Sunday, 7 March 2010

#3 ~ THE PATH


As usual, her rest was interrupted by the dream/vision. It was always the same, clear, and yet obscure in meaning. What it presaged she did not know, but she accepted its presence in her subconscious, the same way she accepted that her heart pumped blood through her. She let it run its course, not doing anything to impede its steady march across her inner eye.

She was walking on a boardwalk that drifted aloft among the clouds. She could not see where it ended, nor did she know where it began. She only knew that the woman she saw on it was herself. Eventually, she stopped walking, and merely stood watching the path ahead of her, waiting for something. Or someone.

This was one of the mysteries of this dream/vision. One of the things she did not understand. Was she awaiting another ship to another destination? Was she awaiting her guide? Was there some other purpose for her stillness, her waiting? She asked the questions in her mind, but no sound issued from her lips. She only stood.

The clouds around her roiled and fluffed, and thinned where the sun broke through them. She could hear the whisper of thunder in their shifting round her, feel the sting of lightning. And yet she knew she was in no danger as long as she stayed on the path. It was prescribed, and it would take her where she needed to go.

The sound of the morning birds impinged upon her mind, and the dream/vision ended, as abruptly as it had begun. It was dark when she looked out the window, and as she rose from the cot she had slept on, she heard the sounds of movement below stairs. Someone else was up and about, probably the innkeeper, getting ready for his day. She would need to be long gone by the time the first of his clients went down for breakfast, or travelers found his establishment.

Her preparations were even simpler this time. The knapsack contained a change of clothing She donned them slowly, after washing herself with the water that had been left for her. She made the bed, and left a small tip for the one who would come to check her room when she was gone. A last look, and she stepped into the dim hallway.

This time, for the first time, she felt as though that hallway was the boardwalk in the sky, and what she was about to do was the beginning of a different, a higher adventure. Her skin tingled with pinpricks of excitement, and she could feel her heart beat quicken. This was unusual - never before had she felt such anticipation at the start of a new sojourn. There had only ever been dread...until now. Now, dread was replaced by a disturbing mixture of fear and anticipation, as though her heart knew something her head could not yet see.

She walked down the stairs quietly, and went directly to the door where she knew her guide was waiting. He would pay her way, and give her final instructions.

"It is a new day," he said without preamble, and she knew he was not talking about the day which was beginning.

"Yes," she agreed.

"You will walk till noon, and then you will be there. Take this," he pressed a small package into her hands. "It contains food and water. It will only last till noon."

She put the package in her knapsack, and turned away, as usual. He did not want her thanks. Once she had given it to him, and he had admonished her, saying that it was he who should be thanking her. And so she prepared to leave, when his voice made her turn and look at him. His trunk-like neck seemed to glow in the dim light of pre-dawn.

"This time will be different," he said. "I know you have felt it." He spoke with certainty. she had no need to respond. "Follow the path," he said.

"How will I know?" she asked him simply.

"You will know, as you have known in the past when it was time to leave. Stay on the path and your sojourn will go well!"

She smiled at him then, again understanding the other message, and turned away. She did not understand, but she knew she would be safe. She opened the door and felt the cool morning air upon her cheeks. Closing the door behind her, she stepped into the street, and turned east, toward the rising sun...

#2 ~ THE GUIDE


She walked down the gangplank onto the slowly gliding walkway that would take her to the center of town. She did not know where she would live, or how. All she knew was that he was there - her guide. Like he had always been before. She did not know when he would come, but she knew he would find her. She jerked the backpack over her shoulder, and set off with purposeful stride, stepping off the path and striking out across the wide yard with its containers and passengers, the sound of gulls shrieking overhead cracking against the hard silence of the sky.

It struck her that, for the first time in all her travels, she had actually been let off in a port, for a change, and not outside some hovel or grand mansion. This was going to be a harder sojourn for her than any of the others so far had been. She paused to wish it would be her last, then shrugged heavily as the thought came, unbidden, that she had always wished for that and had yet to be granted her desires. Shaking her head, as much to clear it of the unsettling thoughts as to bring herself back to the moment, she walked between the warehouses and out onto a wide road, filled with traffic and people.

She paused to get her bearings, looking around her for any sign that would speak to her of what her next move should be. And when she saw it outside the little tea shop, she smiled. Another first - she had not had to wait a day or two to find out what her next task would be. Perhaps there was a Higher One, after all, she mused as she waited for the traffic to thin so she could cross the road.

On the other side, she stopped to appraise the sign. it was wide rather than high, the name of the establishment emblazoned on it in red and gold. "Three Ways" it was called, with a sign that pointed forward and to east and west - no arrow went behind. She could surmise that it meant there was no looking back, only spreading out or going forward. Like her guide's face...

Two minutes brought her to its front door, and she pushed in without even looking to see if the place was open for business. A warm smell of cinnamon and honey assailed her, and she realized that she was hungry. Starving, in fact. Her last meal, which she had eaten alone, as usual, had been two days ago.

A wraith-like creature with jet black hair and sunken eyes appeared at her side, inviting her to sit at a small table for two by the window. She smiled her assent ad let herself be led to the place where she knew instinctively she would meet her guide. After ordering the house special tea and two cinnamon buns, she sat with her hands crossed before her, looking out the window to the street.

She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her years, of her experiences, of her journeys, seeping into her pores, crowding in beside the hurts, the sadness, the disappointments, the utter exhaustion. She let it all wash over her. She would be no use to anyone if she were too tired to function. She felt as though she could sleep right there, her feet propped on the little bar across the legs of the table, her arms crossed over her chest, inhaling the home scents of the dining room.

"Your breakfast, ma'am!"

The whisper-thin voice snapped her eyes open and she looked up to see him standing there, his bald head bare, his eyes boring into her.

"You have come," she said simply, gesturing to the chair across from her.

One thing she could say about him was that he was courteous to a fault, and would not sit till she invited him to do so.

"When have I not?" he asked simply, seating himself without breaking eye contact. "You are my ambassador." He paused, looking over her head to the street beyond the glass widow. "And you are my friend."

She raised her eyes from cutting one of the two buns to look at him, She had heard that he was changing, growing, and she wondered if, in his new, more powerful position, he would still pause to take tea with her.

"Yes, she replied as simply. "You have been a faithful friend and guide, I know!"

He watched her eat, and wondered again how such a delicate creature could hold such strength of will, of mind, of body, and how she had managed to void being changed by her changing situations. And he wondered how she did not know who she truly was, and how he really felt.

He permitted himself a small curl of one side of his mouth, realizing that she was still caught in her dream of physical beauty, and only saw him for his usefulness and kindness to her. He was not the three-faced, four-eyed, skeletal creature she had accepted that he was. His wizardry allowed him to take any form he pleased, and for her, till she came to know herself truly, and to see the world in all its variegated hues, this hideous form would have to do. He was glad that at least she was not repulsed by him. Small steps, he thought, and then brought those thoughts back to the moment.

"There is a house here where someone is needed to bring peace, and a heart that needs to be opened to love."

He watched her as he spoke, knowing what thoughts roiled in her head. He wished he could be plainer, but part of what made her so effective was her lack of knowledge of anything but the need to heal the world. He wished he had more like her, and thanked the Higher One for sending her to him. Some day, he knew, if she did not awaken to what was left between them, that neither he nor she had ever spoken of, she would leave, and he would lose her. He could only trust that as she brought wisdom and insight to bear on the lives of those she touched, so too she would see herself, and so him.

He gave a mental shrug. No time for such musings now, here, where she might stop to wonder why he took so long to send her on her way.

"They are expecting a visitor at breakfast time. If you follow the path beyond this road, that leads into the woods, you will come upon their home by and by."

He felt her stare wash over his bald head, and staring eyes. He sat coolly, watching as she took in the blood-stained coils that twisted together like a gnarled tree trunk to form his neck. Her gaze warmed him. Perhaps some day she would see past this gruesome facade to the creature within who cared for her more than she would ever know.

"You have had no tea," she said, and poured him a cup. "Please, drink with me! I have had a long journey, and it seems this is to be my only respite."

She smiled at him, and his inner eyes saw the future. He picked up his teacup and sipped. She would rest here, renew herself, and then set off on this next sojourn...

#1 ~ THE SHIP















Miles of it...everywhere she looked, there were miles of it. It looked like sand, and yet, she knew that was a sailing ship. Sails unfurled before a brisk wind she could feel, even from her vantage point high atop the ridge that ordered the sleepy desert village. And behind it, the darkness. Every now and again, the black sky was split by a sharp incisor of light, jagged, threatening, fearful, ripping it from top to bottom, an angry reminder of man's powerlessness in the face of Mother Nature.

She folded her arms inside the cavernous sleeves of her scarlet robe. She knew this day would come. She had always known. And she knew what she must do. She turned her back on the ship and the menacing storm that blew it toward her. She must prepare, and the time was short.

The walk back to her tiny cottage took half the time she knew she had. And yet, she did not hurry. If it left without her, she would die. If she went with the other passengers, she would die. There was no need to hurry. She opened the door, and the aroma of her evening meal hit her, at the same time the first sharp pangs of a deep sorrow struck her at the heart. She gasped, and had to brace herself against the door frame for the moments it took her to bury the pains, to cover the gaping wounds in her soul.

Finally, she could move. She closed the door, and went immediately to the stove. She would eat before she left. Her last meal here. She would savor every morsel, and steep her mind in the memory. It would be her last one here. She didn't know when she would ever again be as happy as she had been here. Not that her happiness had not been deeply scarred by awful sadness, by dreadful hurt, by anger, by despair. And yet, she had been more fulfilled, more secure, more content here than anywhere before.

She spooned the simmering meat stew into a bowl, carefully removed a crusty roll form the bread box, glad she had made a fresh batch this morning. She knew the others would come for dinner, as they did every evening, and she was happy sh could leave them a last meal. She wished she could have shared t with them, but she was content to leave them with the memory of her deep love for each of them - including him, the one she would not leave, but had to.

The stew was spicy, filled with the flavors of her life - garlic, onions, hot peppers - and hearty, like she was, like her love was. She ate slowly, feeling the ship draw closer. She saw it now from her window. It glowed against the threatening dark, lighting up like a Christmas tree before the angry lightning that seemed to stalk it like a raging beast. The black sky was over the village now. She must change. Scarlet clothing would give her away as a newcomer, and since she did not know where she would end up next, she wanted to blend in as much as possible.

She washed her bowl, tidied the kitchen, and left a brief note for her friends.

"I have been called away, dear ones. I don't know if I can return. But I have left you dinner, and my love. K"

She went to dress, choosing the pale blue robe, and packing the scarlet one in with the rest of her meager belongings. She straightened her bed, opened the curtains to let in the dying light, and walked back to the door, prepared to leave this place she had called home for the last four years. Her backpack was just heavy enough to remind her of this sojourn, the longest and best of her journey.

With a suddenness that she had come to expect, over the years and the journeys, the ship was there. She stepped out, closed her door, and watched as the gangplank was lowered for her to ascend. The golden "sea" at her feet looked like molten sand crystals, glittering in the darkening evening. She walked towards the ship, feeling the tears fall, wishing she could ease this tearing ache in her heart.

Wishing she could stop sailing...

Sunday, 19 October 2008

Movie Review #2 - Model B


All right, kiddos, here's the second one. Read both carefully. Take notes if yu need to. Look up the words you don't know - don't come asking tomorrow. What do I always say? "My middle initial is 'D', but it doesn't mean 'dictionary'!"

See you all tomorrow, period 3!

So this afternoon the four of us - my husband, the girls, and I - sat on our bed and watched the latest incarnation of the unknown poet's BEOWULF. I went in prepared to hate it. After all, the director had cast Angelina Jolie in the role of Grendel's mother, among other insupportable decisions, such as the one to make Wiglaf, Beowulf's successor, equal to him in age, as opposed to the young, strong, vital man he is in the original poem.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning...

The movie opens with a drunken Hrothgar and his men, with the women attending them, in the world-famous hall of Heorot, celebrating in typical male fashion - wine, women, and song. Hrothgar's wife, a beautiful, silent, and much younger woman, watches the festivities with cold disdain. The noise of their revelry, as his men chant his name, echoes in the dark, damp lair of the demon Grendel, who emerges to wreak havoc on the ones who dared to disturb his gloomy peace.

The resultant slaughter propels Hrothgar into a deep depression. He bars the doors of his great hall, buries the dead, left behind by a rampaging monster, larger than life, uglier than sin, and madder than a wet hen. Enter Beowulf, accompanied by fourteen of his trustiest warriors, including the faithful Wiglaf. His mission, one he has eagerly chosen to accept, is to defeat the demon Grendel, and restore laughter and good times to the Danes.

So far, so good. The movie adheres strictly to the poem...well, almost. There is a troubling glimpse of Beowulf and Hrothgar's young wife becoming very aware of a "something" flaring between them. We all notice it, as does Wiglaf, who warns his friend and lord that warriors must be focused to fight, and not be distracted by their lusts. It is a lesson this Beowulf would have done well to learn.

The challenge by Unferth, true to the original, allows Beowulf to boast of his prowess, though it seems to give the edge to Unferth, till Beowulf reveals that his challenger, the man attempting to cast aspersions on his ability and courage, was himself guilty of murdering his kinfolk. But all this is "true".

Then Grendel arrives, intent on destruction. He has been brought there deliberately by Beowulf. First, the queen sings a beautiful song about heroes, and then Beowulf's men raise a rousing, and unsurprisingly bawdy tune, guaranteed to wake the dead. It wakes Grendel, who comes to silence his tormentors. Only this time, although he manages to kill a few of them, and even chomps on the head of one before our horrified eyes, he is outmatched by an agile and wily Beowulf, who manages to shackle him to the central beam of the hall. This is how he loses his arm, as he struggles to flee this mighty opponent. And Beowulf has fought him barehanded, again true to the original.

So, I'm beginning to relax, and to think that maybe, just maybe, this will continue as it has begun, and we'll have a winner. Well...that was a foolish hope.

Things take a turn for the worse with the introduction of Grendel's mother. Hrothgar is seen to take his own life, bequeathing his kingdom and his queen to Beowulf. When he finds her, not only is Grendel's dam not a hag, but she is also never killed in the movie. She is an agelessly beautiful, patently seductive witch, who manages to lure Beowulf into a one-night-stand that produces the dragon with whom he fights, and whom he must kill at the end to protect his people and his lands.

We discover, just before Beowulf finds and "mates" with her, that Hrothgar has himself committed the gross sin soon to be his successor's as well. Grendel is Hrothgar's offspring, as the dragon is Beowulf's. And they were spawned in the wet, cold, eerie cave in which Grendel's mother makes her home.

The changes not only include a Wiglaf far older than the young man in the original poem, a Beowulf who rules in a land not his own, and an affair with Grendel's demon mother, but other liberties are taken as well. In the final battle with the dragon, Beowulf defeats the monster single-handedly, literally, without Wiglaf's help. He has a "bed mate" other than his wife, whom he nonetheless professes to love at the end, before the final battle, when he must make peace before he leaves to do battle. His wife helps to save his lover's life when the dragon attacks them both. Beowulf is sent off to Valhalla in a ship which is set aflame, instead of buried in a huge, burning mound on the headlands. And it is suggested that Wiglaf will share the fate of his friend and lord, at the end of the movie.

How, you may ask, will he do so? Ah...I see I neglected to mention the little matter of the gift. After Beowulf defeats Grendel, Hrothgar presents him with a beautiful golden horn, decorated with a dragon. The horn remains behind in Grendel's dam's cave, for she has promised Beowulf that as long as she has it, he will be a powerful king, and live well and prosperously. But then, the horn is found by a villager, and the ensuing mayhem almost causes the complete destruction of the commuity.

And when Beouwlf's burial ship has sunk, and Wiglaf has discovered the horn half-buried in the sand just under the water at the shore's edge, Grendel's mother, whom we see just prior kissing Beowulf's corpse on the burning ship, rises from the sea and shows her face to Wiglaf, who stares at her, mesmerized.

*GROAN* What we have here is a movie which began founded in a work of literature, and ended up in a place so far removed as to be horrifyingly laughable. The fact is that even here, where the producers and directors had the chance to present the three epic battles which the hero fought and won, they chose to present only two, making of the third, which was actually the second in the poem, a psychological struggle which the man loses because he thinks with his second head!

So, what can we learn from this incarnation of the epic tale? Well, let's see...

* Men don't function well when they are in heat.
* Unless men can resist the call of the flesh, they doom their communities to despair and disaster.
* Even evil women are more powerful than the mightiest men.
* Men who think with their second heads usually spawn "monsters".

May I hazard a fifth lesson, one that perhaps producers and directors should learn?

* The re-enacting of great works of literature is best left to those who understand them, who appreciate their importance in human culture, and who can forego their limited vision of the world to present something that is very likely outside their scope and experience.

That "monster" remark above reminds me... There was a very Mary Shelley's Frankenstein moment in the movie, when Beowulf first meets Grendel's mother, before he drops his pants and "does" her (thankfully, something we are spared the sight of!), when she compares him to her son, calling him a "monster". Hey, when she's right...

I did not like this movie. It did not make changes to answer questions left open by the fragment of the poem that remains extant. It introduced sensational, salacious, and frankly ridiculous elements into a story that, if treated as fantasy, would have been a fine thing to watch. I cannot imagine why it was made... Well, actually, I can. The reason is simple - so people can make money. The demon Grendel, the seductive Miss Jolie, the brawny Beowulf, whose real name escapes me (a bad sign that, when you don't know the name of the actor who plays the key role!), and Anthony Hopkins as the drunken Hrothgar, must have been enough to draw the movie-going crowds to what for me is a clear and present FLOP!

My rating: 2 stars, only because it actually started out "true" to the original.

Movie Review #1 - Model A


Okay guys! Here's the first one I did, for BEOWULF AND GRENDEL. We'll discuss what each one does tomorrow in class. Please be sure to read the second mode as well, in order to be ready for class.

I am a medievalist ... specifically, an Anglo-Saxonist. Don't panic ...all that means is that I am becoming something of an "expert" at the literature, and perforce, the history, of the Anglo-Saxons. And THAT means that among the things I must know is their greatest epic, the tale of the adventures of their greatest legendary hero, Beowulf. Now, I studied BEOWULF, the epic poem which is heralded as the greatest epic of the English language, in Old English. I was eighteen, my teacher was herself a medievalist, Jean D'Costa, now retired, and I was a freshman at the University of the West Indies, Mona Campus, St. Andrew, Jamaica, West Indies.

Since that time, I have become what I still am - a teacher and student of literature in English. And every time I teach a senior English class in the school where I am now also the assistant principal responsible for the English department, I teach BEOWULF. I usually begin the survey of British literature by reading my students the first few lines of the poem, in Old English, of course:

Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum,
þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon,
hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon.
Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum,
monegum mægþum, meodosetla ofteah,
egsode eorlas.

If I could, I would read it to you, too! Here's the translation, courtesy of the website listed below:
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls.

SOURCE: http://www.humanities.mcmaster.ca/~beowulf/main.html

I thought, as I watched the older modernized version of the poem, referenced in the title of this blog, that I would be displeased with it, as I so often am with movie adaptations of seminal works of literature. While there are spit-flying, "blowing raspberry" moments, where my lips did a more than passing fair imitation of Timon's in THE LION KING when he was told that Simba was a king, there are also moments when I saw the thoughtfulness of a mind willing to grapple with the difficulties of making legend into reality.

I forgive the writers, producers, and directors for the license they take with the original. After all, the poem is a fragment, and many questions need to be answered to make what's left "real" for a modern audience. The way they have chosen to answer those questions makes for an interesting retelling of a famous and riveting legend. They have made much that might elsewhere be taken as literal and made it figurative. And that's fine by me!

The version I watched this morning, not the one that came out this year with this ambitious and yet somewhat laughable blurb - "In a legendary time of heroes, the mighty warrior Beowulf battles the demon Grendel and incurs the hellish wrath of the beast’s ruthlessly seductive mother. Their epic clash forges the timeless legend of Beowulf." - http://www.beowulfmovie.com/ - had as its hero the ruggedly handsome and deliciously-accented Gerard Butler in the hero's role.

He is a hero burdened by a conscience, one that is awakened by a character who appears nowhere in the fragment of the poem still extant in the British Museum. Selma, the "witch", can see the future, able as she is to read the bones of divination. She it is who sees Grendel's end. And well she might - we come to find, as the movie winds to its close, that she was "had" by the "troll" once, and that forever thereafter he protected her against the wicked Danes, who would otherwise have not only "had" her, but slit her throat.

And the troll Grendel - well his story, as you can see, if you know the original, has been so tampered with as to make him almost unrecognizable. And yet, despite its many fascinating "additions", I don't mind him as the antagonist. After all, the Danes killed his father before his very eyes, because he happened to be in their path, and had taken a fish. He cut off the head from his father's corpse and kept it in his cave until Beowulf's men found it, and one of them, who was to get his at the hands of the affronted son, smashed the skull to bits in a fit of useless anger.

Hrothgar, the man who killed Grendel's father, was the king of the Danes, and a more pitiful man it is hard to find in a warrior culture. He has been humbled at the hands of the troll, and by the midpoint of the movie, he is a sad drunk, bemoaning his fate, and wondering why Beowulf is giving credence to a woman who lives outside the community, whom his men would ravish if they could, and whom they had exiled anyway. If you understand the culture of the Danes, exile was tantamount to death for a warrior. But Selma is only a woman, and so of less value in the scheme of things.

Grendel's mother makes her appearance late in the movie. She is a white-haired, long-toothed, screaming banshee of a woman, coming to retrieve the arm of her dead son, and to kill any who try to stop her. She is the wild creature of the cave under the water, fighting in mortal combat with our hero to protect the corpse of her dead son, and her grandson - oh yes, another fabrication progressing, perhaps, from a "heat-oppressed brain" - the child of Grendel's one-night-stand with the fictitious Selma. She dies like a hero, at the wrong end of Beowulf's sword. That much is as it should be, if we go by the poem.

The setting is one of the reasons I have respect for the movie. It is bleak, even in daylight hours, and at night, when the troll stalks the land and murders the men in Hrothgar's mead hall, Heorot, it is even more eerie and fearful. The lives of the people are hard, and even the children (though none appear in the fragment of the poem that remains) are not left untouched by the cruelty of the times and place in which they live.

What lessons does this Beowulf learn? First, he is not immune to the charms of a "witch" who still manages to make him look like an unprepared, wet-behind-the-ears warrior with little capacity to understand the subtler lessons about leadership which Hrothgar has to learn the hard way. She has to tell him, practically, so that he does not repeat the mistake of the once mighty king of the Danes. Let me explain...

The movie opens with Grendel and his dad walking on the open plain, Grendel gamboling a few feet away from his sire. Suddenly, his father calls to him, gathers him in his arms, and runs. Behind him appear a band of warriors, who overtake him at the edge of a cliff. He lowers his child, who crawls over the side, clinging to the cliff-face, watching as Hrothgar's men shoot him with arrows and Hrothgar dismounts to make sure he is dead. He sees the boy, raises his sword and then lowers it. The final battle scene in the movie shows Beowulf facing a wild-haired child with a sword, defending the corpse of his dead father, now that his grandmother has been killed. Beowulf lets him go unharmed, and Selma tells him he has learned nothing from Hrothgar. We see him, just before he sails back to Geatland with his remaining men, making a burial mound for Grendel, as the troll's son watches.

What Beowulf has learned, it seems, is that to spare a life is not enough unless one acknowledges the life one has taken away. He has learned that compassion must act to heal the breach, or else the wound will remain, and the consequences for others will be high. He has learned that no act is without a consequence in human joy or pain, that no evil deed goes unpunished, that no one is immune to suffering. He has learned that we are each of us a part of something bigger and better than ourselves.

And he has learned the most powerful ties that bind us to each other are the ties of parent to child. What comes of that bond can be good or ill, but it cannot be broken, not even by death.
I leave you with a quotation from the blurb from this movie:"BEOWULF AND GRENDEL powerfully entwines themes of vengeance, loyalty and mercy, stripping away the mask of the hero myth, leaving a raw and tangled tale that rings true today." Maybe I'll show this one to my students the next time I teach the poem... it bears re-viewing.

MY RATING (take this as you will from someone who doesn't do movies much!) 4 stars

Thursday, 1 May 2008

HAPPY MAY DAY!


Below is a poem by Emily Dickinson about May Day. There are many interpretations of this poem, including the belief tht in it she prophesies her own death.

There is a morn by men unseen –
1858 Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May –
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name –
Employ their holiday.

Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street –
Nor by the wood are found –
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year’s distaff idle hung
And summer’s brows were bound.

Ne’er saw I such a wondrous scene –
Ne’er such a ring on such a green –
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite –
And revel till the day –

Like thee to dance – like thee to sing –
People upon the mystic green –
I ask, each May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells –
Announcing me in other dells –
Unto the different dawn!