I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see. For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in…
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves…
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy…
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king. JRR Tolkien So much to discuss about this poem that has been done to death elsewhere so I’m not going to get…
Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing? Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing? Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. Who shall…
Hey Ho to the bottle I go To heal my heart and drown my woe Rain may fall and wind may blow but there’ll still be Many miles to go… Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, And the stream that falls from hill to plain. Better than rain or rippling brook, Is a mug of beer inside this Took. J.R.R. Tolkien Sometimes you just need a break from the road (or life in general). Whether at a local…
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day Nothing gold can stay. Robert Frost
Roll me on your frozen fields Break my bones to watch them heal Drowned me in your thirsty veins Where I’ll watch and I’ll wait, and pray for the rain Curl like smoke, and breathe again Down your throat, inside your ribs Through your spine, and every nerve Where I watch, and I wait And yield to the hurt And if you don’t believe the sun will rise Stand alone and greet the coming night In the last remaining light…
O! Wanderers in the shadowed land despair not! For though dark they stand, all woods there be must end at last, and see the open sun go past: the setting sun, the rising sun, the day’s end, or the day begun. For east or west all woods must fail… JRR Tolkien Sometimes on a journey (or life in general!), it can feel like you’re trapped in the middle of nowhere. But all woods come to an end, rivers all flow…
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. JRR Tolkien