Poem Molly recited for us, she wanted to know who wrote it. I had a little ‘goolge’ and found two different versions of the same poem. The first was in some letters written by Van Gogh to his brother. The second version I found in someone’s blog.

Autumn by Jules Breton.

The river slowly flows. Beside the bank,

Its waters murmer round the old alder stumps

Tinted blood red, tall yellow poplars

Cast their golden leaves among the paler reeds.

The light wind weaves to its moving net -

Bright silver wrinkles, leaving those dark spots

In which the trees drop cones and canopies

Trembling as if shaken by a host of birds.

From time to time, a thrushes thi cry,

And plunging from an overhead bough

A  jewel sparkles in the clear air.

A sharp call draws out its strident notes

A Kingfisher, spreading on burning wing.

A furtive streak of emerald and fire.

                            -------------

2nd version.

The river flows slowly by. It’s waters

Murmer, near the bank, to the old alder stumps

Stained with blood; tall yellow poplers

Sow their golden leaves among the blond reeds.

The gentle wind swirls across

Its clear silver ripples, leaving dark areas

Where the trees, dipping their canopies and cones,

Tremble, as though shaken by a thousand birds.

Here and there repeats the shrill cry of the thrush

And, launched briskly from the river grass,

A jewel-like shimmer in the clear blue air;

A piercing song holds a strident note;

It’s the kingfisher which flies on an earnest wing

In fleeting ray of emerald and fire.