Thursday, January 12, 2012

Salute to the Trees

- Henry Van Dyke

Many a tree is found in the wood,
And every tree for its use is good,
Some for the strength of the gnarled root,
Some for the sweetness of flower and fruit,
Some for shelter against the storm,
And some to keep the hearthstone warm,
Some for the roof and some for the beam,
And some for a boat to breast the stream.
In the wealth of the world since time began
The trees have offered their gifts to man.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

I Had a Dove

- John Keats

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of  grieving;
O, what could it grieve for?
Its feet were tied,
With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving:
Sweet little red feet! why should you die--
Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why?
You liv'd alone in the forest-tree,
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kiss'd you oft and gave you white pease:
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

The Year's at the Spring

- Robert Browning

The year's at the spring,
     and day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven--
All's right with the world!

Saturday, September 24, 2011

चिऊ चिऊ चिमणी

चिव चिव चिमणी छतांSत छतांSत.
अरसा लोंबे भिंतीला भिंतीला.
चिमणी पाहे सवतीला सवतीला.
भरभर आली रागांत रागांत.
पहिली:- "चिउताइ चिउताइ, काय् बघता? काय् बघता?"
दुसरी:- "टच् टच् चिउताइ, काय् करितां? काय् करितां?"
तिसरी:- "ती तर तुमची पडछाया पडछाया--"
चवथी:- "उगीच शिणता का वाया का वाया?"
पहिली:- "फुटेल काच्."
दुसरी:- "दुखेल चोच्."
तिसरी:- "पडेल खोSच चोचीला चोचीला."
चवथी:- "काSय होईल सवतीला सवतीला?"
सर्वजणी:- "टाळ्या वाजवुं या चट्चट् या चट्चट्.
पावलें फिरवूं या पट्पट् या पट्पट्.
भुर्र चिमणी उडाली उडाली.
छतांत जाउनि दडाSली दडाSली."


भा. रा. तांबे
देवास, १८९३.

आजीचं घड्याळ

आजीच्या जवळी घड्याळ कसले आहे चमत्कारिक,
देई ठेवुनि ते कुठें अजुनि हें नाहीं कुणा ठाउक;
त्याची टिक टिक चालते न कधिही, आहे मुकें वाटते;
किल्ली देई न त्यास ती कधि, तरी ते सारखें चालते! १

'अभ्यासास उठीव आज मजला आजी पहाटे तरी,'
जेव्हा मी तिज सांगुनी निजतसे रात्री बिछान्यावरी.
साडेपाचही वाजतात न कुठें तो हाक ये नेमकी,
'बाळा झांजर जहाले, अरवला तो कोंबडा, ऊठ की!' २ 

ताईची करण्यास जम्मत, तसें बाबूसवे भांडता
जाई संपुनिया सकाळ न मुळी पत्ता कधी लागता!
'आली ओटीवरी उन्हें बघ!' म्हणे आजी, 'दहा वाजले!
जा जा लौकर!' कानि तो घणघणा घंटाध्वनी आदळे. ३ 

खेळाच्या अगदी भरात गढूनी जाता आम्ही अंगणी
हो केव्हा तिनिसांज ते न समजे! आजी परी आतुनी
बोले, 'खेळ पुरे, घरांत परता! झाली दिवेलागण,
ओळीने बसुनी म्हणा परवचा ओटीवरी येऊन!' ४ 

आजीला बिलगून ऐकत बसू जेव्हा भुतांच्या कथा,
जाई झोप उडून, रात्र किती हो ध्यानी न ये ऐकता!
'अर्धी रात्र कि रे' म्हणे उलटली, 'गोष्टी पुरे! जा पडा!'
लागे तो धिडधांग पर्वतीवरी वाजवाया चौघडा. ५ 

सांगे वेळ, तशाच वार-तिथीही आजी घड्याळातुनी
थंडी पूस ऊनहि कळतसे सारे तिला त्यातुनी!
मौजेचे असले घड्याळ दडुनी कोठे तिने ठेविले?
गाठोडे फडताळ शोधूनी तिचे आलो! तरी न मिले! ६

-केशवकुमार (आचार्य अत्रे) 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

She Walks In Beauty

- George Gordon, Lord Byron


She walks in beauty—like the night
  Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
  Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to the tender light
  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.


One shade the more, one ray the less,
  Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
  Or softly lightens o'er her face—
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
  How pure, how dear their dwelling place.


And on that cheek and o'er that brow
  So soft, so calm yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
  But tell of days in goodness spent
A mind at peace with all below,
  A heart whose love is innocent.


Friday, September 9, 2011

The Chimney Sweeper

-William Blake

A little black thing in the snow,
Crying 'weep! weep!' in notes of woe!
'Where are thy father and mother? Say!'--
'They are both gone up to the church to pray.

'Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smiled among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

'And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and his priest and kin,
Who make up a heaven of our misery.'

A Homeless Night