Sunday, April 26, 2009
Let such pure hate still underprop, by Henry David Thoreau
Let such pure hate still underprop
Our love, that we may be
Each other's conscience,
And have our sympathy
Mainly from thence.
We'll one another treat like gods,
And all the faith we have
In virtue and in truth, bestow
On either, and suspicion leave
To gods below.
Two solitary stars--
Unmeasured systems far
Between us roll;
But by our conscious light we are
Determined to one pole.
What need confound the sphere?--
Love can afford to wait;
For it no hour's too late
That witnesseth one duty's end,
Or to another doth beginning lend.
It will subserve no use,
More than the tints of flowers;
Only the independent guest
Frequents its bowers,
Inherits its bequest.
No speech, though kind, has it;
But kinder silence doles
Unto its mates;
By night consoles,
By day congratulates.
What saith the tongue to tongue?
What hearest ear of ear?
By the decrees of fate
From year to year,
Does it communicate.
Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns;
No trivial bridge of words,
Or arch of boldest span,
Can leap the moat that girds
The sincere man.
No show of bolts and bars
Can keep the foeman out,
Or 'scape his secret mine,
Who entered with the doubt
That drew the line.
No warder at the gate
Can let the friendly in;
But, like the sun, o'er all
He will the castle win,
And shine along the wall.
There's nothing in the world I know
That can escape from love,
For every depth it goes below,
And every height above.
It waits, as waits the sky,
Until the clouds go by,
Yet shines serenely on
With an eternal day,
Alike when they are gone,
And when they stay.
Implacable is Love--
Foes may be bought or teased
From their hostile intent,
But he goes unappeased
Who is on kindness bent.
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Coleridge, Wordsworth . . .
Jeez Alice - you must've wandered into the Romantics section.
Keats is the guy I like best. Aside from that "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" thing and that Nightingale stuff, he gives us this:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with how to load and bless
With fruit the vine that round the thatch-eves runs.
- from "To Autumn"
(That's all I can remember for sure right now)
We'll send in a search party if you're not out of the library in a couple of weeks.
xo
Jeez Alice - you must've wandered into the Romantics section.
Keats is the guy I like best. Aside from that "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" thing and that Nightingale stuff, he gives us this:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with how to load and bless
With fruit the vine that round the thatch-eves runs.
- from "To Autumn"
(That's all I can remember for sure right now)
We'll send in a search party if you're not out of the library in a couple of weeks.
xo
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with how to load and bless
With fruit the vine that round the thatch-eves runs.
- from "To Autumn"
That is lovely...
xo
-Alice
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with how to load and bless
With fruit the vine that round the thatch-eves runs.
- from "To Autumn"
That is lovely...
xo
-Alice
Shit - I misquoted the Keats. The fourth line should read, "the vines that 'round the thatch-eves run." So those four lines really show a true abab rhyme scheme.
Now I feel better.
Now I feel better.
You're funny, ellwort.. :)
I wish I even knew poetry that well....Maybe just Shel Silverstein...a little...
an excerpt
Sister for sale!
Sister for sale!
One crying, spying young sister for sale!
xox,
:)
I wish I even knew poetry that well....Maybe just Shel Silverstein...a little...
an excerpt
Sister for sale!
Sister for sale!
One crying, spying young sister for sale!
xox,
:)
Here's where most of us start out with the solace of poetry:
Sticks and stones
May break my bones,
But names will never
Hurt me.
Not entirely true, but when you're a little kid and you've been picked on at the playground, maybe an older sib comforts you with this condensed and sonorous (even if it doesn't quite scan) cup of wisdom when you get home.
Hey! We're going to San Francisco! Do we really have to put some flour in our hair?
http://tinysong.com/3b5w
Sticks and stones
May break my bones,
But names will never
Hurt me.
Not entirely true, but when you're a little kid and you've been picked on at the playground, maybe an older sib comforts you with this condensed and sonorous (even if it doesn't quite scan) cup of wisdom when you get home.
Hey! We're going to San Francisco! Do we really have to put some flour in our hair?
http://tinysong.com/3b5w
HAHAHA!
Yes, and the SF border patrol is very strict on this...Visitors MUST wear flour in their hair...
:)
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Yes, and the SF border patrol is very strict on this...Visitors MUST wear flour in their hair...
:)
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