"Skating in Central Park" by Johann Culverhouse‘The Wintering-Ground’ by Douglas Thornton (with Audio) The Society March 9, 2018 Beauty, Poetry, Readings 4 Comments https://classicalpoets.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/The-Wintering-Ground.mp3 Within what hut, My woodland maid, May I remain awhile? Next what fire may my chills Be warmed? Be there A path that leads Past stony piles and tells Us not to walk alone? I do not think, My woodland maid, Deep sleep my dreams will find; Nor will my coldness cede To warm sunshine. But if my steps Should weary long, nor learn My ways to scorn, that hut Through lost defiles I’ll find once more. Douglas Thornton is a poet and English teacher living in France. He has published a book of poetry (Woodland Poems) and currently has a website: www.douglasthornton.blogspot.com NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. NOTE TO POETS: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. CODEC News:Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 4 Responses Edward "Ted" Hayes March 10, 2018 Mr. Thornton, You have a great beginning. But I don’t see the FORM of the poem; as a “classical poet,” isn’t this a requirement? Here is my meaning: Us not to walk alone? Within what hut, my woodland maid May I remain the while? By what fire may this chill be warmed What path, past stony piles? I here vouchsafe my fear, dear maid That sleep may ne’er me find Nor will this coldness, marrow deep Be bathed in warm sunshine But should my wearying steps endure And fruitless effort scorn I’ll find the pathway, straight and sure And know your love once more Reply Edward "Ted" Hayes March 10, 2018 Mr. Thornton, You have a great beginning. But I don’t see the FORM of the poem; as a “classical poet,” isn’t this a requirement? By separate email I am, audaciously, sending you an alternative, and asking for you to reply to clarify your intent. Ted Hayes firstname.lastname@example.org Reply Douglas Thornton March 11, 2018 Hello Mr. Hayes, The form is meter, composed of two strophes, which need not be of equal length since there are not a set number of lines. You have certainly brought out the meaning of the poem in many more words than I was able to do, but I do not agree with the last two lines, as the focus is not on the ‘maid’ but on the search for a particular hut, so love has no part here. Thank you for your interest! It is wonderful to see that someone has read the poem and has taken the time to reflect upon it. Douglas Thornton Reply Bard Eucewelis March 11, 2018 I came upon these verbose Wordworthian lines, inspired by Mr. Thornton, who is daring metre without rhyme (not totally unlike those poets, like James Thomson in “The Seasons” and others, who utilized blank verse for their blank verse. These lines do not affect to capture Mr. Thornton’s poem, but only to play with text in the manner of flarf. I wish him the very best of luck on a very difficult path. To me it requires so much intelligence and talent as to be nigh-high unattainable, but definitely worth the effort. It would be wonderful if someone in our language could achieve it. Where is the Homer, the Ennius, of the New Millennium? Probably not outside the battlefield…of life. Within what hut, my woodland maid, may I remain awhile? and by what fire may my chills be warmed and bring a smile? Is there a path that leads past logs we walk, and not alone? amidst rich earth, my woodland maid, past ferns and boughs and stone? My dreams subside to sunny light that filters through the leaves. How beautiful the diamond falls that shimmer in the trees. The miles interweave, experiences dance about. The trails curve about the forest, friendly, free from doubt. That World was true, so good and new, so wonderful to see. Within that time it was so fine, a very joy to be. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.