Dear
Members, Alumni, & Friends of the James Scholar Advisory & Leadership
Team:
The
autumn chill is definitely upon us now, and in the next few weeks, all kinds of
things will be happening, such as Halloween (the Keltik New Year’s Eve) on
October 31st; the return of Central Standard Time on November 1st;
Veterans’ Day on November 11th. WOW – so many things to celebrate as
autumn turns into winter and the holiday season rapidly approaches! Here is a
collection of poems for you to enjoy as the calendar keeps rolling along…
Little
Orphant Annie (1885)
By
James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
Little
Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An'
wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An'
shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An'
make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An'
all us other children, when the supper-things is done,
We
set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin'
to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An'
the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef
you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Wunst
they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An'
when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His
Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An'
when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An'
they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An'
seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But
all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An'
the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef
you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An'
one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An'
make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An'
wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She
mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An'
thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They
wuz two great big [Shadows] a-standin' by her side,
An'
they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An'
the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef
you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An'
little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An'
the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An'
you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An'
the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You
better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An'
churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An'
he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er
the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef
you
Don't
Watch
Out!
“Autumn”
(1845)
By
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
Thou
comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarkand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!
Thy shield is the red Harvest Moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven’s o’er-hanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarkand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!
Thy shield is the red Harvest Moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven’s o’er-hanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!
“A
Lyric of Autumn” (1904)
By
William Stanley Braithwaite (1878-1962)
There
is music in the meadows, in the air --
Autumn
is here;
Skies
are gray, but hearts are mellow,
Leaves
are crimson, brown, and yellow;
Pines
are soughing, birches stir,
And
the Gypsy trail is fresh beneath the fir.
There
is rhythm in the woods, and in the fields,
Nature
yields:
And
the harvest voices crying,
Blend
with Autumn zephyrs sighing;
Tone
and color, frost and fire,
Wings
the nocturne Nature plays upon her lyre.
“A
Song of Suns and Seasons”
By
George MacDonald (1824-1905)
Excerpted
from At the Back of the North Wind (1871) – Chapter 37
The
Sun is gone down,
And
the Moon’s in the sky;
But
the Sun will come up,
And
the Moon be laid by.
The
flower is asleep
But
it is not dead;
When
the morning shines,
It
will lift its head.
When
winter comes,
It
will die – no, no;
It
will only hide
From
the frost and the snow.
Sure
is the summer,
Sure
is the Sun;
The
night and the winter
Are
shadows that run.
Happy
Keltik New Year to one and all!
Rob
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