Archive for the ‘John Clare’ Tag

Early Morning Light Highlights Fall on Mt. Lemmon   3 comments

WILDFLOWER ART-2-blogEarly Morning Light on Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Beneath a yellow fading tree,
As red suns light thee, Autumn-morn,
In wildest rapture let me see
The sweets that most thy charms adorn.

O while my eye the landscape views,
What countless beauties are display’d;
What varied tints of nameless hues, —
Shades endless melting into shade.

— from “Autumn” by John Clare

Wild Turkey On Mt. Lemmon   Leave a comment

Mt Lemmon Photo ShootWild Turkey On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne

TURKEYS

The turkeys wade the close to catch the bees
In the old border full of maple trees
And often lay away and breed and come
And bring a brood of chelping chickens home.
The turkey gobbles loud and drops his rag
And struts and sprunts his tail and then lets drag
His wing on ground and makes a huzzing noise,
Nauntles at passer-bye and drives the boys
And bounces up and flies at passer-bye.
The old dog snaps and grins nor ventures nigh.
He gobbles loud and drives the boys from play;
They throw their sticks and kick and run away.
—John Clare (1793-1864)

Delicate Arch Revisited   Leave a comment

Delicate Arch-2407 blog IIIDelicate Arch in Arches National Park, June 12, 2014 — Image by kenne

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; 
My friends forsake me like a memory lost: 
I am the self-consumer of my woes— 
They rise and vanish in oblivious host, 
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes 
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed 
— from “I Am” by John Clare

 

Capturing The Moment — Cutleaf Evening Primrose   Leave a comment

Aspen Loop, hiking, Mt. LemmonCutleaf Evening Primrose — Image by kenne

Evening Primrose

When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone. 

 — John Clare
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