“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Simplicity
Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou, shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-defying swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
'Twixt the turtle and his queen;
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.
Property was thus appall'd,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was call'd.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either-neither,
Simple were so well compounded.
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supreme and stars of love;
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS.
Beauty, truth, and rarity.
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclos'd in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:--
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be:
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
- William Shakespeare, "The Phoenix and the Turtle" (1601)
Is there anything worth dying for, I ask? Show me why I should give up my life. I feel this Gift from God is like a cask That too soon emptied functions like a wife
Who pledges love, then treats it like a task, Or welches on an honorable bet –– Reneging, shameless, insolent to bask Truculent –– a Booby Trap to Let.
How ironic to be born just to regret Duty’s dreary dictates spelling Doom –– Years of preparation to beget Impossible demands shrouded in gloom.
No innocence should be required to cede Great future hopes to selfish monsters’ greed.
I leant upon a coppice gate ___ When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter's dregs made desolate ___ The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky ___ Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh ___ Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be ___ The Century's corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, ___ The wind his death-lament. The ancient pulse of germ and birth ___ Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth ___ Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among ___ The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong ___ Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, ___ In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul ___ Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings ___ Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things ___ Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through ___ His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew ___ And I was unaware.
Parked beside a lane with lilies lined Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields Carrying buckets to our task resigned. Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil. Gleefully we gather berries kissed By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil. Edible, these gems that fill our pails Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat. Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails. It knows behind our stated urge to eat, Each one of us who picks collects delights Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed. To turn, turn will be our delight, ' Til by turning, turning we come round right.
'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return, 'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn, And when we expect of others what we try to live each day, Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed. To turn, turn will be our delight, 'Til by turning, turning we come round right.
'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be, ' Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me", And when we hear what others really think and really feel, Then we'll all live together with a love that is real.
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed. To turn, turn will be our delight, ' Til by turning, turning we come round right.
I reason earth is short ––
ReplyDeleteAnd Anguish absolule ––
And many hurt.
But what of that?
I reason we could die ––
The best Vitality
Cannot excel Decay.
But what of that?
I reasin than in Heaven ––
Somehow it will be even ––
A new Equation give
But what of that?
~ Emily Dickinsin (1830-1886)
__________ Is It Worth Dying? __________
ReplyDeleteIs there anything worth dying for, I ask?
Show me why I should give up my life.
I feel this Gift from God is like a cask
That too soon emptied functions like a wife
Who pledges love, then treats it like a task,
Or welches on an honorable bet ––
Reneging, shameless, insolent to bask
Truculent –– a Booby Trap to Let.
How ironic to be born just to regret
Duty’s dreary dictates spelling Doom ––
Years of preparation to beget
Impossible demands shrouded in gloom.
No innocence should be required to cede
Great future hopes to selfish monsters’ greed.
~ FreeThinke
____ The Darkling Thrush ___
ReplyDeleteI leant upon a coppice gate
___ When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
___ The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
___ Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
___ Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
___ The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
___ The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
___ Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
___ Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
___ The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
___ Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
___ In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
___ Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
___ Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
___ Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
___ His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
___ And I was unaware.
~ Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
__________ A Minor Bird __________
ReplyDeleteI have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.
And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.
~ Robert Frost (1874-1963)
___________ Picking Berries ___________
ReplyDeleteParked beside a lane with lilies lined
Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields
Carrying buckets to our task resigned.
Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields
In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist
Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil.
Gleefully we gather berries kissed
By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil.
Edible, these gems that fill our pails
Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat.
Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails.
It knows behind our stated urge to eat,
Each one of us who picks collects delights
Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
~ FreeThinke - The Sandpiper
________ SIMPLE GIFTS ________
ReplyDelete'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight, '
Til by turning, turning we come round right.
'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,
And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,
Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right.
'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be, '
Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me",
And when we hear what others really think and really feel,
Then we'll all live together with a love that is real.
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight, '
Til by turning, turning we come round right.
~ Elder Joseph Brackett (composed 1848)