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Febrero 28, 2009
XXXII
From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
Now - for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart-
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.
A. E. Housman
Posted by sarita at 10:23 PM
The Course
No one on the horizon until you.
You say you once came nearer. Where was I?
What was I listening for?
So headlong under cloud the driven rain.
The blunt stone of the world turns in your hand.
Peter Sacks
Posted by sarita at 10:18 PM
Febrero 7, 2009
Love, who seems so tiny a pebble
Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place in the world's waters, when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, slips in. Whom does Love concern beyond the beloved and the lover? Yet his impact deluges a hundred shores. No doubt the disturbance is really the spirit of the generations, welcoming the new generation, and chafing against the ultimate Fate, who holds all the seas in the palm of her hand. But Love cannot understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he is conscious only of his own--flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble that asks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of space and time. He knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be handed with admiration round the assembly of the gods. 'Men did produce this,' they will say, and, saying, they will give men immortality.
- E. M. Forster, from Howards End
Posted by sarita at 12:30 PM