Want the change. Be inspired by the flame where everything shines as it disappears. The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much as the curve of the body as it turns away. What locks itself in sameness has congealed. Is it safer to be gray and numb? What turns hard becomes rigid and is easily [...]
The memory of you emerges from the night around me. The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea. Deserted like the wharves at dawn. It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart. Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked. In you the wars [...]
It is the essence of poetry to spring, like the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past, and refuse all history. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Representative Men
WHEN we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow— It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, [...]
O LIFE! what letts thee from a quicke decease? O death! what drawes thee from a present praye? My feast is done, my soule would be at ease, My grace is saide; O death! come take awaye. I live, but such a life as ever dyes; I dye, but such a death as never endes; [...]
GRAND is the seen, the light, to me—grand are the sky and stars, Grand is the earth, and grand are lasting time and space, And grand their laws, so multiform, puzzling, evolutionary; But grander far the unseen soul of me, comprehending, endowing all those, Lighting the light, the sky and stars, delving the earth, sailing [...]
TO God, the everlasting, who abides, One Life within things infinite that die: To Him whose unity no thought divides: Whose breath is breathèd through immensity. Him neither eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard; Nor reason, seated in the souls of men, Though pondering oft on the mysterious word, Hath e’er revealed His Being [...]
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 heap’d for the belovèd’s bed: And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. Percy Shelley
NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light And the lanthorn [...]
SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair’d the nameless grace Which [...]
