🚀 go-pugleaf

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 8:04:16 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote: 
> > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > > > 
> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > > > [...] 
> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > > [...] 
> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > > > 
> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem!  
> > > Look who's talking. 
> > > 
> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 
> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems? 
> Not really. 

You are "not really" defending the poem or you didn't read it?  Mr. Dockery, you have no business on this newsgroup.  Comebacks such as "look who's talking" and "Not really"  would never come from a real writer.  We said why we didn't like the poem and gave a supporting reference.  You didn't read the poem, and the only reason you even posted was to boost George Dance.  Do you think that George Dance chose the poem solely because it mentioned July?  

If you like the poem, please tell us why, and not that it is good because you like it and you like it because it is good.  You are a sham and a coward.  You are unable to come up with any opinion of your own because you are too dumb to be able to analyze any circumstance, let alone a poem or an essay or a book.  Even if you could, you would not be able to write it down in intelligible sentences.  You are no smarter now than when you were in high school repeating and failing grades.  You are what you were then, which is of low intelligence and delusive self esteem.  
 
Look around you at your comic books and hack writers collection and weep.

> > > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > > > 
> > > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 

FWI, Emmeline Grangerford was a character in "Huckleberry Finn."  We know that you never read that.

> > > > 
> > > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > > > 
> > > > Full poem: 
> > > > 
> > > > "A July Day 
> > > > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > > > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > > > I let the moments drift away; 
> > > > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > > > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > > > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > > > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > > > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > > > And one white lily seems to be 
> > > > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > > > 
> > > > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > > > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > > > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > > > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > > > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > > > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > > > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > > > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > > > In peace he only understands 
> > > > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > > > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > > > And like a child upon her breast 
> > > > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > > > 
> > > > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > > > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > > > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > > > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > > > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > > > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > > > 
> > > > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > > > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > > > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > > > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > > > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > > > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > > > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > > > The happy summer day is done."