Apart from this writers own mercurial temperament the most erratic component of the Dew has been the continuing commentary on the progress of the Irish weather. Now after what seemed like a summer of ‘forty days of rain’ the sun has broken through just in time for the return of vitamin D deprived children to their classrooms. With looming threats of Swine flu and economic malaise the Irish national mood has been considerably lifted by the sight of clear blue skies and the gentle kiss of sunshine on our pallid skins.
To celebrate the advent of this Indian Summer here is a poem by one of my favourites, Emily Dickinson…~GOSh.~ .
.
INDIAN SUMMER
.
These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, -
-A blue and gold mistake.
.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!
.
Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!
.
Emily Dickinson
No comments:
Post a Comment