Spring Planting

© 2013 Loren Zemlicka
Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Flickr

“I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility.
Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.”

– Robert Browning

Here, Where the World is Quiet

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Here, where the world is quiet ;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams ;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.

– From “The Garden of Proserpine” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Sacred Charm

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

The dear old farm has a sacred charm
That extends to farthest bound,
Every rock and tree is dear to me,
And hallowed seems the ground.

Its beautiful stream whose waters gleam
As they dance on to the sea,
Sings sweeter song, as it moves along,
Than other waters to me.

No leaves are so green, as those that screen
The revered old farm-house doors,
From the burning sun of torrid June
When his fiercest rays he pours.

Each grove and field doth a mem’ry yield
Of dear childhood’s blissful hours,
And in accents clear, voices I hear
That have now augmented powers.

My father’s care and my mother’s prayer
Are now ended here on earth,
But as time rolls on, since they have gone,
I shall understand their worth.

There’s a sacred charm in the dear old farm,
For loved ones have trod its soil,
And much I now see, appears to me
As fruit of their faithful toil.

– “Old Farm” by Jared Barhite

Gone, Gone Again

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
Flickr | Twitter | Facebook

Gone, gone again,
May, June, July,
And August gone,
Again gone by,

Not memorable
Save that I saw them go,
As past the empty quays
The rivers flow.

And now again,
In the harvest rain,
The Blenheim oranges
Fall grubby from the trees

As when I was young
And when the lost one was here
And when the war began
To turn young men to dung.

Look at the old house,
Outmoded, dignified,
Dark and untenanted,
With grass growing instead

Of the footsteps of life,
The friendliness, the strife;
In its beds have lain
Youth. love, age, and pain:

I am something like that;
Only I am not dead,
Still breathing and interested
In the house that is not dark:–

I am something like that:
Not one pane to reflect the sun,
For the schoolboys to throw at–
They have broken every one.

– “Gone, Gone Again” by Edward Thomas