Sixteenth Advent Poem, “The Oxen” by Thomas Hardy

 "The Oxen" by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel,

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

(As reprinted at The Poetry Foundation.)

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Fifteenth Advent Poem, “The Sleigh-Bells” by Susanna Moodie

You may or may not have noticed that I have attempted to alternate between male and female poets and have personally hoped to find new poets for each day. However, it is getting increasingly difficult to find both male and female poets whose work I can freely post without infringement on copyright. Also, certain poets have written more than one very lovely winter or Advent themed poem and so I have decided to scrap my goal of a new poet for each day in favour of, in my opinion, some really lovely poems. In keeping with the balance of male and female, today’s poem is “The Sleigh-Bells” by Susanna Moodie.

 "The Sleigh-Bells" by Susanna Moodie

’Tis merry to hear, at evening time,
By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime;
To know the bounding steeds bring near
The loved one to our bosoms dear.
Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise,
Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze;
Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time
Responsive to their fairy chime.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o’er vale and hill,
Their welcome notes are trembling still.

’Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound,
As his sleigh glides over the frozen ground;
Hark! He has pass’d the dark pine wood,
He crosses now the ice-bound flood,
And hails the light at the open door
That tells his toilsome journey’s o’er.
The merry sleigh-bells! My fond heart swells
And trobs to hear the welcome bells;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o’er ice and snow,
A voice of gladness, on they go.

Our hut is small, and rude our cheer,
But love has spread the banquet here;
And childhood springs to be caress’d
By our beloved and welcome guest.
With a smiling brow his tale he tells,
The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells;
The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song
They drag the noisy string along;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, the father’s come
The gay bells ring his welcome home.

From the cedar swamp the gaunt wolves howl,
From the oak loud whoops the felon owl;
The snow-storm sweeps in thunder past,
The forest creaks beneath the blast;
No more I list, with boding fear,
The sleigh-bells distant chime to hear.
The merry sleigh-bells with soothing power
Shed gladness on the evening hour.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells
The music of those joyous bells!

(As reprinted at The Poetry Foundation.)

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Fourteenth Advent Poem, “Winter Trees” by William Carlos Williams

 "Winter Trees" by William Carlos Williams

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

(As reprinted at the Poetry Foundation.)

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Thirteenth Advent Poem, “To Mrs K____, On Her Sending Me an English Christmas Plum-Cake at Paris” by Helen Maria Williams

 "To Mrs K____, On Her Sending Me an English Christmas Plum-Cake at Paris" 
by Helen Maria Williams

What crowding thoughts around me wake,
What marvels in a Christmas-cake!
Ah say, what strange enchantment dwells
Enclosed within its odorous cells?
Is there no small magician bound
Encrusted in its snowy round?
For magic surely lurks in this,
A cake that tells of vanished bliss;
A cake that conjures up to view
The early scenes, when life was new;
When memory knew no sorrows past,
And hope believed in joys that last! —
Mysterious cake, whose folds contain
Life’s calendar of bliss and pain;
That speaks of friends for ever fled,
And wakes the tears I love to shed.
Oft shall I breathe her cherished name
From whose fair hand the offering came:
For she recalls the artless smile
Of nymphs that deck my native isle;
Of beauty that we love to trace,
Allied with tender, modest grace;
Of those who, while abroad they roam,
Retain each charm that gladdens home,
And whose dear friendships can impart
A Christmas banquet for the heart!

(As reprinted at The Poetry Foundation.)

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Twelfth Advent Poem, “Stars” by Robert Frost

I appear to be slightly addicted to poems about stars, although it does seem fitting with all the twinkling lights that go up this time of year.

 "Stars" by Robert Frost

 HOW countlessly they congregate
    O'er our tumultuous snow,
    Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
    When wintry winds do blow!—
    As if with keenness for our fate,
    Our faltering few steps on
    To white rest, and a place of rest
    Invisible at dawn,—
    And yet with neither love nor hate,
    Those stars like some snow-white
    Minerva's snow-white marble eyes
    Without the gift of sight.

(As reprinted at Project Gutenberg.)

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Eleventh Advent Poem, “Lines Written During A Gale Of Wind” by Susanna Moodie

Apologies for the slight delay in posts. Jonathan and I had to make a quick trip into Cardiff for visa purposes. It was so lovely to get out of London for 36 hours even if the wind was so strong in Wales that you could lean into it without fear of falling over. In light of this I thought this poem about gale force wind from the British-turned-Canadian writer Susanna Moodie was in order.

 "Lines Written During A Gale Of Wind" by Susanna Moodie

Oh nature! though the blast is yelling,
    Loud roaring through the bending tree,
There's sorrow in man's darksome dwelling,
    There's rapture still with thee!

I gaze upon the clouds wind-driven,
    The white storm-crested deep;
My heart with human cares is riven—
    O'er these—I cannot weep.

'Tis not the rush of wave or wind
    That wakes my anxious fears,
That presses on my troubled mind,
    And fills my eyes with tears;

I feel the icy breath of sorrow
    My ardent spirit chill,
The dark—dark presage of the morrow,
    The sense of coming ill.

I hear the mighty billows rave;
    There's music in their roar,
When strong in wrath the wind-lashed wave
    Springs on the groaning shore;

A solemn pleasure in the tone
    That shakes the lonely woods,
As winter mounts his icy throne
    'Mid storms and wasting floods.

The trumpet of the angry blast
    Peals loud o'er earth and main;
The elemental strife is past,
    The heavens are bright again.

And shall I doubt the healing power
    Of Him who lives to save,
Who in this dark appalling hour
    Can silence wind and wave?

Almighty Ruler of the storm!
    One beam of grace display,
And the fierce tempests that deform
    My soul, shall pass away.

(As reprinted at Project Gutenberg.)

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Tenth Advent Poem, “Winter-Time” by Robert Louis Stevenson

"Winter-Time" (1890) by Robert Louis Stevenson

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap,
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake. 

(As reprinted in Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses. Glasgow: Blackie and Son Ltd., 1975. pg. 44).

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