MRS NESBITT FROM MRS NESBITT'S PLACE

Reading yesterday I saw Daisy Lupin, fellow glitter sister has set up a chilhood poetry fest site. This got me thinking!A poem I remember from primary school was Silver by Walter Dela Mare.I can picture the rows of old wooden desks, My teachers, Miss Clark, Mrs Kirkup then Mr. Pallister! I will tell you sometime about Mr. Pallister, but not right now as I am thinking of nice things about my school. Poetry was always one of my favourites.I guess Walter de la Mare would have been quite fashionable at the time. Judging by the fact he died in 1956, his poetry must have been quite contemporary.

Silver

by

Walter de la Mare

SilverSlowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon;

This way, and that, she peers, and sees

Silver fruit upon silver trees;

One by one the casements catch

Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

Couched in his kennel, like a log,

With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

Of doves in silver feathered sleep

A harvest mouse goes scampering by,

With silver claws, and silver eye;

And moveless fish in the water gleam,

By silver reeds in a silver stream.

~~~

Years later I bought a book of poetry by Walter de la mare and came across Old Nod, which is now one of my favourites too. It is so thought provoking and atmospheric, true to the plight of shepherds, their faithful dogs and their devotion to the flock.

The very first dog Jon and I had was a border collie, Tess, named after Tess of the Durbervilles by Thomas Hardy. I need to getmy scanner fixed so I can share some photos ....In the meantime I felt this Van Gogh painting was ideal for now.

Nod

by

Walter de la Mare

1873-1956

Softly along the road of evening,

In a twilight dim with rose,

Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew,

Old Nod the shepherd goes.

His drowsy flock streams on before him,

Their fleeces charged with gold,

To where the sun's last beam leans low

On Nod the the shepherds fold.

The hedge is quick and green with brier,

From their sand the conies creep;

And all the birds that fly in heaven

Flock singing home to sleep

His lambs outnumber a noon's roses,

Yet, when night shadows fall,

His blind old sheep-dog,

Slumber-soon,Misses not one of all.

His are the quiet steps of dreamland,

The waters of no more pain

His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars,

"Rest, Rest, and rest again."

~~~