a whisper in the night wind

There's a whisper in the night wind
And a coolness in the dawn;
There's a star agleam to guide us
When October starts to yawn.
Where the prairie browns in silence,
Lonely sunsets fade and die,
Then the stars throng out in glory
To gem-light the vaulted sky,
Or the green-clad mountain valleys
Where the stillness brings deep peace-
As the moon comes out of hiding
To renew her earth-born lease.
There's a hushing in the evening
And a lateness in the dawn,
And the leaves begin to tremble
When October starts to yawn.

Amelia V. Christeson

Today's Word A.W.A.D.
The Writer's Almanac NPR

WINTER

WINTER, a sharp bitter day
the robin turns plump against the cold
the sun is week
silver faded from gold
he is late in his coming and short in his stay
Man, beast, bird and air all purging, all cleansing,
earth already purified awaits the rite of spring
Her bridal gown a virgin snow and frosts in her hair
A snowdrop by the road today bowed gracefully and high upon the wing
up in the sparkling nothingness,
a lone bird began to singCan gentle spring be far away?

Tommy Makem

Today's Word A.W.A.D.
The Writer's Almanac NPR

Monday

Today's Word A.W.A.D.
The Writer's Almanac NPR

The Ostrich by Ogden Nash

The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
Its mouth is wide, its neck is narra.
It has such long and lofty legs,
I'm glad it sits to lay its eggs.

BBC - Program Message Boards

BBC - Radio 4

"A slumber did my spirit seal"

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem'd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

Wordsworth 1799

"He sang those witty rhymes"

The Fountain, a conversation
William Wordsworth

We talk'd with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of Friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.
We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat,
And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.
Now, Matthew, let us try to match
This water's pleasant tune
With some old Border-song, or catch
That suits a summer's noon.
Or of the Church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made!
On silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old Man replied,
The grey-hair'd Man of glee.
"Down to the vale this water steers,
How merrily it goes!
Twill murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows."
And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot chuse but think
How oft, a vigorous Man, I lay
Beside this Fountain's brink.
My eyes are dim with childish tears.
My heart is idly stirr'd,
For the same sound is in my ears,
Which in those days I heard.
Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.
The blackbird in the summer trees,
The lark upon the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
With Nature never do _they_ wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free:
But we are press'd by heavy laws,
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, because
We have been glad of yore.
If there is one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The houshold hearts that were his own,
It is the man of mirth.
"My days, my Friend, are almost gone,
My life has been approv'd,
And many love me, but by none
Am I enough belov'd."
"Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains!
I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains,"
"And, Matthew, for thy Children dead
I'll be a son to thee!"
At this he grasp'd his hands, and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."
We rose up from the fountain-side,
And down the smooth descent
Of the green sheep-track did we glide,
And through the wood we went,
And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock,
He sang those witty rhymes
About the crazy old church-clock
And the bewilder'd chimes.

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