the poet Lord Tennyson describes about the love of the king Cophetua for the beggar maid. When the beggar maid came before the king Cophetua, she was bare-footed and she set down her arms across her breast. She looked so beautiful. Her beauty cannot be expressed by the words. King Cophetua was very much attracted to the beggar maid. He left the palace in robe and crown to meet and greet her on her way. When the moon shines in clouded skies, she was seen in her poor attire. Her ankles, eyes, dark hair and lovely face were praised by others. Such a sweet face which had angel grace had never been in that land. King Cophetua had a royal oath that he will have the beggar maid as his wife, the queen.

Winter: Lord Tennyson

The frost is here,

And fuel is dear,

And woods are sear,

And fires burn clear,

And frost is here

And has bitten the heel of the going year.

Bite, frost, bite!

You roll up away from the light

The blue wood-louse, and the plump dormouse,

And the bees are stilled, and the flies are killed,

And you bite far into the heart of the house,

but not into mine.

Bite, frost, bite!

The woods are all the searer,

The fuel is all the dearer,

The fires are all the clearer,

My spring is all the nearer,

You have bitten into the heart of the earth.

But not into mine.

Summary: In the poem, ‘Winter’, the poet Lord Tennyson describes about the winter season. There is frost everywhere in winter season. Fuel and woods are used to burn fires. The winter attacks or comes in the last part of the year. In winter, the light cannot be seen clearly due to frost. The blue wood-louse, the plump dormouse and the bees are not moving. The flies are killed in winter. Winter bites into the heart of the house and the earth. But the poet does not fear it. He is waiting for the spring because after winter the spring will come with its beauty.

The Brook: Lord Tennyson

I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret

By many a field and fallow,

And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wilderness;

I linger by my shingly bars,

I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

Summary: In this poem, ‘The Brook’, the poet Lord Tennyson describes about a long stream. This stream starts out from the place that is frequently visited by coot and hern. As it flows out, it makes a sudden rush. When it flows among the fern, its water sparkles out. The brook flows down a valley with a lot of noise. It flows down along hills over stony ways and at last it flows into the overflowing river.

A Naughty Boy: John Keats

There was a naughty boy,

And a naughty boy was he.

He ran away to Scotland,

The people there to see,

But he found

That the ground

Was as hard,

That a yard

Was as long,

That a song

Was as merry,

That a cherry

Was as red,

That lead

Was as weighty,

That fourscore

Was still eighty,

And a door was as wooden as in England.

So he stood in his shoes, and he wondered,

He wondered, he wondered,

So he stood in his shoes and he wondered.

Summary: In this poem, ‘A Naughty Boy’, the poet John Keats describes about a naughty boy. He ran away to Scotland. He wanted to see the development of the people. But there he found the same hard ground, the same long yard, the same merry song, the same red cherry, same weighty led. He also found same fourscore that were still eighty and a same door which was as wooden as in England. These all things made him surprised. So he became active to perform wonderful things.

The Wind: L.E. Landon

The wind has a language, I would I could learn;

Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;

Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,

And all things grow calm, as the sound floats

along;

And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;

And slumber sinks down on the wandering main,

And its crystal arms are folded in rest,

And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.

Summary: In the poem, ‘The Wind’, the poet L. E. Landon describes about the rhythm of wind. He thought that the wind has a language from which he could learn. Sometimes the wind is soothing or peaceful. Sometimes it is stern. Sometimes it comes like a small sweet song. When the sound of wind floats along, all things grow peaceful. The forest is lulled by the dreamy twist. Slumber sinks down on the wandering main. Its crystal arms are folded in rest. The tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.

Winter: Lord Tennyson

The frost is here,

And fuel is dear,

And woods are sear,

And fires burn clear,

And frost is here

And has bitten the heel of the going year.

Bite, frost, bit!

You roll up away from the light

The blue wood-louse, and the plump dormouse,

And the bees are stilled, and the flies are killed,

And you bite far into the heart of the house,

But not into mine.

Bite, frost, bite!

The woods are all the searer,

The fuel is all the dearer,

The fires are all the clearer,

My spring is all the nearer,

You have bitten into the heart of the earth,

But not into mine.

Summary: In the poem, ‘Winter’, the poet Lord Tennyson describes about the winter season. There is frost everywhere in winter season. Fuel and woods are used to burn fires. The winter attacks or comes in the last part of the year. In winter, the light cannot be seen clearly due to frost. The blue wood-louse, the plump dormouse and the bees are not moving. The flies are killed in winter. Winter bites into the heart of the house and the earth. But the poet does not fear it. He is waiting for the spring because after winter, the spring will come with its beauty.

The Solitary Reaper: William Wordsworth

Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for the Vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travellers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending;

I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;—

I listened, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

Summary: In the poem, 'The Solitary Reaper', the poet describes about a highland lass who is harvesting crops alone. While reaping, she is singing continuously. The poet is enchanted by the song of the girl and stands still and not allowing anybody to make any sort of noise and disturbance. To the poet, the song of the girl is sweeter than and superior to that of the song of the nightingale and the cuckoo bird. The theme of the song is unknown to the poet. Still he thinks it may be a battle in the past or day-to-day life, loss or pain. Though the song is not heard now by the poet, the impact and influence of the song is in the heart of the nature poet.

A Piper: Seumas O’Sullivan

A piper in the streets to-day

Set up, and tuned, and started to play,

And away, away, away on the tide

Of his music we started; on every side

Doors and windows were opened wide,

And men left down their work and came,

And women with petticoats coloured like flame,

And little bare feet that were blue with cold

Went dancing back to the age of gold,

And all the world went gay, went gay,

For half an hour in the street to-day.

Summary: In the poem, ‘A Piper’, the poet Seumas O’Sullivan describes about a piper who plays music or pipe. Today when he set up and tuned and started to play his pipe in the streets, the music spread on every side. The doors and windows were opened. Men, women and little kids came out. Men left down their work, women put on petticoats coloured like flame and children with blue bare feet came and danced. They all enjoyed the music of piper and it continued for half an hour.