Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on. Considered a poetic fragment, I find these two verses by Shelley complete in their simplicity. Unlike …
Continue reading Poetry: Shelley – Music, When Soft Voices Die
The age demanded that we singAnd cut away our tongue.The age demanded that we flowAnd hammered in the bung.The age demanded that we danceAnd jammed us into iron pants.And in the end the age was handedThe sort of shit that it demanded. The amusing thing about this poem is that I cannot tell exactly which …
In the waiting and holding out in this bleak world, we find that we have hope and that we are not alone.
When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to …
Continue reading Poetry: Milton – When I consider how my light is spent
When my love swears that she is made of truth,I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutored youth,Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,Although she knows my days are past the best,Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:On both sides thus is simple …
Madelyn Rose Craig 