Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: The Wind Frost by Susanna Moodie

Susanna Moodie was a Canadian writer of prose and poetry in the 19th century. Prose was probably her greatest strength as a writer and she was quite well-known in her day. I made her acquaintance last week through a blog called Edith's Miscellany which featured this poem.

I found the poem very evocative of those cold winds that come down from the frozen North at this time of year and decided to feature it here as my poem of the week. Can't you just hear that wind whistling through the "groaning boughs" of the trees as it whirls their leaves down to the ground and feel the frost of its breath as it crushes and destroys "every herb and flower"? 


The Wind Frost

(from Enthusiasm and Other Poems: 1831)

by Susanna Moodie

I come o'er the hills of the frozen North,
To call to the battle thy armies forth:
I have swept the shores of the Baltic sea,
And the billows have felt my mastery;
They resisted my power, but strove in vain—
I have curbed their might with my crystal chain.
I roused the northwind in his stormy cave,
Together we passed over land and wave;
I sharpened his breath and gave him power
To crush and destroy every herb and flower;
He obeyed my voice, and is rending now
The sallow leaves from the groaning bough;
And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain,
As he whirls them down to the frozen plain:
Those beautiful leaves to which Spring gave birth
Are scattered abroad on the face of the earth.
I have visited many a creek and bay,
And curdled the streams in my stormy way;
I have chilled into hail the genial shower:—
All this I have done to increase thy power.

Comments

  1. I can see why you were captivated by this poem. I feel a definite Canadian influence. Also she captured that intention of almost dastardly power I always get from wind.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It’s a power that a lot of the country is feeling this weekend.

      Delete
  2. How beautiful! I like the cadence and the rhyme. The imagery is simply glorious and spot on. It's true that sometimes the wind "screams". I especially liked,

    "...And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain,
    As he whirls them down to the frozen plain..."

    And this,
    "I have visited many a creek and bay,
    And curdled the streams in my stormy way;
    I have chilled into hail the genial shower:—
    All this I have done to increase thy power."

    So, so true! :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I think you have really understood the spirit of this poem.

      Delete
    2. How not to?! I'm a New Englander at heart. ;-) I think I was one even before becoming one.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...