The Year is Going

New Year's Eve in Dallas
Storefront Decorations on Main Street, Neiman Marcus

Ring Out, Wild Bells
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Section #106 from the long poetic requiem
"In Memoriam A. H. H."
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892
Poet Laureate of Victorian England, 1850 - 1892;
still one of the most popular poets in the English language.

For more seasonal Tennyson, see previous posts:
Tennyson for Christmas Eve, 2010
&
Tennyson for New Year's Eve, 2010

Not just giant ornaments but giant hooks as well!

Hungry Heart

Everybody's Got a Hungry HeartPortobello Mushrooms in the Brattleboro Food Co-Op
Photo by Leif K-Brooks

NEW POST TODAY ON
THE FORTNIGHTLY KITTI CARRIKER
"Portobello Mushrooms" & "Truffles"
poetry by Catharine Savage Brosman

"--a hunger of the palate, / of the heart--"
See also my earlier post featuring
Brosman's poem, "Brussels Sprouts"
March 1, 2011: "My Vegetable Love"

Tennyson for New Year's Eve

Venerable Old Fence Post On Our Property Line
Here's a poem to help chase away the heating bill blues -- not that we need it today, since it just so happens to be a balmy, 60 degrees F, in Indiana (actually, somewhat eerie -- but don't worry -- back to freezing temps tomorrow)!

Lately, I have felt like the backs of my hands will never be warm again, even though the heat is cranking away and there's a fire in the fireplace! Sometimes I sit here at the computer wearing fingerless gloves while I type -- like Bob Cratchitt, except he was using a quill & ink, not typing. I wonder if my knitting friend Cate ever makes fingerless gloves? Ben's English teacher at St. Peter's was a knitter and that was her specialty. She gave him a few pairs when we moved away, one of which still happens to be tucked away in the pocket of his ski jacket.

I came across this poem recently in a little gift book about the seasons. Don't you agree that it seems rather modern-sounding for Tennyson? Not that I don't like the 19th C Tennyson, but this one makes an unexpected change.

Happy New Year! Keep a warm heart!

Winter

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 still'd and the flies are kill'd,
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.

Section #4 from
"The Window; or, The Songs / Loves of the Wrens"

music by Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan, 1842 - 1900
Ever popular British Composer

lyrics by by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892
Poet Laureate of Victorian England, 1850 - 1892;
still one of the most popular poets in the English language.
*************

P.S. 2016
~ I found these from Storiarts! ~

Tennyson for Christmas Eve

St. Peter's Churchyard, Philadelphia
Photograph taken by Ben McCartney on December 5, 2002

The Time Draws Near
The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain,
I almost wish'd no more to wake,
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:

But they my troubled spirit rule,
For they controll'd me when a boy;
They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,
The merry merry bells of Yule.

Section #28 from the long poetic requiem
"In Memoriam A. H. H."
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892
Poet Laureate of Victorian England, 1850 - 1892;
still one of the most popular poets in the English language.

Memorial Day Reminiscence

"Ring out the grief that saps the mind
for those that here we see no more."
excerpt from the long poetic requiem "In Memoriam A. H. H."
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892
Poet Laureate of Victorian England, 1850 - 1892, and
still one of the most popular poets in the English language.
Churchyard at St. Mary's, in Little Crosby, Liverpool, England
A Reminiscence
Yes, thou art gone! and never more
Thy sunny smile shall gladden me;
But I may pass the old church door,
And pace the floor that covers thee,

May stand upon the cold, damp stone,
And think that, frozen, lies below
The lightest heart that I have known,
The kindest I shall ever know.

Yet, though I cannot see thee more,
'Tis still a comfort to have seen;
And though thy transient life is o'er,
'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been;

To think a soul so near divine,
Within a form so angel fair,
United to a heart like thine,
Has gladdened once our humble sphere.

by Anne Brontë, 1820 – 1849
British novelist and poet,
youngest member of the Brontë literary family.

This poem appeared in 1946, in Poems By
Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell -- the pen-names chosen by
Charlotte, Emily, and Anne for their first book of poetry.