Lo! where the Moon along the skySails with her happy destiny;Oft is she hid from mortal eyeOr dimly seen,But when the clouds asunder flyHow bright her mien! Far different we—a froward race,Thousands though rich in Fortune's graceWith cherished sullenness of paceTheir way pursue,Ingrates who wear a smileless faceThe whole year through. If kindred humours e'er …
A least a dozen people in the last year or so have told me that I HAVE to read Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. So I finally bought a copy, and a couple of weeks ago, I sat down to read it. Thankfully, I read the inside cover first, which informed me that this was …
Continue reading Review: Till We Have Faces & Cupid and Psyche
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.
