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!

Baby's Dreamland

A Little Girl Rocking a Cradle  Nicolaes Maes

Sleep, Baby, Sleep

A German Poem

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches his sheep;

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree,

And down falls a little dream on thee.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep;

The little stars are the lambs I guess;

And the bright moon is the shepherdess.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Machinations of the Mind

Hand With Reflectiong Shpere   M.C. Escher

No Labor-Saving Machine

by Walt Whitman
NO labor-saving machine,
Nor discovery have I made;
Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library,
Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America,
Nor literary success, nor intellect—nor book for the book-shelf;
Only a few carols, vibrating through the air, I leave,
For comrades and lovers.

Winter Wilds

Figures in a Winter Landscape  Frederik Marinus Kruseman

Bilbo's Song of Winter
by J.R.R. Tolkien
When winter first begins to bite
and stones crack in the frosty night,
when pools are black and trees are bare,
'tis evil in the Wild to fare.

Snapshot of Holland

The Avenue at Middelharnis  Meindert Hobbema

Memory of Holland
by Hendrik Marsman

Thinking of Holland
I see wide rivers slowly
flowing through endless
low-lying land,
inconceivably
gossamer poplars
on the horizon
in wispish ranks;
and in the expanses of
space, sunken farmsteads
randomly strewn over
flat countryside,
tree-clusters, hamlets,
truncated steeples,
churches and elm trees
in a net flung wide.
The sky there hangs low
and the sun slowly stifles
in vapours where multiple
greys become blurred,
and in every far corner
the voice of the water
with its countless disasters
is feared and is heard.

Winter's Song

Village at Winter at Midnight  Jacob van Ruisdael

"Be Off!"

 by Victor Hugo

"Be off!" say Winter's snows;

"Now it's my turn to sing!"

So, startled, quivering,

Not daring to oppose

(Our fortitude grows dim in

The face of a Quos ego),

Away, my songs, must we go

Before those virile women!

Rain. We are forced to fly,

Everywhere, utterly.

End of the comedy.

Come, swallows, it's good-bye.

Wind, sleet. The branches sway,

Writhing their stunted limbs,

And off the white smoke swims

Across the heavens' gray.

A pallid yellow lingers

Over the chilly dale.

My keyhole blows a gale

Onto my frozen fingers.