Wordless Words
I have so much to say, but no words to say it with.
So I shouldn’t even be saying anything, I guess.
Soon….soon, words will come. Then I will gobble them up wordily.
Thanksgiving.
So much to be thankful for.
Thank you, LORD, for your unfailing love, truth, and righteousness.
When I Have Fears – John Keats
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love,-then on the shore
Od the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
A Man’s a Man for a’ That – Robert Burns
Is there for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a’ that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’that, and a’that,
Our toils obscure, and a’that;
The rank is but the guinea-stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that!
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey and a’that;
Gie fools their skills, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, and a’ that;
The honest man, though e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that!
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that:
His riband, star, and a’ that.
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at a’ that!
A prince can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a’ that,
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their dignities, and a’ that,
The pith o’ sense, and pride o’ worth,
Are higher ranks than a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may -
As come it will for a’ that -
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, and a’ that;
For a’ that, and a’ that,
It’s comin’ yet for a’ that,
That man to ma, the world o’er,
Shall brithers be for a’ that!
The Clod and the Pebble – William Blake
“Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble in the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
“Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”
Selections from “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinkling lull the distant folds;
Save that from younder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
…
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death?
…
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
…
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
…
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
“Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.”
…
(emphasis added)
Poetry According to Samuel Johnson
“Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with beauty by calling imagination to the help of reason.”
On a Certain Lady at Court – Alexander Pope
I know the thing that’s most uncommon;
(Envy be silent, and attend!)
I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.
Not warp’d by passion, awed by rumour,
Not grave through pride, or gay through folly;
An equal mixture of good-humour,
And sensible soft melancholy.
“Has she no faults then (Envy says), Sir?”
Yes, she has one, I must aver;
When all the world conspires to praise her, -
The woman’s deaf, and does not hear.
To Althea, from Prison – Richard Lovelace
When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates:
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye;
The gods that wanton lie in the air,
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud, how good
He is, how great should be;
Enlarged winds that curl the Flood,
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
From “Essays” by Francis Bacon
To spend too much time in studies, is sloth: to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgement wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar: they perfect anture, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by exoerience.
Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom; without them and above them, won by observation.
Untitled
Yesterday afternoon, it stormed. Thunder, lightning, heavy rain, black clouds, ah! it was so delicious.
While standing atop a rock on a point of land jutting into Lake Bemidji, I was able to see the clouds behind me sweep across the sky. It was like a battle with no fight. The darkness just took over. Quickly.
It made me wonder if that is how easily I would surrender.
I love walking in rain. I think it is the complete abandon, the feeling that if I am to get wet, I might as well get soaked, that I enjoy. The spontaneity of storms or rain showers is also wonderful.
The power that comes from feeling powerless is perhaps one of my favorite things about being in a storm. It is as if I become part of the wind and rain, a meaningless drop of water, yet I am somehow then more powerful than my normal self.
Hmmm. I guess I just like puddle-jumping!
I want another storm
