Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLYMPIANS, by AMORY HARE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLYMPIANS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: They said, 'it's bitter cold today'
Last Line: But one had watched the olympian tournament!
Alternate Author Name(s): Hutchinson, Amory Hare
Subject(s): Trees; Winter


They said, "It's bitter cold today.
December's like an old man, bleak with Time.
I hate the sodden fields, the tearful grey
Petulent skies, the grit and grime,
The sound of cold slow bleeding in the trees."
I looked at these.
The Beeches, Lovely Ladies, were asway,
Their intricate soft scarfs of thin spun lace
Caught round them as mantillas hide a face
Which smiles with mirth, born of a thought within.
The Poplars, towering proudly, seemed to grin
Through lifted visors, peering at the cold
As sentries watch for danger; and the old,
Implacable, grim oaks growled deep and low,
Mumbling a tale about the fall of snow.

I could not think them weary unto death,
Betrayed by Time; to me they were alive,
Stripped as a mighty wrestler guards his breath
And sheds his raiment that he best may strive
In games of fortitude and manliness.
"Come on, ye spears of Frost! These Ladies wait
To hear our laughter goading ye to kill!"
I thought a young Ash shouted this, and tossed
A shower of leaves, as gamblers toss a bait
Of golden coins to cheat the taker's guess!

"Ho! Parry and riposte!" a Linden laughed,
Lunging with slim green rapier at the Wind
Who'd given him a merry thrust and chaffed
Him smartly for a sluggard; Linden grinned
And balanced and was wary for the next
Move from his jovial foe, An old Pine, vexed
With weight of years, gave forth a sudden swift
Imperious "Hush! You've waked me from my sleep!"
A tall Beech Lady blew him down the gift
Of one light leaf, and made him ever keep
His old head covered lest this be his last
Great tournament of Games; and then there passed
Through all the ranks of stalwart swordsmen there
Challenge on challenge winnowing the air!
Mighty with jovial darings, what a cry
Went up from all those throats, what mirthful jests,
What mailed fists were shaken at the sky.
What courtly bowing to unbidden guests!
Guests did I say? Of three who homeward went
But one had watched the Olympian Tournament!





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