THE FOX AND THE CROW

THE FOX AND THE CROW

A young crow stole, one summer's day,

A meaty morsel of tasty cheese.

At once he rose and flew away

To eat his prize in peace and ease."

In his strong beak he bore it high
And perched upon a tall, dead tree,

A hungry fox was slinking by;

He stopped and gazed up craftily.

"If I, " he thought, "play my cards right,

I shall enjoy some meat for free."

He kept the crow fixed in his sight

And crept up slowly to the tree.

"Oh, crow," he called to him on high,

"How splendid your black wings appear

Against the blue of this bright sky.

Your eyes see far and are so clear."

"Your breast, it is an eagle's breast,

Your claws, I mean, your talons, sir,

Are tough as tempered steel. Your dress

Of feathers is finer by far than fur."

"Your beak is as a sword of steel!

Your bearing's better than the best!

And all in all, one can but feel

Your glossy tail just fits the rest!"

"Yes, over all, one can but say

You are a most brave and graceful creature:

A ruler of the air by day,

A flying king in every feature."

The crow was pleased to hear these things

And gave the fox a friendly gaze,

And wagged his tail and flapped his wings

With pleasure at this sudden praise.

"Oh, crow," the sly fox called once more,

"What a pity that the king of birds

Should lack a voice to call and caw,

And should be silent, want for words."

"I've yet to hear your fair throat ringing,

But I am sure that it must be

Much better than all other singing

For sweetly moving melody."

"A bird who has such strength and grace

Must have a voice to match. What's wrong

That you don't fill this airy space

With the power of your joyful song?"

At this the crow's heart pulsed with pride,

For often, in the past, he'd found

That he had had his voice described

As a hollow, harsh, unmusical sound.

And so to please the fox below

With his rare voice, both loud and raw,

The proud and pompous, foolish crow

Called mightily, "Ark, ark; caw, caw!"

But as his black beak opened there,

The tasty cheese slipped from his grip,

And tumbled downwards through the air,

The fox beneath was watching it.

Before it touched the dusty ground,

His waiting jaws snapped up the prize,

The cheese went down with a munching sound;

He finished it on the crow's last cries.

The fox looked up and said at length,

"I loved what came out from your beak.

I praised your beauty and your strength;

About your brains I did not speak."

The crow looked down, sad was his gaze,

For he has been too slow to see

The difference between real praise

And false and cunning flattery.

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

After The German Of Heinrich Heine

Outside now the white flakes fly

Through the night, loud is the storm;

In the small room here it's dry;

Lonely, homely-calm, and warm.

I sit, musing in my armchair,

By the crackling fire place;

And the boiling kettle hums there

Long-lost melodies' last trace.

And a small cat sits just by,

Warming small paws in the glow;

Flame forms flicker, weave and fly;

Strange the moods within me grow.

As in twilight, rises many,

Many a long-forgotten era;

As in drifting, long and motley

Masquerades and faded splendour.

With knowing looks fair women beckon

With a sweet, mysterious air;

Harlequins, with gay abandon,

Jump and laugh between them there.

In the distance gods of marble

Give a greeting, near them grow

Dreamlike flowers of tale and fable,

Leaves astir in moonlight glow.

Past me swim uncertain sights,

Magic castles of past ages;

And behind come shining knights,

Riding with attendant pages.

And this all goes passing over,

Hurried shadow-hastily-

Oh! the kettle's boiling over,

And the wet cat howls at me.

MOON GLIDING

MOON GLIDING

Deep in the night, in white, white light,

The gibbous moon seems gliding;

A silent sight, fast seems its flight,

A swift, near-circle riding

Through frosty fleeces, the cloudy pieces

That fill the floor of heaven.

Yet is it so? The clouds all flow,

The moon stays still and even,"

We say, although what do we know?

The moon flies further, hurled

Deep in deep space, in swifter race,

It runs around our world.

So this is so- it just seem slow,

But shifts while we are sleeping,

In "moonth" to trace, from place to place,

Year ring of solar keeping-

Just weeks to fly around our sky...

The clouds are merely creeping.

Moon- Night (from German of Eichendorff)

MOON-NIGHT

after the German of Joseph Freiherr Von Eichendorff

It was as if the sky

The earth had quietly kissed,

That she must dream of him,

Alone, in flower-mist.

Through fields there flew a breeze,

Corn ears waved softly near,

Low-rustled forest trees;

The night was so star-clear.

And then my soul outspread

Her wings, wide and alone,

Through silent lands she fled,

As if she flew towards home.

THE KORFISH CLOCK

THE KORFISH CLOCK

Korf invents a clock where two

pairs of circling hands are found,

one runs forward as clocks do,

but as well one's backward bound.

Pointing two- but also ten;

pointing three- but also nine;

one has but to see it, then

gone is every fear of time.

For with clocks on Korfish time,

with their Janus-parted course,

(that is why their strange design)

time keeps cancelling its force.     

from the German of Christian Morgenstern

EARTH, WATER, AIR AND FIRE

EARTH, WATER, AIR AND FIRE

In clarity of clear crystal,

In depth of dark rock,

In weight of world's matter,

In moulding silent stone,

In bones of the bare globe's darkness;

Is built earth's form.

The leaping, lashing ocean's swell,

The lapping, lulling ripples' wash,

The glistening, swirling rapid's flow,

The tumbling, twinkling fall of raindrops,

And the still lake's sunlit silence,

Weave the water's world.

Rolling in air-borne currents,

Whirling in hurricane's wrath,

Whistling in the winter's wind,

Rustling on a breeze's breath,

Rushing through the raging storm;

Breathes air's freedom.

Fury of unfolding flames,

Flight of their dancing forms,

Heat of the heaven's sun,

Fire of its celestial sphere,

And the sleeping volcano's invisible power,

Flame with fire's force.

WITHIN

WITHIN

Within the vastness of the galaxy,

Within the spiralled, shining crowds of stars,

Is seen this one: the blazing gold-white sun.

Within its radiant influence is found

A blue-white world with cloud and gleaming seas.

And on this world a large, dry-hearted land

Holds green coasts, brown plains, age-worn mountains.

And on one coast there is a sprawling city

With tall, grey buildings spread out by the harbour,

With suburbs, grey roads, houses, trees and cars.

And in one suburb there's a street-marked hill

With letter-boxes, streetlights, dogs and gardens.

And on this hill there is a small, white house,

And in that house there is a small, square room,

With white walls, books, and bed, and lamp, and slippers,

And sitting on this bed a thoughtful man

Who holds the biro writing out these lines.

The pen is in my hand,

And I sit on the bed

The bed is in the room,

The room is in the house,

The house is by the street,

The street is in the city,

The city's on the land,

The land's within the world,

The world within the benefice of that

One blazing sun within the crowds of stars,

A spiralled, shining crowds of stars within

The far, far reaches of the galaxy.

O NIGHT, STAR-FOUNTAIN

O NIGHT, STAR-FOUNTAIN

after the German of Christian Morgenstern

O night, star-fountain, I

bathe sheath and spirit in

your thousand suns on high-

O night, surrounding me

with joy of revelation;

yield all you know and see.

O night, you deep, deep fountain...

THE SONG OF THE ELF

THE SONG OF THE ELF

after the German of Eduard Mörike

One village night the watchman called:

"Twelfth hour!"

A small elf slept in the wood and snored-

Around the twelfth hour-

The "elf hour" reached his ears, thought he,

"The nightingale is calling me

From valley depths- or else the high elves call."

He rubbed sleep from his eyes. Alone

He set out from his snail-shell home;

And he was like a drunken rover-

His night nap was not fully over.

So tippertap, his hobbling trail,

Through hazel wood, went down the vale,

Slipped by a thick wall in the night,

And glow worms sat there, light on light.
"What are all these small, bright windows here?

A wedding's on within, it's clear,

And by their meal the small folk sit;

They're in the hall enjoying it.

I'd like a small peep at it all."

-Oops, he struck his head on hard, stone wall!

Dear elf, is that enough for you?

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

APOLLO

APOLLO

Apollo, with his shining sight

And his gold-bright bow,

Rode upon the sun's broad glow

And shot the dragon of dark night

With his dawn-born shafts of light.

So may that power be in our sight,

So may that power be in our souls-

The power of spirit light.

So may clear seeing

Glow from our being-

As a sun

Into the dark,

Like a sun

Within each heart.

SILENT, THE MOON

SILENT, THE MOON

Silent, the moon

glides on the night,

silently shining

from the star height.

Silent, the moon

rides on the sky,

spying on darkness,

like the night's eye.

From fields of wide violet

it pries through the night;

providing pale whiteness:

a delicate light.

Softly the moon,

through the night gliding,

seeks for what's hiding

in the quietness of all...

finding the sound

that is in silence;

finding the light

that is in shadow.

Silently shining

from the star height;

quietly the moon

glides on the night.

STAR

STAR

A star is a wonder

That rays its radiance;

Its gleaming beam

Unfolds from over us,

Illumines deep blue.

But wonder's star

Rays radiant reverence,

Beams from our being;

And, enfolding our knowing,

Intuits the True.

STAR SONG

                                 
                                         STARSONG

We are

star

children.

Our bodies born of the breath of suns,

our souls move in immensity.

Yet we

forget so easily

we're bathed in stellar light;

given vision

beyond terrestrial dimension.

For we have lost humility.

We are

star

children.

Yet we

forget so easily

we're of illimitable universe:

we're granted power to be.

Our sun

harmonizes with the round of stars.

The planets ring our journeying.

We feed on trapped sunbeams,

the moon moves our deep seas.

Yet we

forget so easily

a gratefulness for conscious being

and, blind in pettiness,

squabble over nothings.

We are, we belong.

We are star breath, star song.

Yet we

forget so easily.

We are

star children

and we all spiral with the stars through vastness.

THE CLOUD

                                                  

                                                     THE CLOUD

I am a cloud and I fly on far sky,

White in the light of the sun's blazing eye.

Freely I float on the ocean of air,

Unfurling, uncurling- like wild wisps of hair.

There the great eagles can spread out their wings,

Scanning the landscape and all lower things.

There the high swifts can circle and soar,

On rising, warm winds by my wide, ghostly shore.

There I can drift on air currents that roam

Through the vast blue of my light-filled sky-home.

Over the mountains and valleys I flow,

Casting my shadow on far earth below.

I am a cloud and I sail by on high,

Blown by wild breezes that rush through the sky.

Whirling, I swirl on, with mountains of mist,

Covering earth when the hot sun has kissed

Grasses and flowers till all they desire

Is my cool shade to lessen its fire.

Then, when the shimmering day's shine is done,

And sinking away is the gold glow of sun,

I catch final fire and flame with its light,

Bringing last beauty before dark of night.

Then, when the dawn first awakes from night's dreams,

I herald the sunrise with rosy-pink gleams.

I am a cloud; I am born from the sky,

Formed by sun's heat lifting vapours that fly

On wings of warm currents that rise to cold heights

To mass as the misty, free forms of my flights.

Drawn from wide rivers, from wave-rolling seas,

Drawn from the lakes and the leaves on the trees,

This is my substance, earth's moisture made pure,

Saved from beneath so that life may endure-

So that my showers can water bright flowers,

So that the rivers are fed by my powers,

So that the forests on mountain and plain

And all that is living are nourished by rain.

I am a cloud and I live in the sky,

Even when dark night is ruling on high.

Like a ghosts I go riding through moonless sky-heights-

A passing of darkness that blacks out star lights.

Then, when the white moon is shining through night,

I glide by so brightly in fine, silver light.

Weaving my shapes, tiny droplets all swirling,

Rise up or sink with the winds that are whirling

Through the far spaces to build up my towers,

My spirals and mountains, my high misty powers,

My columns on columns that spin my wild forms,

Until I release my furious storms.

Lifted by currents and fed by warm winds

I rise and I rise till the air itself thins;

Greater and greyer I grow all the time,

But flattened on top by the end of my climb.

For I am the bearer of lightning and thunder,

Developing charge as I rise from down under,

Till power bursts forth in my flash of white light,

Electric-fierce lightning that dazzles the sight,

Expanding the air with deep-thundering sound,

While rain heavy-pelts down so hard on the ground.

Then, when the fury of storm has swept by,

Showers show rainbow's bright shimmer on sky.

I am a child of the sky and the sun,

Winds and earth's waters which I weave as one-

I rise and I vanish, but I never die.

Though it may seem that the blue, wind-swept sky

Hides not a drop, not a wisp of far whiteness,

Still I am building, unseen in the brightness,

Gathering forces, about to be born,

As surely as dark night is followed by dawn,

Turning in time to returning to life,

Bringing again my blessing and strife,

Riding the winds over mountain and plain,

Bringing again the life-giving rain.

NIGHT RAIN

 NIGHT RAIN

The rain on my

steel roof

chatters, clatters,

pours and roars,

almost thunder-

I’m glad I’m under

my

steel roof,

warm and dry.

I think that I

should shut now

first one eye

then the other.

I hear the sound

all around.

Now the sound

of sleep comes by,

falling like rain,

from dark sky.

Goodbye till morning-

bye, bye;

bye,

bye.

MOONSET

                           MOONSET

Wild is the wind as it rides with the night,

Wild is the wind as it sets the sky sighing.

Bright's the thin moon as westward it's lying.

Bright is the white-shining chalice of light,

Bearing the circle of earth-light's far shine.

Silent's the sightless, swift passing of time.

Silent is time as it's endlessly flying.

Bright is the moonship on time's ebbing tide;

Bright as it glides beneath dark of earth side;

Smiling good-bye on horizon's black bar-

 Leaving the night to wild dark, wind and stars.

SHIMMERING

SHIMMERING

The sheen of moonshine shimmers

in shifting shapes upon the wash

of swishing, crashing,

night-shaded ocean waves;

which rush from shadow edge of sky

to dash to foam in swirling shallows

and splash upon
the shingled shore.

So shifting, shaping, shimmering,

this sheen of splendour shines-

like all the sheen of all we see,

the shimmer of

the outer-sensed reality.

GOLD HOUR'S SILVER SHINE

                              

                                        GOLD HOUR'S SILVER SHINE

Far west, behind the shadowed town,

still dazzling gold, the sun sinks down.

Surrounded by a gold sea haze,

with golden power it fills my gaze.

On misted sky it spreads a shower

of golden light in day's last hour

and on the rippling river rays

a golden road to skyline haze.

Far east, arising with the night,

with its white halo on the sky,

the silver-bright moon face gains light,

with silver shine as day glides by.

Past eastern sands its white light paves

a silver path across the sea,

with sparkles dancing on the waves

where silver shimmers flit and flee.

Thus on one side the eastern ocean

is now a world of silver motion;

and on the other last of day

is golden in the sun's proud ray.

So in the middle I can stand

with gold and silver by each hand;

and in one moment both are mine-

the hour of gold, the silver shine.

A CAT COMES BY AT NIGHT

                            

                                   A CAT COMES BY AT NIGHT

A cat comes by at night

On softly padded paws.

A cat comes by at night

To gaze through grey screen doors.

With green and slitted eyes

And white-striped, ginger fur

A cat comes by at night-

And I’ve just noticed her.

MISTER FROST

MISTER FROST

Long before the day is born,

While under stars the earth is sleeping,

Long before the winter dawn,

Mister Frost comes creeping, creeping...

There beneath the star-bright sky,

Silently he passes by,

Silently he passes through,

Freezing all the night-born dew.

Like a gliding, moon-white dream,

Quietly, quietly he will pass,

Freezing low leaves on the bushes,

Freezing all the spreading grass.

Icy are his frosty fingers,

Icy is his frosty breath,

Freezing all the earth beneath,

And for some his touch is death.

When at last the light is dawning,

With the rising of the morning,

Like the night he'll sneak away,

He'll not stay to face the day.

But you'll know where he has been,

When you wake up with the brightness,

For, where everything was green,

You will see his icy whiteness.

While under stars the earth was sleeping,

Long before the winter dawn,

Long before the day was born,

Mister Frost came creeping, creeping.

RAINBOW

RAINBOW

Red is the western setting sun

That rays through spreading mist and haze,

Descending when the day is done,

With its fine face of flame ablaze.

But golden-orange at the dawn,

It brings its world-beholding light,

Bestowing glowing rays to warm

And waken all the world from night.

It makes the dandelions all gleam

Bright yellow in the fields. They glow,

In every streaming, sunny beam,

Like little suns on earth below.

It lights up all the forest leaves

That cluster with their sparkling greens,

And rustle in the passing breeze

Where vast trees cover far-off scenes.

And it illumines all the sky,

The beautiful, light-dreaming blue,

Where distant eagles soar on high,

On heaven's boundless, soothing view.

And it shines on the indigo,

Wide sea, illuminating views

Where endless waves that foam and flow

Move over ocean's broad, dark blues.

And when the shining sun has set,

And final light dies on dusk's sky,

There shines a deepening, fine violet,

As gleaming stars appear on high.

Now when the sun's last passing showers

Are lit by westward sun's bright glow,

They throw an arch of misty powers

In bands of rainbow colour flow-

Red, orange, yellow, green and blue,

And indigo and violet too-

Life's feeling sheen, the shining bow,

The shimmer of the soul aglow.

RAINDROPS ON A POND

                  RAINDROPS ON A POND

Raindrops make

ripples on

the concrete pond,

leaving pearls upon

the water weeds.

But undisturbed,

beneath, within

their water world,

two red-gold fishes

flick their fins

and gently

swim.

OLD DOG

OLD DOG

To know which way the wide wind blows

My old dog lifts his knowing nose.

My old dog has a coat of black,

His eyes are brown and rather round.

He likes to roll upon his back.

His ears are long to catch such sound.

And sometimes when the world in dark,

He hears some sound and he will bark.

And sometimes he just likes to go

And stick his great nose in the air

And sense which way the breezes blow

And smell the scents from everywhere.

Hie eyes are brown and rather round.

His ears are long to catch each sound.

My old dog lifts his knowing nose

To know which way the breezes blow.