He who carried my golden autumn,
Swept away my blood with the leaf fall,
He who shall see my spring when it returns
To him with the turning of the year.
My brother, the river, who is forever lost,
New each day and different and one,
My brother the stream between his two shores
Who flows as I do between spring and fall.
For I am the bud and I am the fruit,
I am my future and I am my past,
I am the solitary tree trunk,
And you — you are my time and my song.
Song of Sunset on the River
by Bai Juyi
A length setting sun spread water in
Half river emerald half river red
Love ninth month first three night
Dew like pearl moon like bow
A strip of water’s spread in the setting sun,
Half the river’s emerald, half is red.
I love the third night of the ninth month,
The dew is like pearl; the moon like a bow.
This weekend i am planning to do some river walks, Springtime down near the rivers here in Kilkenny is a great experience with so much new life around.
What-ever you are doing I hope you have a great time 🙂
Spring On The River
By Archibald Lampman
O sun, shine hot on the river;
For the ice is turning an ashen hue,
And the still bright water is looking through,
And the myriad streams are greeting you
With a ballad of life to the giver,
From forest and field and sunny town,
Meeting and running and tripping down,
With laughter and song to the river.
Oh! the din on the boats by the river;
The barges are ringing while day avails,
With sound of hewing and hammering nails,
Planing and painting and swinging pails,
All day in their shrill endeavor;
For the waters brim over their wintry cup,
And the grinding ice is breaking up,
And we must away down the river.
Oh! the hum and the toil of the river;
The ridge of the rapid sprays and skips:
Loud and low by the water’s lips,
Tearing the wet pines into strips,
The saw mill is moaning ever.
The little grey sparrow skips and calls
On the rocks in the rain of the water falls,
And the logs are adrift in the river.
Oh! restlessly whirls the river;
The rivulets run and the cataract drones:
The spiders are flitting over the stones:
Summer winds float and the cedar moans;
And the eddies gleam and quiver.
O sun; shine hot, shine long and abide
In the glory and power of the summer tide
On the swift longing face of the river.
Where I want to live
with you my seventh heaven,
is not far from this everyday
life, but very near to it..
A hut, near a river
with crystal water,
fish playing there on
You and me with our little
daughter will live a
calm, calm life..
Over there we shall see
the forest, away from that
You will be back
in the evening,
and I shall watch
you coming eagerly…..
None will come on our way
No feud will be there.
other than ours!
A hut near a river,
the trees, blooming plants,
will enhance our happiness….
You, me and daughter,
three will be drinking
from the tumbler of life….
The flavor of Nature…
You, Me and…..
The old stone bridge
By, Tony Mitton
The old stone bridge
is where folk stood to talk,
watching the water go under,
hearing its fluent music
gather their words
to carry notions, ruminations, gossip
away in a silver wrapping
of rippled sound.
Sometimes, too, the women would come,
down the stone steps to the brookside
to launder the linen, the clothes.
And again, all the soil,
the sweat and the swear of life,
would be washed in that water,
rolled in that bundle
of tinkling, tumbling sound,
to be carried down,
out of sight and of mind,
rinsed by the workings of water.