Summer of joyous peace…

Some deeply contemplative Summer poetry from Stuart . . .

Stuart France

cenotaph 004

“The peat-bog is as the raven’s coat,
the stuttering quagmire rehearses
the talk of the rushes is come;

the ocean sinks asleep into
a smooth sea and the river
which runs apace is cut down;

light swallows dart aloft;
a flock of birds settles in
the midst of a meadow.

A bright shaft has been shot
into the land, splendid is colour
now, settling on every height,
like haze on a lake of full water;

white is every fruitful wood
wherein winds a brawling stream
and the bright green fields rustle
their longing to race wild horses;

blossom covers the world,
bees murmuring no protest,
make heavy their harvest;

the rich mast buds,
and the ant, puny with
strength, carries abundant meal;

the soft white bog-down grows,
the long hair of heather is outspread,
the boughs of the wood are a thicket.

The harp
of the forest
sounds music

the…

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