Where's my backpack?

Ireland celebrated National Poetry Day yesterday; and across the pond the US celebrates National Poetry Month every April. Now I love a good poem (one of my current favourites is The Swan)  so I thought it might be interesting to try something slightly different this week – to combine a favourite poem with a fitting photo (or just post your poem if you can’t find a photo to suit). Here are a few poems I loved as a child, I hope you enjoy…

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening – Robert Frost (photo of Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park, WA)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Silver – Walter de la Mare (photo of moon over Oregon)

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Snow – Louis MacNeice (photos of an unexpected snowstorm in New York)

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

Is the muse calling you to come up with your own version of this week’s  theme? If you would like to join in (everyone’s welcome!) here’s what to do:

• Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Poetry
• Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
• Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
• Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. – Carl Sandburg

The gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature, and poetry, and all that is spiritual. – John Muir

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves. – T.S. Eliot

UPDATE May 7 – Just going through all your responses now, thank you all for so many wonderful poems, some of them are old friends I had forgotten, some are new to me. If you have the time, have a look through other responses top, there are some wonderful posts for this theme. xxx