Youth And June.

    I was your lover long ago, sweet June,
    Ere life grew hard; I am your lover still,
    And follow gladly to the wondrous tune
    You pipe on golden reeds to vale and hill.
    I am your lover still - to me you seem
    To hold the fragrance of the joys long dead -
    The brightness and the beauty of the dream
    We dreamed in youth - to hold the tears we shed,
    The laughter of our lips - the faith that lies
    Back in that season dear to every heart,
    Life's springtime, when God's earth and God's blue skies
    Are, measured by our glance, not far apart.

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

Despair.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Jessie.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

A Hint.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Barley Fields.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

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Two June Nights.

    A red rose in my lady's hair,
    A white rose in her fingers,
    A wild bird singing low, somewhere,
    A song that pulses, lingers.
    The sound of dancing and of mirth,
    The fiddle's merry chiming,
    A smell of earth, of fresh, warm earth,
    And honeysuckle climbing;
    My lady near, yet far away -
    Ah, lonely June of yesterday!

    A big white night of velvet sky,
    And Milky Way a-gleaming,
    The fragrant blue smoke drifting by
    From camp-fire brightly beaming;
    The stillness of the Northland far -
    God's solitudes of splendor -
    My road a trail, my chart a star.
    Wind, 'mong the balsams slender,
    Sing low: O glad June of to-day,
    My lady's near, though far away!

Jean Blewett

When The Dusk Comes Down.

    Do you know what I will love best of all
    To do when I'm old? At the close of day
    When the dusk comes down and the shadows play,
    And the wind sings loud in the poplars tall,
    I will love to get into my corner here -
    The curtains drawn, and never a one
    To break the stillness - to sit here alone
    And dream of these good old times, my dear.

    In fancy you'll come and sit by my side -
    I can see your face with my eyes close shut,
    With the pride and the softness clearly cut,
    The obstinate chin and the forehead wide,
    The oval cheek and the smile so warm,
    The dark eyes full of their fun and power,
    With the tender light for the tender hour,
    And the flash of fire that was half their charm.

    I'll w...

Jean Blewett

The Long Ago.

    O life has its seasons joyous and drear,
    Its summer sun and its winter snow,
    But the fairest of all, I tell you, dear,
    Was the sweet old spring of the long ago -
            The ever and ever so long ago -

    When we walked together among the flowers,
    When the world with beauty was all aglow.
    O the rain and dew! O the shine and showers
    Of the sweet old spring of the long ago!
            The ever and ever so long ago.

    A hunger for all of the past delight
    Is stirred by the winds that softly blow.
    Can you spare me a thought from heaven to-night
    For the sweet old spring of the long ago? -
            The ever and ever so long ago.

Jean Blewett

Grace.

(JUNE 13, 1899.)


    So still you sleep upon your bed,
    So motionless and slender,
    It cannot be that you are dead,
    My maiden gay and tender!

    You were no creature pale and meek
    That death should hasten after,
    The dimples played within your cheek,
    Your lips were made for laughter.

    To you the great world was a place
    That care might never stay in,
    A playground built by God's good grace
    For glad young folks to play in.

    You made your footpath by life's flowers,
    O happy, care-free maiden!
    The sky was full of shine and showers,
    The wind was perfume laden.

    Your dimpled hands are folded now
    Upon your snowy bosom,
    The dark hair nestles on your brow -<...

Jean Blewett

The Parting.

    One summer's morning I heard a lark
    Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird;
    One winter's night I was glad in the dark
    Because of the wondrous song I had heard.

    The joy of life, I have heard you say,
    Is my love, my laughter, my smiles and tears;
    When I have gone on the long, strange way,
    Let these stay with you through all the years -

    These be the lark's song. What is love worth
    That cannot crowd, in the time that's given
    To two like us on this gray old earth,
    Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?

    Dear one, think oft of the full, glad years,
    And, thinking of them, forget to weep.
    Whisper: "Remembrance holds no tears!"
    And kiss my mouth when I fall on sleep.

Jean Blewett

Youth and Age

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee -
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young? - Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys! that came down shower-like,
Of Friendshi...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge