{"id":1876,"date":"2012-08-21T06:53:48","date_gmt":"2012-08-21T06:53:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.janice-campbell.com\/?p=866"},"modified":"2015-08-31T22:19:14","modified_gmt":"2015-08-31T22:19:14","slug":"the-poetry-of-august-warm-slow-evocative","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/the-poetry-of-august-warm-slow-evocative\/","title":{"rendered":"The Poetry of August: Warm, Slow, Evocative"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a title=\"Julius Bien[see page for license], via Wikimedia Commons\" href=\"http:\/\/commons.wikimedia.org\/wiki\/File%3ABrooklyn_Museum_-_Mocking_Bird_-_John_J._Audubon.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft\" style=\"margin-left: 8px; margin-right: 8px;\" title=\"Mocking Bird - John J. Audubon\" alt=\"Brooklyn Museum - Mocking Bird - John J. Audubon\" src=\"\/\/upload.wikimedia.org\/wikipedia\/commons\/thumb\/1\/18\/Brooklyn_Museum_-_Mocking_Bird_-_John_J._Audubon.jpg\/128px-Brooklyn_Museum_-_Mocking_Bird_-_John_J._Audubon.jpg\" width=\"128\" height=\"189\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<h4><strong>A bird came down the walk<\/strong><\/h4>\n<p><em>Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886<\/em><\/p>\n<p>A bird came down the walk:<br \/>\nHe did not know I saw;<br \/>\nHe bit an angle-worm in halves<br \/>\nAnd ate the fellow, raw.<\/p>\n<p>And then he drank a dew<br \/>\nFrom a convenient grass,<br \/>\nAnd then hopped sidewise to the wall<br \/>\nTo let a beetle pass.<\/p>\n<p>He glanced with rapid eyes<br \/>\nThat hurried all abroad,&#8211;<br \/>\nThey looked like frightened beads, I thought;<br \/>\nHe stirred his velvet head<\/p>\n<p>Like one in danger; cautious,<br \/>\nI offered him a crumb,<br \/>\nAnd he unrolled his feathers<br \/>\nAnd rowed him softer home<\/p>\n<p>Than oars divide the ocean,<br \/>\nToo silver for a seam,<br \/>\nOr butterflies, off banks of noon,<br \/>\nLeap, splashless, as they swim.<\/p>\n<h4>August<\/h4>\n<p><em>Algernon Charles Swinburne, 1837-1909\u00a0<!--more--><\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong><span style=\"font-size: small;\">T<\/span>HERE WERE<\/strong>\u00a0four apples on the bough,<br \/>\nHalf gold half red, that one might know<br \/>\nThe blood was ripe inside the core;<br \/>\nThe colour of the leaves was more<br \/>\nLike stems of yellow corn that grow<br \/>\nThrough all the gold June meadow\u2019s floor.<\/p>\n<p>The warm smell of the fruit was good<br \/>\nTo feed on, and the split green wood,<br \/>\nWith all its bearded lips and stains<br \/>\nOf mosses in the cloven veins,<br \/>\nMost pleasant, if one lay or stood<br \/>\nIn sunshine or in happy rains.<\/p>\n<p>There were four apples on the tree,<br \/>\nRed stained through gold, that all might see<br \/>\nThe sun went warm from core to rind;<br \/>\nThe green leaves made the summer blind<br \/>\nIn that soft place they kept for me<br \/>\nWith golden apples shut behind.<\/p>\n<p>The leaves caught gold across the sun,<br \/>\nAnd where the bluest air begun,<br \/>\nThirsted for song to help the heat;<br \/>\nAs I to feel my lady\u2019s feet<br \/>\nDraw close before the day were done;<br \/>\nBoth lips grew dry with dreams of it.<\/p>\n<p>In the mute August afternoon<br \/>\nThey trembled to some undertune<br \/>\nOf music in the silver air;<br \/>\nGreat pleasure was it to be there<br \/>\nTill green turned duskier and the moon<br \/>\nColoured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.<\/p>\n<p>That August time it was delight<br \/>\nTo watch the red moons wane to white<br \/>\n\u2019Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;<br \/>\nA sense of heavy harmonies<br \/>\nGrew on the growth of patient night,<br \/>\nMore sweet than shapen music is.<\/p>\n<p>But some three hours before the moon<br \/>\nThe air, still eager from the noon,<br \/>\nFlagged after heat, not wholly dead;<br \/>\nAgainst the stem I leant my head;<br \/>\nThe colour soothed me like a tune,<br \/>\nGreen leaves all round the gold and red.<\/p>\n<p>I lay there till the warm smell grew<br \/>\nMore sharp, when flecks of yellow dew<br \/>\nBetween the round ripe leaves had blurred<br \/>\nThe rind with stain and wet; I heard<br \/>\nA wind that blew and breathed and blew,<br \/>\nToo weak to alter its one word.<\/p>\n<p>The wet leaves next the gentle fruit<br \/>\nFelt smoother, and the brown tree-root<br \/>\nFelt the mould warmer: I too felt<br \/>\n(As water feels the slow gold melt<br \/>\nRight through it when the day burns mute)<br \/>\nThe peace of time wherein love dwelt.<\/p>\n<p>There were four apples on the tree,<br \/>\nGold stained on red that all might see<br \/>\nThe sweet blood filled them to the core:<br \/>\nThe colour of her hair is more<br \/>\nLike stems of fair faint gold, that be<br \/>\nMown from the harvest\u2019s middle floor.<\/p>\n<h4>Summer Stars<\/h4>\n<p><em>Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Bend low again, night of summer stars.<\/p>\n<p>So near you are, sky of summer stars,<\/p>\n<p>So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars,<\/p>\n<p>Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,<\/p>\n<p>So near you are, summer stars,<\/p>\n<p>So near, strumming, strumming,<\/p>\n<p>So lazy and hum-strumming.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Three poems for August: A bird came down the walk (Dickinson), August (Swineburne), and Summer Stars (Sandburg). <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[41],"tags":[339,362,411,473,545,303],"class_list":["post-1876","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","tag-algernon-swineburne","tag-august-poem","tag-carl-sandburg","tag-copywork","tag-emily-dickinson","tag-poetry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v23.3 (Yoast SEO v27.1.1) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The Poetry of August: Warm, Slow, Evocative &#8226; 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Although I strongly advocate reading whole works for high school literature, I find that old readers can be very useful in introducing an author and creating a taste for his or her work. I was browsing through The Jones Fifth Reader by L.H. Jones, A.M., published\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Inspiration and encouragement&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Inspiration and encouragement","link":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/category\/inspiration\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Old books","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.everyday-education.com\/p7110009-grose-antique-books-with-candle-499x384.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":1662,"url":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/memory-project-pied-beauty\/","url_meta":{"origin":1876,"position":5},"title":"The Memory Project: Pied Beauty and More","author":"Janice Campbell","date":"January 13, 2015","format":false,"excerpt":"Memory is the storehouse of whatever knowledge we possess; and it is upon the fact of the stores lodged in the memory that we take rank as intelligent beings. Charlotte Mason, Home Education, p. 151 I've been thinking about memory lately. Specifically, about what is stored there, and how to\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;Charlotte Mason&quot;","block_context":{"text":"Charlotte Mason","link":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/category\/homeschool\/charlotte-mason\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"The Memory Project: Pied Beauty and More","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/01\/memory-project.jpg?fit=560%2C315&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/01\/memory-project.jpg?fit=560%2C315&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/01\/memory-project.jpg?fit=560%2C315&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p65lfN-ug","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1876","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1876"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1876\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1876"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1876"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/doingwhatmatters.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1876"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}