Poetry Friday: Dazzling mud and dingy snow

I've fallen off the Poetry Friday bandwagon (and a number of other virtual bandwagons as well since real life has speeded up considerably) with rather a thud, for which, if anyone is in fact paying attention, I apologize. Last week I managed to post a poem, but didn't realize until a few days ago that I neglected to find the roundup, send in my post, and then post the link over at Chicken Spaghetti. Oh dear. However, I did sort out the details for our attendance at both the 4H Beef clipping and grooming workshop and the Agricultural Awareness Day that fourth graders get to attend (it fell to me at the last minute to make sure that the home school contingent was invited), where my kids had a ball, especially in first 45 minutes when they had the livestock arena to themselves, before the arrival of all the school classes.

So before I forget, this week's round up is over at Big A little a. Thanks, Kelly!

From our library discard copy (their loss is our everlasting gain), out of print, of Edna St. Vincent Millay's Poems Selected for Young People, with woodcuts by Ronald Keller, 1979:

Song of a Second April
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively, -- only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.

Poetry Friday: Gee, this snow is a tad early edition

When the Year Grows Old
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October-- November--
How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows
God down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a sharp little sigh.

And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget --
That look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!

Oh, beautiful at nightfall
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and for!

But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October-- November--
How she disliked the cold!

from Edna St. Vincent Millay's Poems Selected for Young People, with woodcuts by Ronald Keller. Since that one, published in 1979, is now out of print, I'd recommend this one, from the wonderful "Poetry for Young People" series.

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I don't dislike the cold (I'd be miserable in this part of the world if I did), but October has come in like a lion, and I can't say I'm ready yet for temperatures around freezing during the day, all day, and the first frosted flakes. This morning our world was white, and while the kids are so delighted that I had to call a snow day, I'd prefer warmer, more colorful, more traditional autumn weather. At least until November. Please?