Autumn Landscape.

October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
How many colours on the falling leaf
Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
Only a robin sings from any spray.
And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
spills
White mist around the hollows of the hills,
Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
trees,
In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.

--William Allingham (1870)

From: Poems
William Allingham
Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
First American Edition.

(Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].

On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Autumn Landscape.
>
> October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> How many colours on the falling leaf
> Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> Only a robin sings from any spray.
> And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> spills
> White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> trees,
> In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
>
> --William Allingham (1870)
>
> From: Poems
> William Allingham
> Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> First American Edition.
>
> (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].

This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!

On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 1:52:36 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > Autumn Landscape.
> >
> > October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> > The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> > The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> > Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> > How many colours on the falling leaf
> > Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> > Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> > Only a robin sings from any spray.
> > And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> > spills
> > White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> > Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> > His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> > trees,
> > In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> > His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
> >
> > --William Allingham (1870)
> >
> > From: Poems
> > William Allingham
> > Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> > First American Edition.
> >
> > (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].
> This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!

It isn't the formalism that makes it dull, but the lack of substance. There's neither narrative nor revelation. It sets a somber, foreboding scene and introduces a peasant who is sleeping, oblivious to whatever horror might be coming.

It's a great opening. It sets up all of the necessary elements for a great horror tale. Only there isn't any tale. The poem ends before the story begins.

But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
A set of measured footsteps can be heard
Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
It nears his forest cot without a word
And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...

Hmm... I sense another poem coming on. 😈

Michael Pendragon
"As a dog returns to his vomit, so a donkey repeats his folly."
-- Book of Proverbs

On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 7:52:07 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 1:52:36 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > Autumn Landscape.
> > >
> > > October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> > > The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> > > The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> > > Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> > > How many colours on the falling leaf
> > > Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> > > Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> > > Only a robin sings from any spray.
> > > And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> > > spills
> > > White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> > > Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> > > His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> > > trees,
> > > In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> > > His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
> > >
> > > --William Allingham (1870)
> > >
> > > From: Poems
> > > William Allingham
> > > Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> > > First American Edition.
> > >
> > > (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].
> > This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!
> It isn't the formalism that makes it dull, but the lack of substance. There's neither narrative nor revelation. It sets a somber, foreboding scene and introduces a peasant who is sleeping, oblivious to whatever horror might be coming.
>
> It's a great opening. It sets up all of the necessary elements for a great horror tale. Only there isn't any tale. The poem ends before the story begins.
It isn't any better in subsequent versions. We would have liked to have read that the peasant got an ax in the head, but that happened while he slept, as you write below. BTW, some other versions substituted "stockyard" for "stackyard." A stackyard is where hay and grain are stacked!
>
> But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> It nears his forest cot without a word
> And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...

"But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
A set of measured footsteps can be heard
Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
It nears his forest cot without a word"

"And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
The peasant sleepwalks and undoes the latch
To have his brains coat the walls with gore.
The stranger laughs at one more nevermore."

>
> Hmm... I sense another poem coming on. 😈
Be careful of what you wish for.

>
> Michael Pendragon
> "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a donkey repeats his folly."
> -- Book of Proverbs

On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 3:52:07 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 1:52:36 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > Autumn Landscape.
> > >
> > > October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> > > The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> > > The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> > > Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> > > How many colours on the falling leaf
> > > Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> > > Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> > > Only a robin sings from any spray.
> > > And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> > > spills
> > > White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> > > Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> > > His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> > > trees,
> > > In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> > > His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
> > >
> > > --William Allingham (1870)
> > >
> > > From: Poems
> > > William Allingham
> > > Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> > > First American Edition.
> > >
> > > (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].
> > This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!
> It isn't the formalism that makes it dull, but the lack of substance. There's neither narrative nor revelation. It sets a somber, foreboding scene and introduces a peasant who is sleeping, oblivious to whatever horror might be coming.
>
> It's a great opening. It sets up all of the necessary elements for a great horror tale. Only there isn't any tale. The poem ends before the story begins.

Yes it would be good for an opening, but by itself, it's just formal poetry to collect dust on a bookshelf in a used book store...
>
> But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> It nears his forest cot without a word
> And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
>
> Hmm... I sense another poem coming on. 😈

*evil grin*
>
> Michael Pendragon
> "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a donkey repeats his folly."
> -- Book of Proverbs

On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:58:02 PM UTC, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 7:52:07 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 1:52:36 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > Autumn Landscape.
> > > >
> > > > October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> > > > The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> > > > The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> > > > Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> > > > How many colours on the falling leaf
> > > > Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> > > > Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> > > > Only a robin sings from any spray.
> > > > And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> > > > spills
> > > > White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> > > > Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> > > > His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> > > > trees,
> > > > In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> > > > His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
> > > >
> > > > --William Allingham (1870)
> > > >
> > > > From: Poems
> > > > William Allingham
> > > > Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> > > > First American Edition.
> > > >
> > > > (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].
> > > This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!
> > It isn't the formalism that makes it dull, but the lack of substance. There's neither narrative nor revelation. It sets a somber, foreboding scene and introduces a peasant who is sleeping, oblivious to whatever horror might be coming.
> >
> > It's a great opening. It sets up all of the necessary elements for a great horror tale. Only there isn't any tale. The poem ends before the story begins.
> It isn't any better in subsequent versions. We would have liked to have read that the peasant got an ax in the head, but that happened while he slept, as you write below. BTW, some other versions substituted "stockyard" for "stackyard." A stackyard is where hay and grain are stacked!
> >
> > But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> > A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> > Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> > It nears his forest cot without a word
> > And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
>
> "But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> It nears his forest cot without a word"
>
> "And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
> The peasant sleepwalks and undoes the latch
> To have his brains coat the walls with gore.
> The stranger laughs at one more nevermore."
> >
> > Hmm... I sense another poem coming on. 😈
> Be careful of what you wish for.
> >
> > Michael Pendragon
> > "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a donkey repeats his folly."
> > -- Book of Proverbs

George Dance seems to be getting even more paranoid. He is being booted in the butt by our research, but won't admit it.

On Tuesday, October 31, 2023 at 8:13:28 PM UTC, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:58:02 PM UTC, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 7:52:07 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 1:52:36 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > > On Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 8:47:12 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > > Autumn Landscape.
> > > > >
> > > > > October skies are misty, cool, and grey,
> > > > > The stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
> > > > > The meadow of its mounds ; a noble grief
> > > > > Has beautified the woods in their decay ;
> > > > > How many colours on the falling leaf
> > > > > Encurtaining our solemn hills to-day,
> > > > > Whose afternoon is hush’d and wintry brief!
> > > > > Only a robin sings from any spray.
> > > > > And Night sends up her pale cold moon, and
> > > > > spills
> > > > > White mist around the hollows of the hills,
> > > > > Phantoms of firth or lake ; the peasant sees
> > > > > His cot and stackyard, with the homestead
> > > > > trees,
> > > > > In-islanded ; but no vain terror thrills
> > > > > His perfect harvesting ; he sleeps at ease.
> > > > >
> > > > > --William Allingham (1870)
> > > > >
> > > > > From: Poems
> > > > > William Allingham
> > > > > Boston: Fields, Osgood, & Co., 1870
> > > > > First American Edition.
> > > > >
> > > > > (Also 1863, "British Diamonds" arranged by Dr. Henry Jolowicz, and 1877 in "Songs, Ballads and Stories: Including Many Now First Collected, the Rest Revised and Rearranged" [new version of the poem and now called "Late Autumn"].
> > > > This why Ash doesn't bother with formal poetry-- this is nice n all but it put me to sleep!
> > > It isn't the formalism that makes it dull, but the lack of substance. There's neither narrative nor revelation. It sets a somber, foreboding scene and introduces a peasant who is sleeping, oblivious to whatever horror might be coming.
> > >
> > > It's a great opening. It sets up all of the necessary elements for a great horror tale. Only there isn't any tale. The poem ends before the story begins.
> > It isn't any better in subsequent versions. We would have liked to have read that the peasant got an ax in the head, but that happened while he slept, as you write below. BTW, some other versions substituted "stockyard" for "stackyard." A stackyard is where hay and grain are stacked!
> > >
> > > But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> > > A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> > > Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> > > It nears his forest cot without a word
> > > And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
> >
> > "But as he slumbers peacefully in bed
> > A set of measured footsteps can be heard
> > Rustling the fallen leaves of brown and red,
> > It nears his forest cot without a word"
> >
> > "And raps its hatchet on the wooden door...
> > The peasant sleepwalks and undoes the latch
> > To have his brains coat the walls with gore.
> > The stranger laughs at one more nevermore."
> > >
> > > Hmm... I sense another poem coming on. 😈
> > Be careful of what you wish for.
> > >
> > > Michael Pendragon
> > > "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a donkey repeats his folly."
> > > -- Book of Proverbs
> George Dance seems to be getting even more paranoid. He is being booted in the butt by our research, but won't admit it.

George Dance lets a Donkey defend his poor researching skills. George Dance remains silent, embarrassed, bare-assed, beaten, this time not by his father but by strangers. Yet and again, still and in the future.