Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: And love is fire. And when I say at need I love thee … mark! … I love thee—in thy sight I stand transfigured, glorified aright, With conscience of the new rays that proceed Out of my face toward thine. There’s nothing low In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures Who love God, God accepts while loving so. And what I feel, across the inferior features Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show How that great work of Love enhances Nature’s.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnet 10 - Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
Isn’t this something wonderful? It’s wonderful because the things I imagine can be quite wonderful. It’s wonderful because the possibility of something other than reality is wonderful. It’s also wonderful because it validates our most buried thoughts, which aren’t quite so wonderful. But maybe, like Picasso says, we are not as crazy as we’d judge us to be.
It’s also not so wonderful, it’s not so wonderful because some things I imagine are not so wonderful, and I hate to think that these things are real too. Sometimes, when I’m not so careful or controlled with my thoughts, when they go on autopilot, I have this recurring thought that pops up without prompting, it goes something like: i love you, don’t go. And I have no idea whom I am saying this to. Everything in my ‘real’ life is in order and no one is going as far as I know. Yet it comes up again and again. This probably sounds a little crazy, but (though maybe I’m just desperately clinging to strings here) I honestly think that everyone has these kind of thoughts once in a while, floating around and unattached to any sort of justification, which we use to tie around so many silly things—in any case, it could just be that some people (intentionally or not) don’t quite catch them as they flies by.
Because have you ever tried to really pay attention to how much you think in a given minute? It goes lightening fast. If you typed it all up the words would run down the street before you could see the commas. Is it so impossible that in those infinite thoughts, that one or two are churned out as ‘defective’, so to speak? And by ‘defective’ here I mean irrational, not built on rhymes—though whether they are any less real…
In honor of spring coming…(i was going to put up From you have I been absent in the spring, by William Shakespeare, but that one’s too sad to go with spring.) this one is so cute, I want to read it to a little kid. That last stanza sounds a little jarring to me, a little too violent, I wonder if I’m reading too much into things or if it’s really as sinister as I feel it is.
EDIT: i just looked up an interpretation of this poem and it said:
The poem attacks false virtues worshipped by individuals and society as a whole. Virtues like pity, mercy, humility etc. are elements of society’s balancing mechanisms which are under permanent threat of being destabilised by self-induced problems.
I didn’t bother reading the rest, haha. I think it’s a work of art when critics can abstract meaning out of a work, but I don’t have enough interest in this interpretation, let it remain a child-readable rhyme to me! though this interpretation DID categorize the atmosphere as sinister…how about that
Sound the Flute! Now it’s mute. Birds delight Day and Night Nightingale In the dale Lark in Sky Merrily Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year
Little Boy Full of joy, Little Girl Sweet and small, Cock does crow So do you. Merry voice Infant noise Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year
Little Lamb Here I am. Come and lick My white neck. Let me pull Your soft Wool. Let me kiss Your soft face Merrily Merrily we welcome in the Year -William Black, Spring
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.
This kind of reminds me of the outfit I had on last week,
white oxford shirt over purple minidress, black vest, black tie, dark, purple tinted blazer, white knee socks, and purple flats.
As I was walking that day I thought, these are approaching the last days when I can get away with these outfits, can’t do schoolgirl out in the real world! Though I love me a costume-y outfit, even I know there’s a limit…
“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”—(via eecummings)
I had to call hp for 2pointfucking5 hours last night in order to get a replacement battery that they’re supposed to cover under warranty. Then I went to the library until 12:40 to read, and i still have readings for law school, experimental econ, and a pset for labor due tomo. And I have no free time until 6. fml
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
This poem came up twice today. First, in philosophy reading, regarding the line, love “which alters when it alteration finds”. If Zeus presumably took on all the qualities of a woman’s husband and sleeps with her, she should theoretically not object, because he’s got all the qualities of a man she loves. Yet most people would object strongly. So even if there is no “alteration”, can love alter? And if it can, then on what criteria is it using for altering? Secondly, a friend posted it on facebook. Haha. I think she’s going through some tumultuous things on her own right now, and I wonder if she truly believes this poem’s premise or if she reads it ironically and with a hint of cynicism. For my part, I think it’s too quick to judge, who’s to say a short time of love, which comes to a close because the two people fall out of its spell, is not true love? If a love ends, does that automatically make it a “false” love? Or can it still stand in its own right?
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose Worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved
“All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.”—picture of dorian gray