Monday, December 1, 2008

In Drear-Nighted December

For those of us in the north, the dead season is most certainly upon us! Although Winter won't officially begin until December 21, I thought I would brace for the grueling months to come with some moon mythology, followed up promptly with a Keats Toddy!

Full Cold Moon: On Friday, December 12, the Full Cold Moon will bathe us in its luminous glory. "The winter cold fastens its grip, and nights are at their longest and darkest. It is also sometimes called the Moon before Yule. The term Long Night Moon is a doubly appropriate name because the midwinter night is indeed long, and because the Moon is above the horizon for a long time. The midwinter full Moon has a high trajectory across the sky because it is opposite a low Sun." -- Farmers' Almanac

In Drear-Nighted December

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?
The feel of not to feel it,
When there is none to heal it
Nor numbed sense to steel it,
Was never said in rhyme.

John Keats (1795 - 1821)


Karswell said...

Always Comes Evening by REH

Riding down the road at evening with the stars or steed and shoon,
I have heard an old man singing underneath a copper moon;

"God, who gemmed with topaz twilights, opal portals of the day,
"On "our amaranthine mountains, why make human souls of clay?

"For I rode the moon-mare's horses in the glory of my youth,
"Wrestled with the hills at sunset— till I met brass-tinctured Truth.

"Till I saw the temples topple, till I saw the idols reel,
"Till my brain had turned to iron, and my heart had turned to steel.

"Satan, Satan, brother Satan, fill my soul with frozen fire;
"Feed with hearts of rose-white women ashes of my dead desire.

"For my road runs out in thistles and my dreams have turned to dust.
"And my pinions fade and falter to the raven wings of rust.

"Truth has smitten me with arrows and her hand is in my hair—
"Youth, she hides in yonder mountains — go and see her, if you dare!

"Work your magic, brother Satan, fill my brain with fiery spells.
"Satan, Satan, brother Satan, have known your fiercest Hells."

Riding down the road at evening when the wind was on the sea,
I have heard an old man singing, and he sang most drearily

Strange to hear, when dark lakes shimmer to the wailing of the loon,
Amethystine Homer singing under evening's copper moon.

Kitty LeClaw said...

You wuz up late, Dew!! Not that I'm complaining; this piece makes my cheeks flush.

Also reminds me that I found a raven's feather, and I've been saving it for you. Although, I think it might actually be from a crow. Dirty bastards! Still effin' cool, though.

Anonymous said...

just got blog back up and running. i posted a few pics from Halloween night & other oddites. check it out when you get some time
stay true~