Christmas 2017

The Gypsy                           Edward Thomas

A fortnight before Christmas gypsies were everywhere:

Vans were drawn up on wastes, women trailed to the fair.

“My gentleman,” said one, “You’ve got a lucky face.”

“And you’ve a luckier one.” I thought, “if such a grace

And impudence in rags are lucky.” “Give a penny

For the poor baby’s sake.”  “Indeed I have not any

Unless you can give change for a sovereign, my dear.”

“Then just half a pipeful of tobacco can you spare?”

I gave it.  With that much victory she laughed content.

I should have given more, but off and away she went

With her baby and her pink sham flowers to rejoin

The rest before I could translate to its proper coin

Gratitude for her grace.  And I paid nothing then,

As I pay nothing now with the dipping of my pen

For her brother’s music when he drummed the tambourine

And stamped his feet, which made the workmen passing grin,

While his mouth-organ changed to a rascally Bacchanal dance

“Over the hills and far away.”  This and his glance

Outlasted all the fair, farmer and auctioneer,

Cheap-jack, balloon-man, drover with crooked stick, and steer,

Pig, turkey, goose and duck, Christmas Corpses to be.

Not even the kneeling ox had eyes like Romany.

That night he peopled for me the hollow wooded land,

More dark and wild than stormiest heavens, that I

searched and scanned

Like a ghost new-arrived.  The gradations of the dark

Were like an underworld of death, but for the spark

In the Gypsy boy’s black eyes as he played and stamped his tune,

“Over the hills and far away,” and a crescent moon.

………………………….

Mistletoe                   Walter De La Mare

Sitting under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

One last candle burning low,

All the sleepy dancers gone,

Just one candle burning on,

Shadows lurking everywhere:

Some one came, and kissed me there.

 

Tired I was; my head would go

Nodding under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

No footsteps came, no voice, but only,

Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,

Stooped in the still and shadowy air

Lips unseen – and kissed me there.

 

……………………………………

also tagged as  seasons

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About poetryparc2

Here goes: I write a bit of poetry, sometimes about poetry and any sort of books I take a fancy to. I seem to have a preference for seeing the changes from the Victorian period through to the 1930's, maybe 50's. But, and a big but, could carry that right up to current poetry/performance poetry. Though sometimes my seeming preference for 'imagist' and Nature' might unnerve me for too much too modern. However, I do like to range widely over poetry, and fiction, any and all periods. I also like finding (if only for me) regional or partly forgotten poems and poets. Maybe all this is too eclectic to have a themed 'Blog' but so be it....... I also attempt fiction that might add up to a small mole-hill one day. Plus reviewing new or old books that are relevant to my enthusiasms of Crime fiction, the Arts, Natural History and Special Education. This is on 'wordparc'. I try to record honestly what I think but if something is too bad (to my mind, others may love it!!) then I will not 'blog'. There, what's that if not seemingly random!
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