Decoration Day

A British Spitfire Downs an Enemy Plane  T. Cowill

And Irish Airman Foresees His Death

by William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

Anyone for Croquet

Croquet  James Tissot

Croquet

by Alice Guerin Crist

In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay
And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze
Your maiden aunts and I, and you, demure and shy,
Played a sober game of croquet underneath the spreading trees.

Just beyond the garden wall we could hear the merry call
Of the tennis players yonder, flitting gaily in the sun,
But we recked not of their glee, for all too content were we,
And we weren’t flushed and heated when our quiet game was done.

What a picture sweet you made! As you rested in the shade,
Listening to my eager chatter with a glance of grave surprise;
Was it nectar, love, or tea that your white hands poured for me
In the dainty Wedgewood tea-cups that were bluer than your eyes?

Love I know not; this I know, that we parted years ago –
That our paths lie far asunder in the giddy whirl of life,
And the tender vows we made, underneath the spreading shade,
Are a memory half forgotten ‘mid the city’s toil and strife.

But when wearied by its din, by its ceaseless strife and sin,
My thoughts will wander backwards at the close of some long day,
Once again I see you stand with your mallet in your hand,
‘Twixt a nodding scarlet rose-bush and a hedge of snowy may.

And the scent of mignonette comes to haunt and thrill me yet
While your blue eyes light the distance with a half reproachful smile;
Love, it is the world sad way, just to worship for a day-
And I doubt if you remember, after all this weary while.

Of Knights and Ladies

The May Jaunt, from Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry
The Limbourg Brothers

Hunting Song

by Sir Walter Scott
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear,
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they—
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay—
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!

Gabrielle and Jean  Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Parental Recollections
by Charles Lamb

A child's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space—
Then tire, and lay it by.

But I knew one that to itself
All seasons could control;
That would have mock’d the sense of pain
Out of a grievèd soul.

Thou straggler into loving arms,
Young climber-up of knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways
Then life and all shall cease.

Keeping On

Thankful Poor  Henry Ossawa Tanner

Mother to Son 

by Langston Hughes

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor--”

Bare.

But all the time

I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners,

And sometimes goin' in the dark

Where there ain't been no light.

So, boy, don't you turn back.

Don't you set down on the steps.

'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.

Don't you fall now--”

For I'se still goin', honey,

I'se still climbin',

And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.