.

And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again? Archilochus

Friday, August 14, 2020

 

5 comments:

Franco Aragosta said...

A great favorite –– for decades a source of wisdom, comfort, encouragement and reassurance in times of perpllexity and doubt. Though Max Ehrmann made no direct reference to religion and omits any mention of Christ, his words have served only to bolster my faith in truth of the Scriptures. I see no incompatibility there.

Though I've been aware of Desiderata since childhood, I never knew till recently that Max Ehrmann was nice, gentle Midwestern man of German extraction who practiced law in Terre hat, Indiana. He was, however, a graduate of both De Pauw and Harvard Universities.

Dsiderata, generally classified as a prose-poem, was first published in 1927. I love it for the pithiness, gentleness and great kindness of its distilled wisdom.

Thanks for publishing it, Farmer, though I did not care for the heavy, lugubrious, rather depressing tone of this particular presentation.

Gert said...

You mean 'Terre Haute, Indiana', you twit.

Franco Aragosta said...

It was Terre HAUTE, indeed. Thank you for the correction. Between legal blindness and recurrent focal dystonia in my right hand it has become increasingly difficult to produce good clean copy.

By the way i just occurred to me that Terre Haute is French for HIGH GROUND.

Had YOU thought of that?

At any rate Max Ehrmann's most famous thoughts certainly do occupy a moral, spiritual and intellectual "High Ground," bless his sweet heart!

Franco Aragosta said...

[W]hatsoever things are true,
whatsoever things are honest,
whatsoever things are just,
whatsoever things are pure,
whatsoever things are lovely,
whatsoever things are of good report;
if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.


~ St. Paul - Philippians 4:8 (KJV)

Franco Aragosta said...

___________ A Lady ___________

You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours.
My vigour is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you. 


~ Amy Lowell (1874-1925)