Tag Archives: poetry

happiness

A Frank Brown poem about his late wife Martha (aka Edna’s parents)

This is a poem written by my great-grandfather mourning the loss of his wife, my great grandmother. I wish I had listened more to the stories Grandma told me about her parents.

Lamentation for My Dear Wife who Died September 29, 1935

The summer sun will shine again

As brightly as of yore

The west wind blow a soft refrain

The waves caress the shore

The featured choir will trill sweet song

Bright flowers will greet the sight

The moon will rise mid starry throng

To mount the throne of night

But Not for me will nature smile

Nor birds their carols raise

No more can summer skies beguile

Nor flowers enchant my gaze

The moon may still her radiance shed

Just as on nights of yore

But what wails when hope is dead

And my Dear wife I’ll see no more.

Though quenchless fires will inward burn

To a high degree I know

Yea though I see all life’s glory turn

To dust and ashes now

But I’ll strive to pay this utmost price

Though bankrupt is my soul

And climb Cochrane Hill of sacrifice

Where duty points the goal…

Fond are the ties that are broken

And the rose that is faded and gone

But in silence this Dear rose is budding

And will bloom forth in heaven again

So shall it ever be in the bright morning

When hearts awakening see the shadows flee

Oh in that hour and fairer than dawning

My glorious thought – she is with thee.

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happiness

Dear Edna (A poem written about Grandma)

I’m assuming this poem was written by one of her schoolmates. I believe this was when she attended the end of high school in Calgary. It was written as a note, so the first part here is the note Penny wrote, with the poem attached at the end.

Edna, care of Barbra

Dear Edna,

Please excuse this paper, but as usual I am in bed writing of course very naughty, but supposed to be good? I am a very poor writer as Barbra knows. I also hope you will forgive me, my being so forward as to write but as you are Barbra’s friend, you will understand. I am not a poet, but I often write lines of junk to Barbra to tease her. I will do my best to make you a poem which will be a very poor best. As you are fond of horses and a good rider, maybe you will understand my craze for race and show horses. Thoroughbreds are my favourite. Well I am slow at hitting things quickly, I hope you hike out to the weasel-head on Saturday. Here is my poor poem.

Edna

Edna sweet and pretty

Blue eyes and flaxen curls

Oh, loved by all is she

Especially envied by the other girls

Her beauty is well known

Her saddle o’er the gate

So carefully thrown

While for a pony she does wait.

It won’t be long

‘Ere she does ride

Tracing the breezes strong

By Barbra’s side

Out in the moonlight night

When the stars are bright

With love and hopes

From Penny H.

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happiness

Just a Thought at Twilight (A poem by Edna)

Just a Thought at Twilight When my Spirit’s Low

Music is throbbing in my ears

A Christian hymn sung at twilight

Faintly it dies with the breeze then nears

As the human notes gain in might

It’s Sunday evening and the first day of May

I’m thinking of my home in the foothills

And I wish I were there to enjoy this day

Where the meadowlarks voice throbs and trills

The city has many large and magnificent churches

Where the people gather in crowds to worship God for an hour or two

But all day in the country where’er your eye searches

Your heart humbly praises the Master of the picturesque view

I wish I were back to my kinfolk again

And to the hills and the mountains dear

To help plow the fields and to plant the rich grain

Which feeds all these mouths who at the farmers sneer

(On the back is written: Please return to me because this is the only copy I’ve got and I have promised to send Jean all my attempts at poetry. E.A.B.)

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happiness

Give all to love

One of my favourite poems – maybe my absolute favourite one – is Give All To Love by Emerson. As with Thoreau, I first discovered my love for him as a young adult in university English class. Actually, I not only discovered Thoreau and Emerson, but I discovered transcendentalism and with that a kind of “home” that I have danced in and out of over the years. In reality, I didn’t discover transcendentalism so much as it found me and pulled me towards it.

According to vocabulary.com, transcendentalism is “a philosophy started in the early 19th century that promotes intuitive, spiritual thinking instead of scientific thinking based on material things.

There are three main principals – individualism, idealism, and the divinity of nature. I think one of the main components that drew me to these transcendental writers was their belief that nature is sacred and is a powerful source of both spiritual and moral wisdom that we as humans are to connect and live in harmony with.

Their writings make me feel happy and connected to the Divine in any case.

I have to say, the one visit I made to Concord years ago has left me wanting to go back and spend much more time there exploring and sitting in the space where thinkers I have admired for years spent their time. I loved New England.

There’s a big part of me that wants to love poetry, there’s another part of me that often gets bored really quickly with a poem and I often struggle with wanting to enjoy what I’m reading and wanting to poke my eyes out so I don’t have to read anymore (a bit drastic, closing the book is probably more accurate.) When I find a poem that grabs me, it becomes part of my soul and I carry it with me. As I do with this one.

From the first time I read it, the last stanza has been imprinted on me. I’ve thought about it on and off throughout the years, and it helps hold me steady. I love it.

Give All to Love

 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Obey thy heart; 

Friends, kindred, days, 

Estate, good-fame, 

Plans, credit and the Muse,— 

Nothing refuse. 

’T is a brave master; 

Let it have scope: 

Follow it utterly, 

Hope beyond hope: 

High and more high 

It dives into noon, 

With wing unspent, 

Untold intent: 

But it is a god, 

Knows its own path 

And the outlets of the sky. 

It was never for the mean; 

It requireth courage stout. 

Souls above doubt, 

Valor unbending, 

It will reward,— 

They shall return 

More than they were, 

And ever ascending. 

Leave all for love; 

Yet, hear me, yet, 

One word more thy heart behoved, 

One pulse more of firm endeavor,— 

Keep thee to-day, 

To-morrow, forever, 

Free as an Arab 

Of thy beloved. 

Cling with life to the maid; 

But when the surprise, 

First vague shadow of surmise 

Flits across her bosom young, 

Of a joy apart from thee, 

Free be she, fancy-free; 

Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem, 

Nor the palest rose she flung 

From her summer diadem. 

Though thou loved her as thyself, 

As a self of purer clay, 

Though her parting dims the day, 

Stealing grace from all alive; 

Heartily know, 

When half-gods go,   

The gods arrive.

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