We’ve entered Fascicle 3! I swear I haven’t skipped around, the poems naturally jump from 1 to 3 this way. We’ll see if 2 comes up later on. Now it’s Fall of 1858, and, of course, she captures the change of season in her language –
The morns are meeker than they were –
The nuts are getting brown –
The berry’s cheek is plumper –
The Rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf –
The field a scarlet gown –
Lest I sh’d be old fashioned
I’ll put a trinket on.
How can one ever hope to keep up with Nature’s everchanging beauty? Simply, one cannot. I’ll tell you a secret – beauty isn’t a contest. It’s not a zero sum game. We can all be abundantly beautiful, and celebrating each other’s beauty intensifies our own. Find beauty in everything and you will find beauty in yourself; we reflect what we see in the world.
Written late summer 1858 – this is the last poem of Fascicle I. And a lovely ode to a flower sends us on our way –
To him who keeps an Orchis’ heart –
The swamps are pink with June.
I wasn’t sure what an orchis was, so I looked it up –
In the orchid family – it looks to me like a mix between an orchid and a snapdragon. Often pink, sometimes purple.
Let this be inspiration to buy yourself some flowers today and keep a flower’s heart with you – it’s almost June, but there’s something about getting a blossom or a bouquet, even more so when it comes from yourself.
Written late summer 1858 on the last sheet of Fascicle I – just one more little poem in this group and we sojourn onward! But today’s is a gem, and I am relishing this journey. Savor this one with me –
To lose – if One can find again –
To miss – if One shall meet –
The Burglar cannot rob – then –
The Broker cannot cheat.
So build the hillocks gaily –
Thou little spade of mine
Leaving nooks for Daisy
And for Columbine –
You and I the secret
Of the Crocus know –
Let us chant it softly –
“There is no more snow”!
Let me encourage you to spend a bit of time with these poems – often it takes several readings for me to absorb the full weight of her words, and even then I’m sure there’s more. That’s what I love about her poetry: it provides a challenge. Let yourself see everything as a metaphor, every word as an image – wander, play, experiment. Create your own adventure.
Written in late summer of 1858, found on the last page of Fascicle I – I think we have about ten left in this one before moving to Autumn. This poem is a celebration of natural beauty –
The Gentian weaves her fringes –
The Maple’s loom is red –
My departing blossoms
The Gentian and Maple don’t question, choose, or hide their colors or shapes – they simply are. As people, as women or men – as humans – we are blossoms; beautiful as is, without makeup or fancy clothes or a thousand instagram followers. Our truest beauty lies in the simplicity, the purity of our existence, and walking in this truth renders all pomp and circumstance superfluous.
Remember – you are beautiful. Simply, purely as you are.
This lovely ditty was written in the summer of 1858. Ah, the moments when the heart is so full, it’s all there is –
It’s all I have to bring today
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – sh’d I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
We are so enough. Let’s relish the fullness of life.
Garlands for Queens, may be –
Laurels – for rare degree
Of soul or sword –
Ah – but remembering me –
Ah – but remembering thee –
Nature in chivalry –
Nature in charity –
Nature in equity –
The Rose ordained!
Written summer 1858. Deceptively simple inspiration.
When Roses cease to bloom, Sir,
And Violets are done –
When Bumblebees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the Sun –
The hand that paused to gather
Opon this Summer’s day
Will idle lie – in Auburn –
Then take my flowers – pray!