Posts Tagged ‘Spring’

Spring’s Offering

April 3, 2012

The Dawn of Spring

By OLIVER RUTTER

There’s a swish, there’s a whirr —
A bright flashing of wings!
There’s a sweet woodland myrrh,
That caressingly clings,
and the oriole signals love’s tenderest call,
Delightfully increasing Spring’s charm over all.

Now down where rushes grow,
Thrilling blackbirds are heard;
And soft, while the winds blow,
An overture is allured,
Till our troubles vanish, when the song sparrow sings,
As we gather violets like the blue-bird’s wings.

In the morning or noon,
Where the bushes swing low,
Pretty pictures are strewn
On the brook’s mirrored flow,
If, dreamily, we wander in love’s tender plight,
Through the thorn-bushes blossoming, of pink and white.

Over here, over there,
The rivalry is keen,
Though the bidding seems fair,
There is beauty unseen.
Low ‘neath the brambles, near the sweet smelling sod,
Are beauties we may liken to the smile of God.

Far away, far away,
Through a dim, purpled haze,
Taunting clouds are at play,
With the sun’s warming rays,
Ah! what seems as pleasant as the years that are gone,
When the charms of Springtime we are gazing upon?

Life is dear, life is queer,
Life is stubbornly wrong;
Life is sere, life is drear,
When it might be a song!
Ah! who paints the flowers, and the beautiful skies?
Who causes the dead, in new glory to rise?

Morning Herald (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Feb 28, 1936


Old Sol the Magician.

When April’s tears turn into snow
And nip spring in the bud,
Old Sol is anything but slow,
And soon its name is mud.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 3, 1912


Springs’s Offering.

We sweetly sing
The new laid egg.
Your fond attention
We would beg
As in a lay
Of praise we greet
The finest thing
On earth to eat.

Behold the modest
Little hen
That’s getting in
Its work again,
And making up
For what we lost
In days of laziness
And frost.

The days when all
There was on hand
Was the suspicious
Storage brand,
That, in responding
To our call,
Came scrambled if they came at all.

Now, wholesome, fresh
And at our taste,
We have them on
The table placed.
The number that
We eat unnamed,
So many, though
We are ashamed.

— Duncan M. Smith.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 6, 1909

It’s Curious!

It’s curious kind o’ weather when you come to make it out;
One minute winds is blowin’ all the blossoms roundabout,
An’ sunshine’s jes’ a-streamin’ from the blue and bendin’ skies,
An’ dreamin’ — jes’ a-dreamin’, like the light in woman’s eyes!

But jes’ when all is lovely, an’ the wind with music floats;
When the birds is makin’ merry an’ a-strainin’ of their throats;
An’ the sunshine’s like a picnic in the blossmes, pink an’ white,
A cyclone strikes the country an’ jes’ swallers all in sight!

It’s curious kind o’ weather — jes’ the worst you ever felt;
You don’t half git through freezin’ ‘fore the orler comes to melt!
An’ you can’t quite say it’s winter, an’ you ain’t half sure it’s spring;
So’ keep on with the whistlin’ an’ thank God for everything!

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 13, 1893

Spring Fever.

The time of year
Again is here
When wifey aims to make home neater,
And hubby knows,
When home he goes,
He’ll have to wield the carpet-beater.
With leaden feet

Along the street
He plods his way, sad-hearted, weary.
Well he doth know
That tale of woe
With wife’s n. g. — of such she’s leary.
Useless for him

A yarn to spin,
Pretending illness — can’t deceive her.
To him she’ll say,
In heartless way,
“Come off — it’s nothing but spring fever.”

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Mar 13, 1908

No Doubt About It Now.

Sunshine on the river —
Bird songs in the air!
Green leaves all a-quiver —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Reckless roses springing —
Brown bees here and there;
Lazy plowboy singing —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Easy to detect her —
Stormy skies or clear;
Easter bill collector —
(Certain spring is near!)

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 9, 1895

The Spring Affliction.

Oh, that blessed tired feeling
Which about the first of May
O’er the soul of man comes stealing
Like a burglar in a play,
Making him so fine and laze,
Kin almost to pure delight,
Calling up a vision hazy
Of a lake where fishes bite.

Winter with its weather bracing
Gave him energy and vim,
But spring has no trouble chasing
All those notions out of him.
When the birds begin to twitter,
Then in chaste and classic slang
He desires to be a quitter
And to let the work go hang.

He has tugged away like fury,
Buckled to it every day.
Now he things the judge and jury
Would prescribe a spell of play,
Would encourage him in slipping
From the busy haunts of men
And across the fields go tripping
Feeling almost young again.

Trading off the tired feeling
For the springy step of youth,
Finding nature’s gentle healing
More than advertised in truth,
Giving him an added vigor,
Keyed just right, not overdone,
Like the delicate hair trigger
On a forty dollar gun.

— Duncan M. Smith

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) May 15, 1914

SPORT

The merry waves dance up and down and play,
Sport is granted to the sea;
Birds are the quiristers of the empty air,
Sport is never wanting there;
The ground doth smile at the spring’s flowery birth.
Sport is granted to the earth;
The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear,
Sport is never wanting there.
If all the elements, the earth, the sea,
Air, and firs, so merry be,
Why is man’s mirth so seldom and so small,
Who is compounded of them all?

— Abraham Cowley

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1936

SPRINGTIME

One cloud a hue of lazylite
Flanked by spray of misty white
Gave way to sublimate of gray
A storm cloud hovered on the way.

Springtime, blythe and very gay,
Her banner throws athwart the sky
That she will not her claim deny
Cold winter must vacate and fly.

— M.W. Beebe, Black Wolf Point.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Springtime Weather – Birds of a Feather

April 2, 2011

Image from The Graphics Fairy.

THE BLUEBIRD.

I know the song that the bluebird is singing,
Out in the apple tree where he is swinging,
Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary —
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

Hark, how the music leaps out from his throat!
Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
Listen a while, and you’ll hear what he’s saying
Up in the apple tree swinging and swaying.

“Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,
You must be weary of winter, I know;
Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer!
Summer is coming! and springtime is here!

“Little white dewdrops! I pray you arise,
Bright yellow crocus! come open your eyes;
Sweet little violets, hid from the cold,
Put on your mantles of purple and gold;
Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?
Summer is coming! and springtime is here!”

— Kansas City Journal

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1901

Image from Flower Fairy Prints

APRIL WEATHER

Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease,
For here is April weather!
The daffodils beneath the trees
Are all a-row together.

The thrush is back with his old note;
The scarlet tulip blowing;
And white-ay, white as my love’s throat —
The dogwood boughs are growing.

The lilac is sweet again;
Down every wind that passes
Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane;
The bees are in the grasses.

And Grief goes out and Joy comes in,
And Care is but a feather;
And every lad his love can win,
For here is April weather.

— Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) May 4, 1899

By The Chimney Place

Mister Sparrow, take yo’ time
‘Bout buildin’ o’ yo’ nes’;
Blizzard come an’ blow it
F’um howlin’ eas’ ter wes’!

De mockin’ bird, he try a note,
An’ fin’ it friz up in his throat!

Pile de oak log higher
In de chimbly-place;
Thank de Lawd fer fire
An’ meat enough fer grace!

Wish mockin’ bird could cash his note
An’ buy dis chile a overcoat!

— Frank L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution.

Reno Evening Gazette (Reno, Nevada) Dec 27, 1913

THE WEATHER FIEND.

He comes at early sunrise
And knocks upon my door,
And says with glee: “I never
Saw such a morn before.
The mercury’s at zero,
I’m frozen through and through,
And yet I like this weather —
Is it cold enough for you?”

He comes into my office
A smile upon his face,
And tells me of Dakota,
And many an unthawed place,
Where cattle die by thousands,
And men by hundreds do,
And closes up by saying:
“Is it cold enough for you?”

He meets me on the sidewalk
Where the wind the keenest blows,
And stops me with his story
While I freeze my ears and nose,
And asks the same old question,
As I inward fret and stew,
And wish the man in Jericho —
“Is it cold enough for you?”

If ever fortune favors
I’ll be even with him yet —
This weather fiend who bothers
And whom I can’t forget;
I’ll do it in a manner
That will be both neat and trim;
I’ll drive him to distraction,
But I’ll make it hot for him.

— Detroit Journal.

The Daily Northern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 5, 1901

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PANE.

When the frost is on the window
And the lawn is covered o’er
With a foot of snow where pansies
Spread their petals out before,
Oh, it’s then there is a crispness
In the circumabient air
That compels a man to hustle
When he’s going anywhere —
Makes him wish that he were like a
Duck that calmly takes its head
And tucks it ‘neath a winglet,
As a child is put to bed.

When the man with flowing whiskers
Carries round a lot of ice
Dangling downward from his features,
Some folks claim to think it’s nice —
Claim that they enjoy such weather,
That it’s best to have it so —
That it fills them full of ginger
And that sort of thing, you know;
But I’ve noticed that the people
Who praise up the wintry blasts
For the most part do it only
While the summer season lasts.

— Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 2, 1899

THE GLORIOUS CLIMATE.

Say! but ain’t it gorgeous?
Never see the beat;
Last week arctic weather,
Frozen hands and feet;
This week, sun a-shining’,
Air ez soft ez May,
Feel like goin’ skippin’
with the kids at play!

Say! but life is jolly,
When the weather’s fine;
Spirits like the merc’ry
Racin’ up the line;
Never mind the coal bills,
Slight the plumber’s dun,
When you’re out a baskin’
In this friendly sun!

Say! but ain’t the weather
An’ liver, lots to blame,
Fer feelin’s that we’re blamin’
Our friends fer jes’ the same?
Fer when the sun is shinin’
Somehow the world is bright,
an’ when the liver’s workin’
Whatever is is right!

— Detroit Journal.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 21, 1899

March, March, A Song for March

March 19, 2011

Image from I Photo Central.

MARCH.

Where the gusty skies o’erarch
Hill and hollow, rock and river,
Comes the blustering wind of March,
Setting all the reeds a-shiver;
Leafless willow tree and arch,
How their branches shake and quiver!

Touch of grasses on the hill
Where the awkward lambs are playing;
Color-glints that nestle still
Where the violets are staying;
Sound of waters by the mill
Where the current down is straying.

Swallows in their figured flight,
Upward rising, downward dipping,
Pass, as would ashaft of light
Into opened shutter slipping,
Now above in airy height,
Now across the mill-pond skipping.

Now the world is in its prime,
Banished all the signs of sadness,
Spring’s wild winds are set to rhyme
Sweeter than midsummer’s madness;
Even on the face of Time —
Old and wrinkled — there is gladness.

— Ernest McGaffey in Women’s Home Companion.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 4, 1899

Image from the Historical Boys’ Clothing website.

MARCH.

March! and all the winds cry, March!
As they sweep the heaven’t arch,
Polishing the stars that gem
Earth’s resplendent diadem;
Setting all the waters free
From the winter’s chancery,
Sending down an avalanche
From the tree’s snow-covered branch.
March makes clear the frosty track
That the birds may hasten back
On their northward flight and bring
Jocund carols for the spring.
March is merry, march is mad,
March is gay and March is sad;
Every humor we may know
If we list the winds that blow,
Have you heard the bugle call
Gathering the soldiers all?
March is Springs’ own trumpeter,
Hailing us to welcome her.

— Frank Dempster Sherman in Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 12, 1900

Image from the Rampant Scotland website.

A SONG FOR MARCH.

It is the roaring month of March.
The wild northeaster bends the larch;
The gray rain beating on the wold
Has closed the crocus cups of gold,

Adown the dale, adown the dale,
The thrush pipes sadly to the gale;
His song is sad, and I would hear
The anthem of the coming year.

But there will be an April day —
The thrush will pipe another lay,
And we will find on greener hills
White violets and daffodils.

— Eric Parker in March St. Nicholas.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 13, 1900

Image from the Finnish Blog, Lankokamero.

MARCH.

I am the bringer of the swallow.
I bring with grass the woodland hollow —
I open up the folded mallow,
I hang the willow with green laces.
In marshy places
I set the shining golden faces
Of kingcups, with the gorse to follow.
I am the life of daffodils
Deep in the valley on the hills
I am the wind that sways the grasses;
I am the love ‘twixt lads and lasses,
Love that is sweet and swiftly passes;
I dust with golden meal the sallow;
I am deep water and the shallow —
I am the blossom on the mallow.

— Nora Hopper in Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 29, 1900

Image from the Old Tonbridge History website.

A SONG FOR MARCH.

Sing ho! sing ho, for the sleet and snow!
For the stormy March and the winds that blow
From north and south, now high, now low,
Or chill or warm!
Oh, March is the month of months for me;
Its south winds set old winter free,
And tell of the springtime soon to be
With all its charm.

Sing ho, for March on the sea’s bleak shore,
Where the bracing breezes evermore
Blow up from the ocean bearing before,
The salty spray!
Sing ho! for March among the hills!
Melting snow filling the ice-rimmed rills,
Streams rushing madly past meadows and mills
Day after day.

Sing ho, for the roughest month of all,
When shrill o’er the tempest sounds the call
Of the crow from woodland tree-top tall,
Telling of spring!
And ho, for the waning winter days,
When the lingering north winds cold delays
April’s coming, and chills the sun’s red rays!
Oh, March is king!

— Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 5, 1901

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By coincidence, all the images happen to be from other countries, while all the poems were published in American newspapers.