Sunrise

Listen to: 

Sunrise* (1:21)

Lizette Woodworth Reese  

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples—three stark swarthy arms—are thrust 

Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust— 

Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships—
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet 

And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space 

Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three; 

From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze. 

* I recorded this poem and posted it on March 11, 2016. Without realizing it, I recorded it again recently and am now posting this version. If you compare the two versions, there are some subtle but interesting differences. In any case, you might have missed the first version and might enjoy this other one. And good poems are worth repeating.

May Song

Listen to:

May Song (1:18)

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

translated by A. S. Kline* 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

How sweetly Nature

Brightens round me!

How the sun’s shining!

How the fields gleam!

Blossoms are bursting

From every leaf,

Thousands of voices

From bushes beneath,

And joy and bliss

From every eye.

O Earth, O Sun!

O Joy, O Delight.

O Love, O Love!

So golden fair,

Like morning clouds

On the hillside there!

Your splendour blesses

The fields so fresh,

The whole wide world

In a blossoming mist.

O Darling, Darling,

How I love you!

How your eyes shine!

How you love too!

So the lark loves

Singing on high,

And flowers at dawn

The scented sky,

As I love you

With veins on fire,

You who give me

Youth, Joy, Desire

For new dances

New poetry.

Be happy forever,

As you love me!

No Second Troy

Listen to:

No Second Troy (:50)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind

That is not natural in an age like this,

Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

A Light Exists in Spring

Listen to:

A Light Exists in Spring (:57)

by Emily Dickinson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A light exists in spring

  Not present on the year

At any other period.

  When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad

  On solitary hills

That silence cannot overtake,

  But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;

  It shows the furthest tree

Upon the furthest slope we know;

  It almost speaks to me.

  

Then, as horizons step,

  Or noons report away,

Without the formula of sound,

  It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss

  Affecting our content,

As trade had suddenly encroached

  Upon a sacrament.

      

May

Listen to:

May (:36)

by Sara Teasdale 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May. 

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty

Listen to:

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty (1:24)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

When my arms wrap you round I press

My heart upon the loveliness

That has long faded from the world;

The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled

In shadowy pools, when armies fled;

The love-tales wove with silken thread

By dreaming ladies upon cloth

That has made fat the murderous moth;

The roses that of old time were

Woven by ladies in their hair,

The dew-cold lilies ladies bore 

Through many a sacred corridor

Where such gray clouds of incense rose

That only the gods' eyes did not close:

For that pale breast and lingering hand

Come from a more dream-heavy land,

A more dream-heavy hour than this;

And when you sigh from kiss to kiss

I hear white Beauty sighing, too,

For hours when all must fade like dew

But flame on flame, deep under deep,

Throne over throne, where in half sleep

Their swords upon their iron knees

Brood her high lonely mysteries.

(from The Wind Among the Reeds)

The Invitation

Listen to:

The Invitation (1:16)

by John Clare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

  Come hither, my dear one, my choice one, and rare one,
  And let us be walking the meadows so fair,
  Where on pilewort and daisies the eye fondly gazes,
  And the wind plays so sweet in thy bonny brown hair.

  Come with thy maiden eye, lay silks and satins by;
  Come in thy russet or grey cotton gown;
  Come to the meads, dear, where flags, sedge, and reeds appear,
  Rustling to soft winds and bowing low down.

  Come with thy parted hair, bright eyes, and forehead bare;
  Come to the whitethorn that grows in the lane;
  To banks of primroses, where sweetness reposes,
  Come, love, and let us be happy again.

  Come where the violet flowers, come where the morning showers
  Pearl on the primrose and speedwell so blue;
  Come to that clearest brook that ever runs round the nook
  Where you and I pledged our first love so true.

She Was a Phantom of Delight

Listen to:

She Was a Phantom of Delight (1:42)

by William Wordsworth 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

William Wordsworth was born this day in 1770

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;

A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A Creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,

A Traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.

Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun

Listen to:

Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun (1:20)

by Walt Whitman 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling,

Give me autumnal fruit ripe and red from the orchard,

Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows,

Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape,

Give me fresh corn and wheat, give me serene-moving animals teaching

    content,

Give me nights perfectly quiet as on high plateaus west of the

    Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars,

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can

    walk undisturb'd,

Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman of whom I should never tire,

Give me a perfect child, give me away aside from the noise of the

    world a rural domestic life,

Give me to warble spontaneous songs recluse by myself, for my own ears only,

Give me solitude, give me Nature, give me again O Nature your primal

    sanities!

The Awakening

Listen to:

The Awakening (1:00)

by James Weldon Johnson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I dreamed that I was a rose
That grew beside a lonely way,
Close by a path none ever chose,
And there I lingered day by day.
Beneath the sunshine and the show’r
I grew and waited there apart,
Gathering perfume hour by hour,
And storing it within my heart,
        Yet, never knew,
Just why I waited there and grew.

I dreamed that you were a bee
That one day gaily flew along,
You came across the hedge to me,
And sang a soft, love-burdened song.
You brushed my petals with a kiss,
I woke to gladness with a start,
And yielded up to you in bliss
The treasured fragrance of my heart;
        And then I knew
That I had waited there for you.

Sunrise

Listen to:

Sunrise (1:17)

Lizette Woodworth Reese 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples—three stark swarthy arms—are thrust 

Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust— 

Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships—
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet 

And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space 

Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three; 

From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze.

At Last

Listen to:

At Last (1:10)

by Christina Rossetti 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Many have sung of love a root of bane:
       While to my mind a root of balm it is,
    For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss
For life and death and rising up again.
Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain,
    Love will grow plain with all its mysteries;
    Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas
Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain.
Love in our borders, love within our heart,
    Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest,
    Ended for ever life’s unending quest,
         Ended for ever effort, change and fear:
Love all in all; —no more that better part
         Purchased, but at the cost of all things here.

O, Mickle is the Powerful Grace

Listen to:

O, Mickle is the Powerful Grace (1:08)

by William Shakespeare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:

For nought so vile that on the earth doth live

But to the earth some special good doth give,

Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use

Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;

And vice sometimes by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this small flower

Poison hath residence and medicine power:

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

Two such opposed kings encamp them still

In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;

And where the worser is predominant,

Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Friar Laurence

Romeo and Juliet Act II, Scene iii, lines 15-31

The Grey-Eyed Morn Smiles

Listen to:

The Grey-Eyed Morn Smiles (:55)

by William Shakespeare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,

Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,

And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels

From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:

Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,

The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,

I must up-fill this osier cage of ours

With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.

The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;

What is her burying grave that is her womb,

And from her womb children of divers kind

We sucking on her natural bosom find,

Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for some and yet all different.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene iii, lines 1-14

There Shines the Morning Star

Listen to:

There Shines the Morning Star (:58)

by Wallace Stevens 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

There shines the morning star! Through the forlorn

  And silent spaces of cold heaven's height

  Pours the bright radiance of his kingly light,

Swinging in revery before the morn.

The flush and fall of many tides have worn

  Upon the coasts beneath him, in their flight

  From sea to sea ; yet ever on the night

His clear and splendid visage is upborne.

Like this he pondered on the world's first day,

  Sweet Eden's flowers heavy with the dew;

And so he led bold Jason on his way

    Sparkling forever in the galley's foam;

  And still he shone most perfect in the blue,

    All bright and lovely on the hosts of Rome.

First published in The Harvard Advocate, LXVII, 2, 10 Apr 1899 

Snow-Flakes

Listen to:

Snow-Flakes (1:07)

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

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.

Song: To Celia

Listen to:

Song: To Celia  (:52)

by Ben Jonson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

         And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

         And I’ll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise

         Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,

         I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

         Not so much honouring thee

As giving it a hope, that there

         It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

         And sent’st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

         Not of itself, but thee.

At Home from Church

Listen to: 

At Home from Church (1:19)

by Sarah Orne Jewett 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The lilacs lift in generous bloom

   Their plumes of dear old-fashioned flowers;

Their fragrance fills the still old house

   Where left alone I count the hours.

High in the apple-trees the bees

   Are humming, busy in the sun,—

An idle robin cries for rain

   But once or twice and then is done.

The Sunday-morning quiet holds

   In heavy slumber all the street,

While from the church, just out of sight

   Behind the elms, comes slow and sweet

The organ’s drone, the voices faint

   That sing the quaint long-meter hymn—

I somehow feel as if shut out

   From some mysterious temple, dim

And beautiful with blue and red

   And golden lights from windows high,

Where angels in the shadows stand

   And earth seems very near the sky.

The day-dream fades—and so I try

   Again to catch the tune that brings

No thought of temple nor of priest,

   But only of a voice that sings.

Limitations

Listen to:

Limitations (1:01)

Henrietta Cordelia Ray 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The subtlest strain a great musician weaves,
Cannot attain in rhythmic harmony
To music in his soul. May it not be
Celestial lyres send hints to him? He grieves
That half the sweetness of the song, he leaves
Unheard in the transition. Thus do we
Yearn to translate the wondrous majesty
Of some rare mood, when the rapt soul receives
A vision exquisite. Yet who can match
The sunset’s iridescent hues? Who sing
The skylark’s ecstasy so seraph-fine?
We struggle vainly, still we fain would catch
Such rifts amid life’s shadows, for they bring
Glimpses ineffable of things divine.

  

Clouds

Listen to:

Clouds (1:08)

by Rupert Brooke 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

   

Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness.

Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.

They say that the Dead die not, but remain
Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth.
I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these,
In wise majestic melancholy train,
And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas,
And men, coming and going on the earth.