Monday, February 23, 2015

Lost Origins

No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

It's flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn't keep up with it,
Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes...
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.
- Alan Alexander Milne, "Wind on the Hill"

5 comments:

  1. _________ TOYLAND _________

    When you've grown up, my dears,
    And are as old as I,
    You'll often ponder on the years
    That roll so swiftly by, my dears,
    That roll so swiftly by.

    And all the many lands
    You will have journeyed through
    You'll oft recall,
    The best of all,
    The land your childhood knew
    Your childhood knew.

    Toyland, toyland,
    Little girl and boy land,
    While you dwell within it,
    You are ever happy then.
    Childhood, joyland,
    Mystic merry toyland,
    Once you pass its borders,
    You can ne'er return again
    .

    ~ Victor Herbert (1903)

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  2. Where I come from
    Nobody knows ––
    Where I'm going
    Everyone goes.
    The wind blows ––
    The sea flows ––
    And nobody knows.



    ~ Robert Nathan, Portrait of Jennie

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  3. Could it be
    We need our fantasies
    And fond illusions
    More than we need
    Mundane reality?

    Did ancient astronauts
    Visit Earth aeons ago,
    Plant Colonies - perform
    Wondrous Feats of Engineering
    Still unexplained?

    The eternal Mystery of
    The Pyramids - The Sphinx
    Stonehenge - Gigantic Chalk Figures,
    Discernible only from great heights -
    Easter Island - Machu Pichu?

    The Origin of Man -
    The miracles of Music -
    Painting - Sculpture -
    Poetry and Thought.

    The Star of Bethlehem -
    The Virgin Birth - The Magi -
    Betrayal, Death and Resurrection?

    Patterns of Migration?
    Courtship Rituals?
    Attachment - Dependency -
    Illness - Abandonment -
    Grief - Tedium -
    Decline - Decay -

    The eternal Search
    For Acceptance - Appreciation -
    Affection - Understanding -

    ESCAPE!


    ~ FreeThinke

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  4. _________ Lucy Gray _________

    Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
    And, when I crossed the wild,
    I chanced to see at break of day
    The solitary child.

    No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
    She dwelt on a wide moor,
    --The sweetest thing that ever grew
    Beside a human door!

    You yet may spy the fawn at play,
    The hare upon the green;
    But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
    Will never more be seen.

    “To-night will be a stormy night—
    You to the town must go;
    And take a lantern, Child, to light
    Your mother through the snow.”

    “That, Father! will I gladly do:
    ’Tis scarcely afternoon—
    The minster-clock has just struck two,
    And yonder is the moon!”

    At this the Father raised his hook,
    And snapped a faggot-band;
    He plied his work;—and Lucy took
    The lantern in her hand.

    Not blither is the mountain roe:
    With many a wanton stroke
    Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
    That rises up like smoke.

    The storm came on before its time:
    She wandered up and down;
    And many a hill did Lucy climb:
    But never reached the town.

    The wretched parents all that night
    Went shouting far and wide;
    But there was neither sound nor sight
    To serve them for a guide.

    At day-break on a hill they stood
    That overlooked the moor;
    And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
    A furlong from their door.

    They wept—and, turning homeward, cried,
    “In heaven we all shall meet;”
    —When in the snow the mother spied
    The print of Lucy’s feet.

    Then downwards from the steep hill’s edge
    They tracked the footmarks small;
    And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
    And by the long stone-wall;

    And then an open field they crossed:
    The marks were still the same;
    They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
    And to the bridge they came.

    They followed from the snowy bank
    Those footmarks, one by one,
    Into the middle of the plank;
    And further there were none!

    —Yet some maintain that to this day
    She is a living child;
    That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
    Upon the lonesome wild.

    O’er rough and smooth she trips along,
    And never looks behind;
    And sings a solitary song
    That whistles in the wind.


    ~ William Wordsworth (1799)

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