William Allingham

Four Ducks On A Pond

Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years
To remember with tears!

(Photo taken by my father, David South.)

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James Whitcomb Riley

Reach Your Hand To Me.

Reach your hand to me, my friend,
With its heartiest caress -
Sometime there will come an end
To its present faithfulness -
Sometime I may ask in vain
For the touch of it again,
When between us land or sea
Holds it ever back from me.

Sometime I may need it so,
Groping somewhere in the night,
It will seem to me as though
Just a touch, however light,
Would make all the darkness day,
And along some sunny way
Lead me through an April-shower
Of my tears to this fair hour.

O the present is too sweet
To go on forever thus!
Round the corner of the street
Who can say what waits for us? -
Meeting - greeting, night and day,
Faring each the self-same way -
Still somewhere the path must end. -
Reach your hand to me, my friend!

(Photo taken by my daughter, Erika, at the Fort Worth Zoo.)

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Oliver Herford

A Seal.

SEE, chil-dren, the Fur-bear-ing Seal;
Ob-serve his mis-di-rect-ed zeal:
He dines with most ab-ste-mi-ous care
On Fish, Ice Water and Fresh Air
A-void-ing cond-i-ments or spice,
For fear his fur should not be nice
And fine and smooth and soft and meet
For Broad-way or for Re-gent Street
And yet some-how I of-ten feel
(Though for the kind Fur-bear-ing Seal
I har-bor a Re-spect Pro-found)

(Photo taken in Monterey, California, by my sister, Melinda South.)

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George MacDonald

Much And More

When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,
And eternal bliss looks nearer,
Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,
Is the gift or giver dearer?

Love, love on; love higher, deeper;
Let love's ocean close above her;
Only, love thou more love's keeper,
More, the love-creating lover.

(Photo taken in Texas by my brother, Dave South.)

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Robert Herrick

The Primrose

Ask me why I send you here
This sweet Infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you
This Primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew?
I will whisper to your ears,
The sweets of love are mixt with tears.

Ask me why this flower does show
So yellow-green, and sickly too?
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break?
I will answer,these discover
What fainting hopes are in a lover.

(Photo by my sister, Melinda South.)

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Snow-Flakes

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

(Photo taken by my sister, Melinda South.)

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Richard Le Gallienne

To The Golden Wife

With laughter always on the darkest day,
She danced before the very face of dread,
Starry companion of my mortal way,
Pre-destined merrily to be my mate,
With eyes as calm, she met the eyes of Fate:
"For this it was that you and I were wed -
What else?" she smiled and said.

Fair-weather wives are any man's to find,
The pretty sisters of the butterfly,
Gay when the sun is out, and skies are kind;
The daughters of the rainbow all may win -
Pity their lovers when the sun goes in!
Her smiles are brightest 'neath the stormiest sky -
Thrice blest and all unworthy I!

(Photograph by my niece, Hannah Mitchell. Check out her photography on flickr and jpgmag.com!)

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