Summer to Your Heart, c 2017, all rights reserved, Douglas Moorezart
I know I am but summer to your heart (Sonnet XXVII)
I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell
Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;
And I have loved you all too long and well
To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.
Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,
That you may hail anew the bird and rose
When I come back to you, as summer comes.
Else will you seek, at some not distant time,
Even your summer in another clime.
“Time has fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine.”
Alexander Smith, Dreamthorp: Essays written in the Country (1863).-
“The wisteria was especially lovely in my garden this year. As I painted just outside my front door I remembered this wonderful line from the Scottish poet Alexander Smith. It states perfectly how I feel as I meditate in this sun dappled spot.”
Douglas
Wisteria Arbor, Oil on Canvas, Douglas Moorezart, c 2018, all rights reserved
“…When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me, And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves, And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter”
Blue Rose – D. Moorezart, c 2017, all rights reserved
As purple streaks the sky, life’s fast pace slows,
and day begins to drift into the night.
To one who stands alone my long gaze goes.
Unique and lovely is the bluest rose.
Unnoticed – D. Moorezart, c 2017, all rights reserved
“To be nobody but yourself in a world
which is doing its best day and night
to make you like everybody else
means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight
and never stop fighting.”
Spanish Harlem – Douglas Moorezart, c 2017, all rights reserved
“Spanish Harlem”
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
It is the special one, it’s never seen the sun
It only comes out when the moon is on the run
And all the stars are gleaming
It’s growing in the street
Right up through the concrete
But soft and sweet and dreaming
Poppies Nocturne Study – D. Moorezart, c 2016, all rights reserved
“For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses! Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant! “
M o o r e z a r t 