The Well Read Poem

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this season of the Well-Read Poem, which is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. Today's poem is "Noël" by Théophile Gautier in translation by Agnes Lee. Reading begins at timestamps 5:15 and 7:00. Noël (Christmas) by Théophile Gautier, trans. by Agnes Lee Black is the sky and white the ground. O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace! The Child is born! A love profound Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face. No silken woof of costly show Keeps off the bitter cold from Him. But spider-webs have drooped them low, To be His curtain soft and dim. Now trembles on the straw downspread The Little Child, the Star beneath. To warm Him in His holy bed, Upon Him ox and ass do breathe. Snow hangs its fringes on the byre. The roof stands open to the tryst Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!"

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar poems, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. Today's poem is "Good King Wenceslas" by Vaclav Svoboda in translation by John Mason Neale. Reading begins at timestamp 6:53. Good King Wenceslas by Vaclav Svoboda, translation by John Mason Neale Good King Wenceslas look'd out, On the Feast of Stephen; When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even: Brightly shone the moon that night, Though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gath'ring winter fuel. "Hither page and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?" "Sire, he lives a good league hence. Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain." "Bring me flesh,and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither: Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together; Through the rude wind's wild lament, And the bitter weather. "Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer." "Mark my footsteps, good my page; Tread thou in them boldly; Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly." In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. Today's poem is "Christmas Carol" by Sara Teasdale. Reading begins at timestamps 4:49 and 7:48. Christmas Carol by Sara Teasdale The kings they came from out the south, All dressed in ermine fine; They bore Him gold and chrysoprase, And gifts of precious wine. The shepherds came from out the north, Their coats were brown and old; They brought Him little new-born lambs— They had not any gold. The wise men came from out the east, And they were wrapped in white; The star that led them all the way Did glorify the night. The angels came from heaven high, And they were clad with wings; And lo, they brought a joyful song The host of heaven sings. The kings they knocked upon the door, The wise men entered in, The shepherds followed after them To hear the song begin. The angels sang through all the night Until the rising sun, But little Jesus fell asleep Before the song was done.

As befits the time of year, we will be re-visiting six poems of Advent and Christmas during this twentieth season of the Well-Read Poem. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. Today's poem is "Mistletoe" by Walter de la Mare. Reading begins at timestamps 5:23 and 8:10. Mistletoe by Walter de la Mare Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on, Shadows lurking everywhere: Some one came, and kissed me there. Tired I was; my head would go Nodding under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely, Stooped in the still and shadowy air Lips unseen—and kissed me there. This podcast is brought to you by The Literary Life Podcast. To find out more about from Thomas Banks, visit HouseofHumaneLetters.com.

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this twentieth season of the Well-Read Poem. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. Today's poem is "The Magi" by William Butler Yeats. Reading begins at timestamps 4:51 and 9:39. The Magi by William Butler Yeats Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depths of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied, The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

In this 19th season of the Well Read Poem, the principal theme of the six poems selected is that of Death. We selected these poems to provide a variety of imaginative treatments of what Henry James called "The Distinguished Thing", drawing on the writings of poets of different centuries, cultures and perspectives. We hope they are enjoyable, illuminating, and not so dismal as to discolor anyone's summer. Today's selection is "Aubade" by Philip Larkin. Readings begin at timestamps 2:49 and 8:25. To learn more about this podcast and host Thomas Banks, visit https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

In this 19th season of the Well Read Poem, the principal theme of the six poems selected is that of Death. We selected these poems to provide a variety of imaginative treatments of what Henry James called "The Distinguished Thing", drawing on the writings of poets of different centuries, cultures and perspectives. We hope they are enjoyable, illuminating, and not so dismal as to discolor anyone's summer. Today's selection is "The Twa Corbies" of anonymous Scottish origin. Readings begin at timestamps 4:25 and 8:45. To learn more about this podcast and host Thomas Banks, visit https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/. The Twa Corbies Anonymous, Scottish As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t'other say, 'Where sall we gang and dine the day?' 'In behind yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. 'His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may make our dinner sweet. 'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue een; Wi ae lock o his gowden hair, We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 'Mony an ane for him makes mane, But nane sall ken whare he is gane; Oer his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

In this 19th season of the Well Read Poem, the principal theme of the six poems selected is that of Death. We selected these poems to provide a variety of imaginative treatments of what Henry James called "The Distinguished Thing", drawing on the writings of poets of different centuries, cultures and perspectives. We hope they are enjoyable, illuminating, and not so dismal as to discolor anyone's summer. Today's selection is "Ecclesiates 12" from the King James Version of the Bible. Readings begin at timestamps 5:08 and 8:55. To learn more about this podcast and host Thomas Banks, visit https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

In this 19th season of the Well Read Poem, the principal theme of the six poems selected is that of Death. We selected these poems to provide a variety of imaginative treatments of what Henry James called "The Distinguished Thing", drawing on the writings of poets of different centuries, cultures and perspectives. We hope they are enjoyable, illuminating, and not so dismal as to discolor anyone's summer. Today's selection is "Elegies 11.28" by Propertius (Translated by Constance Carrier). Readings begin at timestamps 4:34 and 6:54. To learn more about this podcast and host Thomas Banks, visit https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

In this 19th season of the Well Read Poem, the principal theme of the six poems selected is that of Death. We selected these poems to provide a variety of imaginative treatments of what Henry James called "The Distinguished Thing", drawing on the writings of poets of different centuries, cultures and perspectives. We hope they are enjoyable, illuminating, and not so dismal as to discolor anyone's summer. Today's selection is "On a Dead Child" by Robert Bridges. Reading begins at timestamp 4:24. To learn more about this podcast and host Thomas Banks, visit https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/. On a Dead Child By Robert Bridges Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. Thy mother's treasure wert thou;—alas! no longer To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be Thy father's pride;—ah, he Must gather his faith together, and his strength make stronger. To me, as I move thee now in the last duty, Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond; Startling my fancy fond With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it: But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff; Yet feels to my hand as if 'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,— Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed!— Propping thy wise, sad head, Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing. So quiet! doth the change content thee?—Death, whither hath he taken thee? To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this? The vision of which I miss, Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and awaken thee? Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark, Unwilling, alone we embark, And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us.