The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, illustrated by Boyd Hanna (The Heritage Press, NY, 1943)
Imagine my further delight when she presented me with a surprise gift she'd found and been keeping for me - a beautiful 1943 copy of THE POEMS OF HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (The Heritage Press, NY), with the most delicious wood engravings by Boyd Hanna (1907-1987).
This friend is well-versed in writing AND vintage, with a keen eye for art - Kim Siegelson, whose many award winning books for young people include the Coretta Scott King Award winner, IN THE TIME OF THE DRUMS. Kim has also been an invaluable guide on my new Etsy adventure, as she runs a busy and delightful shop, Perfect Patina. She's always keeping an eye out for vintage wonders, and I'm lucky that she spied this poetry book and thought of me. (It came with a lovely, inspiring note from her, too - now happily presiding above my computer shining down sparkly warm beams of encouragement.)
Kim thought I would enjoy the gorgeous wood engraving illustrations, printed in browns and greens, especially the one above featuring the bold bird in winter. She's right, of course! And since it's been dipping into the 30s here this week in north Georgia, I thought sharing the Longfellow poem it illustrates would be appropriate:
Woods in Winter
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.
O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.
Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!
But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
Remind me to come back to this post around February! And I hope if winter winds are already blowing where you are, you'll hear a bit of "wild music" with them. I also hope you'll come back here next week, when I have the honor of hosting the Poetry Friday Round Up. Today, it's over at The Poem Farm, lassoed by the ever-talented Amy.
Comments
Hi, Liz - I don't envy your wintery winds, but leave it to you to find beauty in the sky.
Irene, I thought so, too - the cheery take on harsh weather was a surprise. And hear, hear for thoughtful friends. My little gift from you is on the shelf above my computer, too, raining down its goodness!
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
Thanks for sharing your Longfellow gift with us this week, Robyn, and all your other many gifts the rest of the year!
"I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long. "
Thank you for this post and the picture of your book. I can just imagine the thrill of holding this lovely volume in your hands and feeling the papers--ah, and the scent of antique bindings. You've enriched my day and for that I'm grateful. (Sorry Matt is in the 20's, come to Tucson. We're in the mid 70's today.)
Susan, Kim has such good taste and a ready eye - and a generous heart. And I really will have to come back to those final lines in a couple of months!
Joy - you always live up to your name. Thanks for the thoughtful words, and I'm glad your surroundings are as warm as you are today. :0)
Hi, Patricia - I enjoy the solid structure of so many classic poems, too - not as easy to write as they are easy to read, don't you think?
Hi, Mary Lee! Much as I complain about the cold (and that's relative since I live in north Georgia!), I'm thankful for the changes of seasons. Thanks for dropping by!
Hi, Betsy - thank you for visiting. Your "...wild windsong of a poem" is gorgeous in itself!
the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.