Except you enthrall me, never shall I be free

Except you enthrall me, never shall I be free

The Woman in White

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Form your eyes by closing them.

[jan. 7e, 2020||12:26 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

weird

]

Comment to be added. I'll almost certainly add you back.

Lien

{~42 fools

Beware of the cliff~}

Into the crystal chalice of the soul
Is falling, drop by drop, Life's blending mead.
The pleasant waters of our childhood speed
And enter first; and Love pours in its whole
Deep flood of tenderness and gall. There roll
The drops of sweet and bitter that proceed
From wedded trustfulness, and hearts that bleed
For children that outrun us to the goal,
And later come the calmer joys of age--
The restful streams of quietude that flow
Around their fading lives, whose heritage
Is whitened locks and voice serene and low.
These added blessings round the vessel up--
Death is the overflowing of the cup.

~Andrew B. Saxton

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

A Fairy Tale

[mar. 18e, 2008||01:47 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

calm

]

( The Little Match Girl )

Lien

{~1 fool

Beware of the cliff~}

Ursula K. LeGuin

[mar. 18e, 2008||01:29 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

contemplative

]

( The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas )

Lien

{~2 fools

Beware of the cliff~}

Sonnet -- To Science

[mar. 18e, 2008||12:45 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

lethargic

]

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or deem thee wise?
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Has thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

~Edgar Allan Poe

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Upveiled in yonder dim ethereal sea,
Its airy towers the work of phantom spells,
A viewless belfry tolls its wizard bells.
Pealed o'er this populous earth perpetually.
Some hear, some hear them not; but aye they be
Laden with one strange note that sinks or swells,
Now dread as doom, now gentle as farewells,
Time's dirge borne ever toward eternity.
Each hour in measured breath sobs out and dies,
While the bell tolls its requiem,--"Passing, past,"--
The sole sad burden of their long refrain.
Still, with those hours each pang, each pleasure flies,
Brief sweet, brief bitter,--all our days are vain,
Knolled into dread forgetfulness at last.

~Paul Hamilton Hayne

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Friedrich Nietzsche

[mar. 18e, 2008||04:16 am]

[

I'm feeling slightly

No sleep...

]

In the horizon of the infinite.— We have left the land and have embarked! We have burned our bridges behind us—indeed, we have gone further and destroyed the land behind us! Now, little ship, look out! Beside you is the ocean: to be sure, it does not always roar, and at times it lies spread out like silk and gold and reveries of graciousness. But hours will come when you will realize that it is infinite and that there is nothing more awesome than infinity. Oh, the poor bird that felt free and now strikes the walls of this cage! Woe, when you feel homesick for the land as if it had offered more freedom—and there is no longer any "land"!

--------------------------------------------------------------

These words haunt me.

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Acquainted With the Night

[mar. 18e, 2008||04:04 am]

[

I'm feeling slightly

insomnimaniacal

]

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

~Robert Frost

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

To the Rose Upon the Rood of Time

[mar. 17e, 2008||04:19 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

loved

]

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

Come near, come near, come near - Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

~W.B. Yeats

Lien

{~2 fools

Beware of the cliff~}

Holy Sonnet XIV

[mar. 16e, 2008||07:20 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

contemplative

]

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

~John Donne

Lien

{~2 fools

Beware of the cliff~}

my mind is

[fév. 20e, 2008||08:19 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

blank

]

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell
and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal
tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of chrome and ex
-ecute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am becoming
something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet bellowings.

~e.e. cummings

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Poem Written in the Toilets with a Knife on the Wall

[fév. 11e, 2008||07:43 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

good

]

Put out the star
At the edge of the bed
Milky white
Horizontal
Lovely bitterness
Are you sleeping
Mouth of autumn
Your breasts burned
The night is nude
Where there murmurs
An unknown tongue
In my ear
My orange oh
My foreigner
You my madness
And my woods
I am the wolf
Devouring you
The dogs who
Lick your feet
Listen from the
Bottom of me
My tempest
Rising towards you
I have the name of you
Anger of you
The immense jolt
Of loving
Here is the moment
Of fear
And the marvel
The shout about
To shout to shout
To shout to shout
Shout
Shout
I am I am
I am
DYING
I am dying

~Louis Aragon

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Cat, if you go outdoors, you must walk in the snow.
You will come back with little white shoes on your feet,
little white shoes of snow that have heels of sleet.
Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low,
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
so white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet --
stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.

Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night,
strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore,
and more than cats move, lit by our eyes' green light,
on silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar --
Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
and things that are yet to be done. Open the door!

~Elizabeth Coatsworth

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

Leda and the Swan

[jan. 16e, 2008||07:31 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

ecstatic

]

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? A
nd how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

~W.B. Yeats

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

I Thought Once How Theocritus Had Sung

[jan. 13e, 2008||09:20 pm]

[	Tags	\|	poetry	]
[	I'm feeling slightly	\|	exanimate	]

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, --
"Guess now who holds thee?" "Death," I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love."

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Lien

{~2 fools

Beware of the cliff~}

Night Is My Sister, and How Deep in Love	[jan. 10e, 2008\|\|07:29 pm]
Night is my sister, and how deep in love, How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore, There to be fretted by the drag and shove At the tide's edge, I lie — these things and more: Whose arm alone between me and the sand, Whose voice alone, whose pitiful breath brought near, Could thaw these nostrils and unlock this hand, She could advise you, should you care to hear. Small chance, however, in a storm so black, A man will leave his friendly fire and snug For a drowned woman's sake, and bring her back To drip and scatter shells upon the rug. No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, Watches beside me in this windy place. ~Edna St. Vincent Millay
Lien	{~Beware of the cliff~}

The Sheep-Child

[jan. 3e, 2008||07:50 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

groggy

]

Farm boys wild to couple

With anything with soft-wooded trees

With mounds of earth mounds

Of pinestraw will keep themselves off

Animals by legends of their own:

In the hay-tunnel dark

And dung of barns, they will

Say I have heard tell

That in a museum in Atlanta

Way back in a corner somewhere

There’s this thing that’s only half

Sheep like a woolly baby

Pickled in alcohol because

Those things can’t live. his eyes

Are open but you can’t stand to look

I heard from somebody who ...

But this is now almost all

Gone. The boys have taken

Their own true wives in the city,

The sheep are safe in the west hill

Pasture but we who were born there

Still are not sure. Are we,

Because we remember, remembered

In the terrible dust of museums?

Merely with his eyes, the sheep-child may

Be saying saying

I am here, in my father’s house.

I who am half of your world, came deeply

To my mother in the long grass

Of the west pasture, where she stood like moonlight

Listening for foxes. It was something like love

From another world that seized her

From behind, and she gave, not lifting her head

Out of dew, without ever looking, her best

Self to that great need. Turned loose, she dipped her face

Farther into the chill of the earth, and in a sound

Of sobbing of something stumbling

Away, began, as she must do,

To carry me. I woke, dying,

In the summer sun of the hillside, with my eyes

Far more than human. I saw for a blazing moment

The great grassy world from both sides,

Man and beast in the round of their need,

And the hill wind stirred in my wood,

My hoof and my hand clasped each other,

I ate my one meal

Of milk, and died

Staring. From dark grass I came straight

To my father’s house, whose dust

Whirls up in the halls for no reason

When no one comes piling deep in a hellish mild corner,

And, through my immortal waters,

I meet the sun’s grains eye

To eye, and they fail at my closet of glass.

Dead, I am most surely living

In the minds of farm boys: I am he who drives

Them like wolves from the hound bitch and calf

And from the chaste ewe in the wind.

They go into woods into bean fields they go

Deep into their known right hands. Dreaming of me,

They groan they wait they suffer

Themselves, they marry, they raise their kind.

~James Dickey

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

The Listeners

[déc. 28e, 2007||07:57 pm]

[

I'm feeling slightly

weird

]

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champ'd the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
'Is there anybody there?' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Lean'd over and look'd into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplex'd and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirr'd and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starr'd and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
'Tell them I came, and no one answer'd,
That I kept my word,' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

~Walter de la Mare

Lien

{~Beware of the cliff~}

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