Mild the mist upon the hill - A poem by Emily Jane Brontë

Mild the mist upon the hill

Mild the mist upon the hill
Telling not of storms tomorrow;
No, the day has wept its fill,
Spent its store of silent sorrow.

O, I'm gone back to the days of youth,
I am a child once more,
And 'neath my father's sheltering roof
And near the old hall door

I watch this cloudy evening fall
After a day of rain;
Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall
The horizon's mountain chain.

The damp stands on the long green grass
As thick as morning's tears,
And dreamy scents of fragrance pass
That breathe of other years.

Emily Jane Brontë

The Leaf and the Tree - Poem by Edna St Vincent Millay

The Leaf and the Tree

When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn's call
Wearing russet, ready to fall?
Has not this trunk a deed to do
Unguessed by small and tremulous you?
Shall not these branches in the end
To wisdom and the truth ascend?
And the great lightning plunging by
Look sidewise with a golden eye
To glimpse a tree so tall and proud
It sheds its leaves upon a cloud?

Here, I think, is the heart's grief:
The tree, no mightier than the leaf,
Makes firm its root and spreads it crown
And stands; but in the end comes down.
That airy top no boy could climb
Is trodden in a little time
By cattle on their way to drink.
The fluttering thoughts a leaf can think,
That hears the wind and waits its turn,
Have taught it all a tree can learn.
Time can make soft that iron wood.
The tallest trunk that ever stood,
In time, without a dream to keep,
Crawls in beside the root to sleep.

Edna St Vincent Millay

This photo is from an echo point at Munnar

Trapped - Poem by Sophia White

Trapped

There is a pair of robins
Winging over the trees
Into the watercolor sky.
And here am I.
Trapped in this bare room.

The sunlight is lancing
Through colonnade trees
Where dust-fairies fly.
And here am I.
Trapped behind closed doors.

The narrow path winds
Away through the forest
Where ferny glades lie.
And here am I.
Trapped by four walls.

A squirrel scampers
Across the grassy yard
And meets my eye.
And here am I.
Trapped at a hardwood desk.

Sophia White

This photo is from Munnar, a hill station in the Western Ghat's highest region in Kerala.