Chapters 12
-
1 01 - July - Read by BK 1:30
July by Michael Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk. There is a month between the swath and sheaf, when grass is gone and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hanging leaf and pollen-colored blooms, whereon bees are voices we can hear, so hugely dumb. This silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers, and would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and ere the sunstrokes slacken, stand. At a moorland's edge and gaze, across the hush and blaze Of the clear-burning, verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, The ineffectual, numbed, sweet of passion, at its heat.
-
2 02 - July - Read by DCC 1:26
July by Michael Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Domenica Campbell. There is a month between the swath and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-colored blooms, whereon bees are voices we can hear, So hugely dumb this silent month. of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers, and, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and ere the sunstrokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush. And blaze of the clear-burning, verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual, numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
3 03 - July - Read by DL 1:19
July by Michael Field.
There is a month between the swathe and sheaf, when grass is gone and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hanging leaf, and pollen-coloured blooms, whereon bees are voices we can hear. So hugely dumb this silent month of the attaining year, The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers. And, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and, ere the sun-strokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning, verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numb-sweet of passion at its heat.
-
4 04 - July - Read by EL 1:21
July by Michael Field.
There is a month between the swath and sheaf when grass is gone and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hanging leaf and pollen-colored blooms whereon bees are voices we can hear. So hugely dumb this silent month of the attaining year.
The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers. And, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and, ere the sun-strokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning, verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
5 05 - July - Read by IKI 1:27
July by Michael Field. Redfurlibrivox.org by Ian King.
There is a month between the swathe and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-coloured blooms, where on bees are voices we can hear, So hugely dumb this silent month. Of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear From field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers Too terrible for flowers. And, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, And ere the sunstrokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge And gaze across the hush. And blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, The ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
6 06 - July - Read by JM 1:17
July by Michael Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Jim McDougall. There is a month between the swath and sheaf, when grass is gone and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hany leaf, and pollen-colored blooms whereon bees or voices we can hear so hugely dumb the silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers, too terrible for flowers, and, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the veil, and ere the sun-stroke slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning, verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
7 07 - July - Read by LAH 1:17
July by Michael Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. There is a month between the swath and sheaf, when grass is gone and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hanging leaf, and pollen-colored blooms whereon bees are voices we can hear, so hugely dumb this silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers, and would we know her burden, we must go forth from the veil and ere the sunstrokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is rich Eli's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
8 08 - July - Read by LCW 1:17
July.
There is a month between the swath and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn is still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-coloured blooms, Whereon bees are voices we can hear, So hugely dumb, this silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappeared from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers, too terrible for flowers, and would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and ere the sun-strokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
9 09 - July - Read by LLW 1:30
July by Michael Field.
There is a month between the swath and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-colored blooms whereon Bees are voices we can hear, so hugely dumb. This silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers, and would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and ere the sun-strokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge, And gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numbed suite of passion at its heat.
-
10 10 - July - Read by MK 1:33
July by Michael Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Maria Casper.
There is a month between the swath and sheaf, when grass is gone, and corn still grassy, when limes are massy with hanging leaf, and pollen-coloured blooms, where on bees are voices we can hear. So hugely dumb, this silent month of the attaining year, the white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers too terrible for flowers. And would we know her burden, we must go forth from the veil. And ere the sun-strokes slacken, stand at a moorland's edge, and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual, numbed, sweet of passion at its heat.
-
11 11 - July - Read by RC 1:30
July. There is a month between the swathe and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-coloured blooms whereon Bees are voices we can hear, So hugely dumb, This silent month of the attaining year. The white-faced roses slowly disappear from field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers, too terrible for flowers. And, would we know her burden, we must go forth from the vale, and, ere the sun-strokes slacken, Stand at a moorland's edge and gaze across the hush and blaze of the clear-burning verdant summer bracken. For in that silver flame is Writ-July's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.
-
12 12 - July - Read by SABT 1:19
July. There is a month between the swat and sheaf, When grass is gone and corn still grassy, When limes are massy with hanging leaf, And pollen-covered blooms whereon, Bees are voices we can hear, so hugely dumb, This silent month of the attaining year, The white-faced roses slowly disappear. From field and hedgerow, and no more flowers come. Earth lies in strain of powers, too terrible for flowers. And, would we know, her burden, we must go. Fort from the vale, and ere the sun-strokes slacken. Stand at a moorland's edge and gaze, across the hush and blaze, of the clear burning Verdant summer bracken, for in that sober flame is writ July's own name, the ineffectual numbed sweet of passion at its heat.