CHRISTMAS BELLS by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

CHRISTMAS BELLS

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said:
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was the most popular American poet of his day. He achieved widespread fame with works like “Paul Revere’s Ride,” The Song of Hiawatha, and “The Wreck of the Hesperus” that idealized American history and landscapes. Though born in Portland, Maine, Longfellow spent much of his youth traveling Europe. These early travels inspired a lifelong interest in European cultures and traditions which he incorporated into his poetry. After returning to America, Longfellow accepted a professorship at Harvard College, becoming one of the first American academics focused on developing a genuinely American national literature. Known for his flowing rhyme schemes, use of folklore themes, and melancholic tone, Longfellow created accessible works that resonated powerfully with the public during his lifetime and after his death from peritonitis at age 75. More than just a famous name, Longfellow left an enduring mark on American letters through poems that gave a new nation myths and stories of its own.

The Burning Babe by Robert Southwell

The Burning Babe

by Robert Southwell

As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow ;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear ;
Who, scorch’d with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
Alas, quoth he, but newly born in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I !
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns ;
The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defil’d souls,
For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.
With this he vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I call’d unto mind that it was Christmas day.

Winter In The Boulevard by D.H. Lawrence

D.H. Lawrence (1885?1930)

Winter In The Boulevard

by D.H. Lawrence

The frost has settled down upon the trees
And ruthlessly strangled off the fantasies
Of leaves that have gone unnoticed, swept like old
Romantic stories now no more to be told.

The trees down the boulevard stand naked in
thought,
Their abundant summery wordage silenced, caught
In the grim undertow; naked the trees confront
Implacable winter’s long, cross-questioning brunt.

Has some hand balanced more leaves in the depths
of the twigs?
Some dim little efforts placed in the threads of the
birch??
It is only the sparrows, like dead black leaves on
the sprigs,
Sitting huddled against the cerulean, one flesh with
their perch.

The clear, cold sky coldly bethinks itself.
Like vivid thought the air spins bright, and all
Trees, birds, and earth, arrested in the after-thought
Awaiting the sentence out from the welkin brought.

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