The Full Honey Moon in June

Hello everyone –

Tonight, you will be able see the Full Honey Moon in the night sky, rising shortly after sunset and setting just after sunrise tomorrow morning. The “Honey Moon” is the full moon closest to the summer solstice (on June 20/21), which means that it stays relatively close to the southern horizon and can take on a honey-colored hue when it’s rising or setting (hence its name). To celebrate this celestial event, here are some poems about our nearest neighbor in space – the Moon! :)

“Eldorado”

By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,  

Had journeyed long,   

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old—

This knight so bold—  

And o’er his heart a shadow—  

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength  

Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow—  

 ‘Shadow,’ said he,  

 ‘Where can it be—

This land of Eldorado?’

‘Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,  

Ride, boldly ride,’

The shade replied,—

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

“The Moon Was but a Chin of Gold”

By Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

The Moon was but a chin of gold

A night or two ago,

And now she turns her perfect face

Upon the world below.  

Her forehead is of amplest blond;

Her cheek like beryl stone;

Her eye unto the summer dew

The likest I have known.

 

Her lips of amber never part;

But what must be the smile

Upon her friend she could bestow

Were such her silver will!

And what a privilege to be

But the remotest star!

For certainly her way might pass

Beside your twinkling door.

Her bonnet is the firmament,

The Universe her shoe,

The stars the trinkets at her belt,

Her dimities of blue.

“The Moon” (From A Child’s Garden of Verses, 1885)

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

The Moon has a face like the clock in the hall;

She shines on thieves on the garden wall,

On streets and fields and harbor quays,

And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,

The howling dog by the door of the house,

The bat that lies in bed at noon,

All love to be out by the light of the Moon.

But all of the things that belong to the day

Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;

And flowers and children close their eyes

Till up in the morning the Sun shall arise.

Until next time – keep looking up! :)

Rob

Remembering Our Heroes on Memorial Day

Hello everyone –

In this edition of Quotemail, we remember all our departed heroes, from many times and climes, those whom we have known and loved, and those whom we have never had the honor to know personally, but to whom we are nonetheless deeply grateful for their service and sacrifice.

The observance of Memorial Day (originally known as Decoration Day) began in the aftermath of the American Civil War. It was first widely observed in both North and South during May 1867. In my extended family, this is a day to remember my Dad and all my uncles – all of whom were veterans of the World War II era – and my maternal grandfather, a veteran of the First American Expeditionary Force in World War I. Here are a few poems and reflections to remind us of all the heroes who have died in defense of our country – not only during the Civil War, but also before and after.

“Decoration Day”

By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)

See the soldiers, little ones!

   Hark the drummers' beat!

See them with their flags and guns

   Marching down the street!

Tattered flags from out the wars,

   Let us follow these

To the little stripes and stars

   Twinkling through the trees.

Watch them waving through the grass

   Where the heroes sleep!

Thither gently let us pass

   On this day we keep.

Let us bring our blossoms, too,

   All our gardens grow;

Lilacs honey-sweet with dew,

   And the lilies' snow.

Every posy of the May,

   Every bloomy stem,

Every bud that breaks to-day

   Gather now for them.

Lay the lilies o'er them thus,

   Lovingly, for so

Down they laid their lives for us,

   Long and long ago.

Heap above them bud and bough;

   Softly, ere we cease,

God, we pray Thee, gently now

   Fold them in Thy peace!

The following patriotic hymn may already be familiar to many readers. It was performed at my Dad’s memorial service in June 2010.

"I Vow to Thee, My Country" (1921)

By Sir Cecil Spring Rice

I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,

Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;

The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,

That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;

The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,

The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.

And there's another country, I've heard of long ago,

Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;

We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;

Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;

And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,

And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.

“Crossing the Bar” (1889)

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1807-1892)

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.

Tennyson remarked about this poem: “The Pilot has been on board all the while, but in the dark I have not seen him… [He is] that Divine and Unseen Who is always guiding us.”

“In Great Deeds” by Joshua Chamberlain (1828-1914, Union General from Maine)

       In great deeds, something abides. On great fields, something stays. Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger, to consecrate ground for the vision-place of souls. … Generations that know us not and that we know not of, heart-drawn to see where and by whom great things were suffered and done for them, shall come to this deathless field, to ponder and dream; and lo! The shadow of a mighty presence shall wrap them in its bosom, and the power of the vision pass into their souls.

Happy Memorial Day weekend!

Rob

Poems for Graduation!

Hello everyone –

With Commencement at the University of Illinois taking place this weekend, here are some poems dedicated to all our listmembers who have received their academic degrees between May 2016 and May 2017. These are some of my all-time favorite pieces of poetical wisdom, packaged together just for you.

“If” by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;

If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And — which is more — you’ll be a Man, my son.

“Up-Hill” by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

“Upon the Hearth the Fire Is Red” by J. R. R. Tolkien (1892-1973)

Upon the hearth the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we may meet

A sudden tree or standing stone

That none have seen but we alone.

Tree and flower and leaf and grass,

Let them pass! Let them pass!

Hill and water under sky,

Pass them by! Pass them by!

Still around the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate,

And though we pass them by today,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe:

Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,

Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed! And then to bed!

Until next time –

Rob :)

Happy Arbor Day & May Day! :)

Hello, everyone –

Today, the last Friday in April, is Arbor Day throughout the United States. It’s a great day to spend some time outdoors, enjoy Nature’s hidden wonder all around us, and maybe even plant a tree for the future! This bouquet of poems were chosen in honor of Arbor Day and the beautiful springtime that we’re having in Central Illinois.

“Trees” by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales

By Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400)

When April with his showers sweet with fruit

The drought of March has pierced unto the root

And bathed each vein with liquor that has power

To generate therein and sire the flower;

When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,

Quickened again, in every holt and heath,

The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun

Into the Ram one half his course has run,

And many little birds make melody

That sleep through all the night with open eye

(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage) –

Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,

And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,

To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.

“Song on May Morning” (1632)

By John Milton (1608-1674)

Now the bright Morning Star, Day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Happy Arbor Day & May Day! J

Rob

Remembering Revere, Emerson, & Lincoln

Hello everyone –

In addition to sacred festivals that dance through different dates on the calendar each year, the month of April also has a patriotic holiday dedicated to the remembrance of the epoch-making events that led to the founding of our nation 241 years ago. In this edition of Quotemail, I am featuring poems about Patriots’ Day, a New England observance that takes place on the third Monday of April. In these memorable verses, both Longfellow and Emerson – two New England poets – commemorate the first battle of the American Revolution on April 19, 1775, and the significant adventure leading up to it on the night before.

“Paul Revere’s Ride” (1860)

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

“Concord Hymn” (1837)

By Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare,
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

You can watch an animated music video based on this poem (Schoolhouse Rock’s “The Shot Heard Round the World”) @ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6ikO6LMxF4.

ADDENDUM:

Here are some concluding reflections by Abraham Lincoln:

“Let us re-adopt the Declaration of Independence, and with it, the practices, and policy, which harmonize with it. Let north and south -- let all Americans -- let all lovers of liberty everywhere -- join in the great and good work. If we do this, we shall not only have saved the Union; but we shall have so saved it, as to make, and to keep it, forever worthy of the saving. We shall have so saved it, that the succeeding millions of free happy people, the world over, shall rise up, and call us blessed, to the latest generations.”

(Speech at Peoria: October 16, 1854)

Enjoy the springtime weather outside this weekend! J

Until next time –

Rob