Photo & Poem Gallery

Than softly falling snow
Fussing over every flake 
And making sure
It won’t wake someone. 

To feel and speak the astonishing beauty of things – earth,
             stone and water,
Beast, man and woman, sun, moon and stars –
The blood-shot beauty of human nature, its thoughts,

Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,

Swifts turn in the heights of the air; 
higher still turn the invisible stars. 
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth 
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand. 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone

I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?
It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

That pretty little beast, a poem,

  has a mind of its own.

Sometimes I want it to crave apples

  but it wants red meat.

Sometimes I want to walk peacefully

  on the shore

and it wants to take off all its clothes

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light:

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

 

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer