The Starlight Night
I'm going to heavily ignore all tempting comments on Nietzsche and The Incredibles, since A) my wandering interest has moved on to other topics, and B) I'm not qualified to remark further without devoting additional research and thought to the matter, the which I am not presently willing to undertake, because of "A".
"A" is the case because I am at that point (in the seasonal patterns of my mental landscape) when the charm of ratio has waned, and the allure of the purely sensual is waxing. The concert probably brought it on. Understand then that it is spring in my anima, and never mind that the calendar reads December 24th. I won't attempt to explain further, nor will I apologize. It'll be winter again before you know it, probably including lots of doctrine, since the next two books on my docket are All Things for Good and The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, both by Puritans.
But right now, it is April. Farewell, therefore, Nietzsche. Welcome to Isaiah, the Song of Songs, treatises on Beauty, disputes (held in mild and mellifluous tones) on aesthetics, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. The lattermost is responsible for this bit of lovely stuff, as delicately balanced as a gyro, and full of breathless sounds.
The Starlight Night
Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies!
O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air!
The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!
Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'-eyes!
The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies!
Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare!
Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare!
Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prise.
Buy then! bid then!--What?-- Prayer, patience, alms, vows.
Look, look: a May-mess, like on orchard boughs!
Look! March-bloom, like on mealed-with-yellow sallows!
These are indeed the barn; withindoors house
The shocks. This piece-bright paling shuts the spouse
Christ home, Christ and his mother and all his hallows.
It doesn't make sense? Well, puzzle over it a bit. At the very least read it aloud and roll the sounds on your tongue. Was there ever such a gorgeous thing as rhythm well sprung?
"A" is the case because I am at that point (in the seasonal patterns of my mental landscape) when the charm of ratio has waned, and the allure of the purely sensual is waxing. The concert probably brought it on. Understand then that it is spring in my anima, and never mind that the calendar reads December 24th. I won't attempt to explain further, nor will I apologize. It'll be winter again before you know it, probably including lots of doctrine, since the next two books on my docket are All Things for Good and The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, both by Puritans.
But right now, it is April. Farewell, therefore, Nietzsche. Welcome to Isaiah, the Song of Songs, treatises on Beauty, disputes (held in mild and mellifluous tones) on aesthetics, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. The lattermost is responsible for this bit of lovely stuff, as delicately balanced as a gyro, and full of breathless sounds.
The Starlight Night
Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies!
O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air!
The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!
Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'-eyes!
The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies!
Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare!
Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare!
Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prise.
Buy then! bid then!--What?-- Prayer, patience, alms, vows.
Look, look: a May-mess, like on orchard boughs!
Look! March-bloom, like on mealed-with-yellow sallows!
These are indeed the barn; withindoors house
The shocks. This piece-bright paling shuts the spouse
Christ home, Christ and his mother and all his hallows.
It doesn't make sense? Well, puzzle over it a bit. At the very least read it aloud and roll the sounds on your tongue. Was there ever such a gorgeous thing as rhythm well sprung?
posted by Praelucor at 11:41 AM
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