#Louise Imogen Guiney

[violettesiren]

Above the wall that's broken, And from the coppice thinned, So sacred and so sweet The lilac in the wind! And when by night the May wind blows The lilac-blooms apart, The memory of his first love Is shaken on his heart.

In tears it long was buried, And trances wrapt it round; O how they wake it now, The fragrance and the sound! For when by night the May wind blows The lilac-blooms apart, The memory of his first love Is shaken on his heart.

A Song Of The Lilac by  Louise Imogen Guiney

[jedimandalorian]

“The hand betrays the heart.”—Louise Imogen Guiney

We’ve seen it before.

[allthemfingpoems]

Emily Bronte

What sacramental hurt that brings

The terror of the truth of things

Had changed thee? Secret be it yet.

’Twas thine, upon a headland set,

To view no isles of man’s delight,

With lyric foam in rainbow flight,

But all a-swing, a-gleam, mid slow uproar,

Black sea, and curved uncouth sea-bitten shore.

-Louise Imogen Guiney

from Happy Ending: The Collected Lyrics of Louise Imogen Guiney

[books0977]

Lovers' Saint Ruth's, and Three Other Tales. Louise Imogen Guiney. Boston: Copeland and Day, 1895. First edition, trade issue. 

"Nasmith," I began cunningly, "you were in love with the Honorable Audrey, and she refused you. How fortunate for you! Yours was the neatest and most spiritual revenge I ever heard of: to keep from her what might have helped transform her woman's nature, stifled in an ill atmosphere,--the knowledge that she was of the blood of the saints, 'Tho' fallen on evil days, On evil days tho' fallen, and evil tongues.'"

[theblankgarden]

Alice Brown

Alice Brown (December 5th, 1856 – June 21st, 1948) was an American author. Born on a farm in Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, Brown was educated at home and then attended Robinson Female Seminary in Exeter. After she graduated, in 1876, she started working as a teacher there, but never liked the profession. She wanted to become a writer. In 1884, Brown moved to Boston to work for The Christian…

[cwadamson]

Discovering the Poetry of Father Hopkins

Discovering the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins #MondayBlogs

Above the chair where we’ll rock our daughter to sleep, across from the portrait of Br. Monday, and sharing the same wall as overly-earnest child Flannery O’Connor scowling poring over her book is a print of one of Gerard Manley Hopkins’s drawings. The sketch, dated July 25th and probably made during the 1860’s, depicts a beech tree in the center from the perspective of Appledurcombe house where…

[shores-of-esgalduin]

black and dissolved; nor could the founders know how what was built so bright should daily die. 

excerpt from “fog” by louise imogen guiney.

[makuraphoto-again4]

The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover scented grass, Among the new-mown hay. 

-Louise Imogen Guiney

Original content from makuraphoto-again4

Copyright Makura - All rights reserved

I now have a BestFans account (thanks to @masterjacket) still a few details to work out, so hope to be up and running soon....You can also visit @Makuraphoto on Twitter.

[confirmedsinbin]

The little cares which fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields, above the sea, Among the winds at play; Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may come, I cast them all away Among the clover-scented grass, Among the new-mown hay; Among the hushing of the corn, Where drowsing poppies nod. Ill thoughts can die, and good be born, Out in the fields of God.

--Louise Imogen Guiney

[jshoulson]

Today’s Poem

The Lights of London --Louise Imogen Guiney

The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot Far down into the valley’s cold extreme, Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream Like fleeing specters, shudder and are not. The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream, From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam, London, one moment fallen and forgot.

Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright Prick door and window; all her streets obscure Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure, Full as a marsh of mist and winking light; Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.

[violettesiren]

Whithersoever cold and fair ye flow, Take me, O moon and not unwilling wind Past Wyatt's cumbering portal, frost-entwined, And Merton 'neath that crisp tiara's glow, And lawns in bridal gossamer below Saint Mary's armoured spire; and whence aligned In altered eminence for dawn to find Sleep the droll Cæsars, hooded with the snow.

White sacraments of weather, shine on me, Give me your benison! that light and swift I cross these leagues of almost alien ground Spread so with childhood. Bid with me, out-bound, On recollected wing mine angel drift Far as the frontiers of infinity.

A December Walk by Louise Imogen Guiney

[chloeeaston]

The Lights of London By Louise Imogen Guiney

The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot Far down into the valley’s cold extreme, Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream Like fleeing specters, shudder and are not. The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream, From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam, London, one moment fallen and forgot. Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright Prick door and window; all her streets obscure Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure, Full as a marsh of mist and winking light; Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.

[globalworship]

‘The Visitation’ (new painting, old poem)

Dr. He Qi completed his recent painting of ‘The Visitation’ (of Mary to Elizabeth) in August 2018. This is a new painting of a biblical scene he first painted years ago.He posted this on Twitter, Facebook, etc.

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Some close-up images he has shared:

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I don’t recognize the red item (puppet? toy?) held by the lady in the green and blue dress. If anyone knows what that is, please leave a comment - thanks.

See many of He Qi’s paintings and learn about him at this website: https://www.heqiart.com/

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The sonnet below was written by American poet Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918), author of the well known poem Trees. It has a dedication to fellow American poet, Louise Imogen Guiney. A sergeant in the 165th US Infantry Regiment, Kilmer was killed at the Second Battle of Marne in 1918 at the age of 31

THE VISITATION

There is a wall of flesh before the eyes Of John, who yet perceives and hails his King. It is Our Lady’s painful bliss to bring Before mankind the Glory of the skies. Her cousin feels her womb’s sweet burden rise And leap with joy, and she comes forth to sing, With trembling mouth, her words of welcoming. She knows her hidden God, and prophesies.

Saint John, pray for us, weary souls that tarry Where life is withered by sin’s deadly breath. Pray for us, whom the dogs of Satan harry, Saint John, Saint Anne, and Saint Elizabeth. And, Mother Mary, give us Christ to carry Within our hearts, that we may conquer death.

[brentbill]

...The sunshine that was you floods all the open door.

The Light of the House

by Louise Imogen Guiney

Beyond the cheat of Time, here where you died, you live; You pace the garden walk, secure and sensitive; You linger on the stair: Love’s lonely pulses leap! The harpsichord is shaken, the dogs look up from sleep.

Here, after all the years, you keep the heirdom still; The youth and joy in you achieve their olden will, Unbidden, undeterred, with waking sense adored; And still the house is happy that hath so dear a lord.

To every inmate heart, confirmed in cheer you brought, Your name is as a spell midway of speech and thought, And to a wonted guest (not awestruck heretofore), The sunshine that was you floods all the open door.

[singularitypub]

#philosophy #poetry #inspiration

THE PRECEPT OF PEACE, LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY

He lives, as Keats once said of himself, "in a thousand worlds," withdrawing at will from one to another, often curtailing his circumference to enlarge his liberty. His universe is a universe of balls, like those which the cunning Oriental carvers make out of ivory; each entire surface perforated with the same delicate pattern, each moving prettily and inextricably within the other, and all but the outer one impossible to handle. In some such innermost asylum the right sort of dare-devil sits smiling, while men rage or weep.

From the premium eBook, EARTH SHINES, edited by Robert S. Hare Half-Prose/Half-Poetry 20% Free Sample! https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/945437

[pupjunkie]

The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover scented grass, Among the new-mown hay. —Louise Imogen Guiney