NEW YEAR

NEW YEAR

Seeing the wind that chases March away

And the sun that clambers ups the hill

I know the New Year has arrived.

Seeing the nightingale flit to and fro

And the buds of the bottlebrush

I presume a New Day has arrived.

But, seeing the mason wasps return

Lazily back to their same old nests

In the sooty ceiling of my abode,

How the mind gathers old dreams!

‘Tis then I feel like painting

The entire nature afresh!

Translated by : padma devkota 

WEATHERS

WEATHERS

Thomas Hardy

This is the weather   cuckoo likes ,

And so do I;

When   showers betumble the chestnut spikes ,

And  nestlings fly :

And the little brown nightingale  bills  his best ,

And they  sit outside at  ‘ The  Travelers Rest ‘

And  maids come forth spring – muslin dressed

And citizens dream of the south and  west .

And so do I .

This is the weather the cuckoo  shuns  and so do I :

When beeches drip in brown and duns .

And  thresh and ply :

And hill – hid  tides throb , throe   and  throe ,

And drops on gate – bars  hang in a row .

And rooks in families homewards go ,

And  so do I .

Two little kittens

Two  little  kittens

  Two little kittens ,

One  stormy  night,

Began  to quarrel,

And    then to  fight .

One   had a mouse ,

The  other had  none ,

And  that’s  the way

 The quarrel began .

  

“I ‘ill  have that mouse ,,”

 Said  the bigger cat .

“You’ll have  the  mouse ?

 We ‘ll  see about  that  !  “

“I  will have that mouse “

Said the eldest  one .

“You  shan’t  have  the  mouse ,”

said the  little one .

The old woman  sezed

Her  sweeping  broom,

And  swept  both kittens, 

Right  out of the  room.

  

The  ground  was conversed

With  frost and snow ,

And the  two little Kittens

And  nowhere to go.

They  lay  and shivered

 On a  mat  at the door ,

While  the old woman

,Was   sweeping the  floor .

While  the old woman

And   then they  crept in ,

As quiet as mice .

All wet  with the snow

And  as cold  as ice,

And  found it much  better ,

That   stormy night ,

To  lie by  the fire

Than  to quarrel and fight .

THE TOWN CHILD

THE TOWN  CHILD

Irene  Thompson

  I live  in the town

                     In a  street:        

 It is   crowded  with traffic

                     And  feet;

 There  are buses  and  motors

                     And  trams ;

I wish there were meadows

                      And  lambs .

  

The houses  all wait

                       IN a  row ,

There is smoke everywhere

              That I go .

I don’t  like the noises

                     I  hear –

   I wish  there were  woods 

                       Very   near .

There  is only one thing

                                    That  I love ,

Far  above .

                                       There  is plenty of room

IN the  blue

                                For  castle  of clouds

And me ,too  !

THE SUN

THE SUN

John Donne

The sun that  shines all day  so bright ‘

I wonder where he  goes  at night .

He sinks  behind a  distant hill

And  all the  world  grows  dark and  still’

And then  I go to bed  and sleep

Until the  day  begins to peep .

And when my eyes  enclose ‘I  see

The sun is  shinning down on me .

While  we are  fast  asleep  in bed The writer

The sun  must  go , I’ve  heard It said ,

To other  countries far away ,

To make them warm and bright and gay .

I do not  know – but hope the  sun ,

When  all its  nightly  work is done ,

Will not  forget to come again 

And  wake me through the  window – pane .

THE RAIN

 THE RAIN

H.W. Longfellow

How  beautiful is the rain !

After  the dust and  heat ,

IN the   broad and fiery street ,

In the  narrow  lane ,,

How beautiful   is the rain !

How  it clatters along the roofs,

Like  the tramp  of hoofs,

How  it gushes  and struggles out

From  the throat of the  overflowing  spot  !

Across  the  window pane

It  pours and pour ;

And   swift  and wide , Within a muddy tide ,

Like  a river down the gutters roars

The rain, the welcome rain !

THE COUNTRY CHILD

THE COUNTRY CHILD  

  Irene  Thompson

My  home is a house

Near  a wood

(I’d  live in  a  street )

If  I could )

The lanes are so quiet ,

Oh, dear  !

I do wish that someone

Lived near .

There is no one to play 

With 

At  all ,

The  trees are so high

And  so tall;

And I should  be lonely

For  hours ,

Where it not for the birds

 And the  flowers .’

I wish  that I lived

 IN a town

 To see all the trams

 Going  down

A  twinkling  street

That is  bright

 With wonderful  coloures ,

At night .