Inspiration from just one moon

 

“The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.” – Jean Ingelow

 

Born in England in March of 1820, Ingelow was a poet and novelist whose writing career began while she was still a teenager. Despite that, she didn’t achieve fame until publication of Poems in 1863, a book that ran through numerous editions with many of its poems set to popular music.  She followed that success with her best-selling children’s book Mopsa The Fairy, today included in A Critical History of Children’s Literature.  For Saturday’s Poem, here is Ingelow’s,

 

                             The Warbling of Blackbirds

                        When I hear the waters fretting,
                        When I see the chestnut letting
                        All her lovely blossom falter down, I think, “Alas the day!”
                        Once with magical sweet singing,
                        Blackbirds set the woodland ringing,
                        That awakes no more while April hours wear themselves away.

                        In our hearts fair hope lay smiling,
                        Sweet as air, and all beguiling;
                       And there hung a mist of bluebells on the slope and down the dell;
                       And we talked of joy and splendor
                       That the years unborn would render,
                       And the blackbirds helped us with the story, for they knew it well.

                       Piping, fluting, “Bees are humming,
                      April’s here, and summer’s coming;
                      Don’t forget us when you walk, a man with men, in pride and joy;
                      Think on us in alleys shady,
                      When you step a graceful lady;
                      For no fairer day have we to hope for, little girl and boy.

                     “Laugh and play, O lisping waters,
                      Lull our downy sons and daughters;
                      Come, O wind, and rock their leafy cradle in thy wanderings coy;
                      When they wake we’ll end the measure
                      With a wild sweet cry of pleasure,
                      And a ‘Hey down derry, let’s be merry! little girl and boy!’”