Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

“For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought to me about eleven, so much the better. Tea should be taken in solitude.”

C. S. Lewis, “Surprised by Joy”
Today’s poem is by William Wordsworth

O Nightingale!
Thou Surely Art

by William Wordsworth

O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art
A creature of a ‘fiery heart’:-
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing’st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come-at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed – and cooed:
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song — the song for me!

Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

A Loving Recipe for a Perfect Cup of Tea

I — willing friend who loves to sit and share

I — grateful heart to have a friend that cares

I — beautiful garden to show us God is near


Today’s poem is my own original free verse poem.

The Savior’s Entreaty
by Kelly F. Barr

My Beloved, why have you turned from me?
Why do you mock, disbelieve, and ignore my word?
Movies, youtube, social media, video games–
Worldly technology consumes your time.
You seek constant entertainment and your own selfish desires;
Rushing from one thing to another, no time to rest–
To rest in my loving embrace nor time to seek my face.

My heart aches for you and I shed tears for you.
I still speak to you, but you do not hear my still, small voice.
The blood I poured out for you means nothing to you;
Bu you still mean everything to me.
The battle raging inside you is real, don’t ignore it.
My stripes still heal, and someday soon I’m coming.
Until then my saints will continue to pray and reach out to you.

For my heart’s desire is that NONE SHOULD PERISH.

Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company.

–Author Unknown

Today I am sharing a poem by one of my favorite poets, Helen Steiner Rice:

On The Wings of Prayer

Just close your eyes and open your heart
And feel your worries and cares depart,
Just yield yourself to the Father above
And let Him hold you secure in His love …
For life on earth grows more involved
With endless problems that can’t be solved –
But God only asks us to do our best,
Then He will “take over” and finish the rest …
So when you are tired, discouraged and blue,
There’s always one door that is open to you –
And that is the door to “The House of Prayer
And you’ll find God waiting to meet you there …
And “The House of Prayer” is no farther away
Than the quiet spot where you kneel and pray –
For the heart is a temple when God is there
As we place ourselves in His loving care …
And He hears every prayer and answers each one
When we pray in His name “Thy Will Be Done” –
And the burdens that seemed too heavy to bear
Are lifted away on “The Wings of a Prayer“.

Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

Social life in the first half of the eighteenth century became more sophisticated as the coffeehouse gave way to the tea garden, a social melting pot where royalty and the masses could promenade together.


The Love Dreams are Made of
by Kelly F. Barr

Your sparkling eyes, your smiling lips,
The touch of your fingertips upon my face,
Your arm round my shoulders–
And I snuggle into my favorite place.

Whispers of love and the scent of your skin
As you lean in to brush my lips with a kiss.
Stolen moments with you are such a treasure;
Filling my heart with unspeakable bliss.

Tea and Poetry

For if I could please myself I would always
live as I lived there. I would choose always to
breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk
by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup
of good tea or coffee could be brought to me
about eleven, so much the better. Tea should be
taken in solitude.
— C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

Afternoon on a Hill
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
and then start down!

Tea and Poetry

“Thank God for tea! What would the world do
without tea?
How did it exist? I am glad I was not born
before tea.”

—Reverend Sydney Smith


The Exhilaration of the Dance
by Kelly F. Barr

Whenever I hear music with a good beat
I cannot help but tap my feet.
My leg may bounce with my toe’s tap
And my hands may even begin to clap.

I cannot help myself as music fills the air;
I have to get up out of my chair.
My heart lightens as I take the chance
And my lips smile as I begin to dance.

No matter the type of dance I do
In bare feet, stockings, or shoes;
My worries and troubles flee
As my spirit is set free!

Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

Why, the club was just the quietest place in the
world, a place where a woman could run in to
brush her hair and wash her hands, and change
her library book, and have a cup of tea.

Kathleen Thompson Norris,
“Saturday’s Child”

In A Library
by Emily Dickinson

A Precious, mouldering pleasure ’tis
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was certainty,
and Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true:
He lived where dreams were sown.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.

Tea and Poetry

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

“Russian Caravan is a mellow black tea with the smoky flavor of Lapsang Souchong. It is an ideal tea to drink throughout the day.”

A Time to Talk
by Robert Frost

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, “What is it?”
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

Tea and Poetry

Today’s little tea tidbit is:

“The legend of tea’s origin is that it was discovered by Chinese Emperor Shen Nung in 2737 B.C., when a tea leaf accidentally fell into a bowl of hot water.”


Today I was inspired to write an original poem:

Too Long Summer

by Kelly F. Barr

Humidity and rain, humidity and rain,
The things of which this summer are made.
These summer months drag on and on
But I wish they were gone.

No sun and sandy beaches for me
As I prefer to remain burn-free.
Sticky clothes and sweated hair strands
Are more than I care to withstand.

I long for a cool breeze;
Colored leaves on the trees.
Scarecrows, pumpkins, Indian corn,
And gourds filling the horn.

Warm days, chilled nights
are my greatest delights.
The spicy tastes and scents of Fall:
My favorite season of them all.

Tea and Poetry

Teatime is by its very nature a combination

of small luxuries arranged in social symmetry.

And although tea for one is certainly a fine

thing, the addition of a circle of dear friends to

share it with ensures the whole is larger than

its parts

                                                                                          Author Unknown

Today’s poem is by Robert Frost:

Love and a Question

A stranger came to the door at eve,
And he spoke the bridegroom fair.
He bore a green-white stick in his hand,
And, for all burden, care.
He asked with the eyes more than the lips
For a shelter for the night,
And he turned and looked at the road afar
Without a window light.

The bridegroom came forth into the porch
With “Let us look at the sky,
And question what of the night to be,
Stranger, you and I.”
The woodbine leaves littered the yard,
The woodbine berries were blue,
Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind;
“Stranger, I wish I knew.”

Within, the bride in the dusk alone
Bent over the open fire,
Her face rose-red with the glowing coal
And the thought of her heart’s desire.
The bridegroom looked at the weary road,
Yet saw but her within,
And wished her heart in a case of gold
and pinned with a silver pin.

The bridegroom thought it little to give
A dole of bread, a purse,
A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God,
Or for the rich a curse;
But whether or not a man was asked
To mar the love of two
By harboring woe in the bridal house,
The bridegroom wished he knew.