Eggplant.place

2y

And now I have a sturdy place to go.
A place to watch the forest grow.
Sit long enough, and quiet enough, and you will wonder so:
Who is watching who grow?
#construction #poetry #deconstructing

A bench atop a small chicken coop structure facing a forest. It is sitting in a level built deck as the coop roof slopes rearward.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

304d

Ravens are kekklin’ prophecies o’ woe,
Pyots in black an’ white spiel superstitions,
The rooks mak’ bedlam i’ the elms below,
An’ saft-winged hoolets plan their midnicht missions…

—Helen Cruickshank, “Corstorphine Woods”
pulished in A KIST O SKINKLAN THINGS (ASL, 2017)

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/volumes/a-kist-o-skinlan-things/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #naturewriting

Helen Cruickshank
Corstorphine Woods

Ravens are kekklin’ prophecies o’ woe,
Pyots in black an’ white spiel superstitions,
The rooks mak’ bedlam i’ the elms below,
An’ saft-winged hoolets plan their midnicht missions.

Amang the haws an’ brambles whinchats clink,
The blue-tits flit amang their ferny covers,
The greedy gulls ahint the ploo-tail sink,
An’ hidden cushats croodle low like lovers.

Heich i’ the frosty air, uneirdly cries
Tell that a gaggle o’ wild geese are flightin’—
Luik! there they are against the parchment skies,
Like movin’ brush o’ ancient Chinese writin’.

Near hame, the ruif-heid raws o’ stirlins haud
Their evenin’ guild o’ scandal and o’ chatter,
And sparrows, randy gossips, rogue or jaud,
Scavenge their hindmost crumb wi’ fuss an’ clatter.

And, as I roond the corner, best of a’,
The mavis, singing on my gavel wa’—
Happy am I, altho’ I bide my lane,
To ha’e a singin’ hert that’s a’ my ain.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

304d

Did Odysseus Really Travel All Around the Mediterranean?

"The traditional view of the Odyssey is that Odysseus traveled all over the Mediterranean. Is that really what Homer described?"

https://www.thecollector.com/odysseus-travels-mediterranean/

The Odyssey at PG:

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1727

#books #literature #poetry

" ODYSSEUS LOOKED DOWN AT THE WOODS AND THE SEA." - picryl.com

ALT

Edited 304d ago

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

303d

Some one was singing
Up a twisty stair,
A fragment of a song,
One sweet, spring day,
When twelve o’clock was ringing,
Through the sunny square…

—Marion Angus (1865–1946), “Remembrance Day”
first published in THE LILT AND OTHER VERSES (1922)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #warpoetry #WW1 #RemembranceDay

Remembrance Day
Marion Angus

Some one was singing
Up a twisty stair,
A fragment of a song,
One sweet, spring day,
When twelve o’clock was ringing,
Through the sunny square—

‘There was a lad baith frank and free,
Cam’ doon the bonnie banks o’ Dee
Wi’ tartan plaid and buckled shoon,
An’ he’ll come nae mair to oor toon.—

‘He dwells within a far countree,
Where great ones do him courtesie,
They’ve gien him a golden croon,
An’ he’ll come nae mair to oor toon.’—

No one is singing
Up the twisty stair.
Quiet as a sacrament
The November day.

Can’t you hear it swinging,
The little ghostly air?—
Hear it sadly stray
Through the misty square,
In and out a doorway,
Up a twisty stair—
Tartan plaid and buckled shoon,
He’ll come nae mair to oor toon.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

303d

Hamish Henderson (1919–2002) – poet, soldier, intellectual, activist, songwriter – was born #OTD, 11 Nov. A hugely important figure in Scottish culture, Henderson fought in North Africa & Italy in WW2. A 🎂🧵

There were no gods and precious few heroes…
—“Elegies for the Dead in Cyrenaica”

1/10

#Scottish #literature #HamishHenderson #20thcentury #culture #poetry #poem #warpoetry #WW2 #RemembranceDay

Hamish Henderson
from Elegies for the Dead in Cyrenaica

FIRST ELEGY
End of a Campaign

There are many dead in the brutish desert, who lie uneasy
among the scrub in this landscape of half-wit
stunted ill-will. For the dead land is insatiate
and necrophilous. The sand is blowing about still.
Many who for various reasons, or because of mere unanswerable compulsion, came here
and fought among the clutching gravestones, shivered and sweated,
cried out, suffered thirst, were stoically silent, cursed
the spittering machine-guns, were homesick for Europe
and fast embedded in quicksand of Africa agonised and died.
And sleep now. Sleep here the sleep of the dust.

There were our own, there were the others.
Their deaths were like their lives, human and animal.
There were no gods and precious few heroes.
What they regretted when they died had nothing to do with race and leader, realm indivisible,
laboured Augustan speeches or vague imperial heritage.
(They saw through that guff before the axe fell.) Their longing turned to
the lost world glimpsed in the memory of letters:
an evening at the pictures in the friendly dark,
two knowing conspirators smiling and whispering secrets; or else
a family gathering in the homely kitchen
with Mum so proud of her boys in uniform: their thoughts trembled
between moments of estrangement, and ecstatic moments
of reconciliation: and their desire

ALT

crucified itself against the unutterable shadow of someone
whose photo was in their wallets.
Then death made his incision.

There were our own, there were the others.
Therefore, minding the great word of Glencoe’s
son, that we should not disfigure ourselves
with villainy of hatred; and seeing that all
have gone down like curs into anonymous silence,
I will bear witness for I knew the others.
Seeing that littoral and interior are alike indifferent
and the birds are drawn again to our welcoming north
why should I not sing them, the dead, the innocent?

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

301d

You are a
Multitude
Of embers
Smoldering
In the pitch
Dark, and
I am a
Moth.

#poetry

0 0 1 View Post & Replies See Original

300d

Norman MacCaig (1910–1996) was born #OTD, 14 November. A self-described “Zen Calvinist”, when asked how long it took him to write a poem he would reply “one cigarette – or two for a long one”

A 🎂🧵

“Toad”
published in THE POEMS OF NORMAN MacCAIG (Birlinn, 2009)

1/12

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poems-of-norman-maccaig/

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #20thcentury #NormanMacCaig

Toad
by Norman MacCaig

Stop looking like a purse. How could a purse
squeeze under the rickety door and sit,
full of satisfaction, in a man’s house?

You clamber towards me on your four corners –
right hand, left foot, left hand, right foot.

I love you for being a toad,
for crawling like a Japanese wrestler,
and for not being frightened.

I put you in my purse hand, not shutting it,
and set you down outside directly under
every star.

A jewel in your head? Toad,
you’ve put one in mine,
a tiny radiance in a dark place.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

2y

English poet Agnes Bulmer was born #OTD in 1775.

Bulmer’s most famous work is Messiah's Kingdom, an epic poem consisting of 14 books and over 14,000 lines, written in blank verse. The poem, which took over 9 years to complete, was published in 1833. It is is is probably the longest work in verse ever composed by a woman.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agnes_Bulmer#

Messiah's Kindgdom is available at @internetarchive:
https://archive.org/details/messiahskingdomp00bulm

#books #literature #poetry

Title page of Messiah's Kingdom. A Poem. In Twelve Books. By Agnes Bulmer.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

2y

Hpy Bdy

I am not here.
Not really. And not as you
read these imaginary words
resisting the urge to flee
the page crowded white
words filling every pixel .
Coffee unhelpful in
the face of great opposit
-ions bouncing every where
but where I wish
To be, I must choose

#poem #poetry #poetrycommunity

Site of the poem’s composition, being a cafe overlooking Circular Quay, a shadowed table in the foreground holding a coffee cup and an empty small plate, and in the background the rising buildings of Sydney CBD.

ALT

Edited 2y ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

302d

John Maclean: All that life can give us
19 Nov, University of Stirling – free

Author & poet Henry Bell will discuss his creative & historical work around Scottish socialist John Maclean, followed by an open archive and poetry reading

#Scottish #literature #poetry #history #Labourhistory #socialism #RedClydeside #JohnMaclean

A striking black, red, and white poster for the event

JOHN MACLEAN: ALL THAT LIFE CAN GIVE US.
A TALK BY HENRY BELL

Archives and Special Collections and the Creative Histories Research Group present a talk and poetry reading with award-winning author Henry Bell on
Scottish socialist John Maclean

WEDNESDAY 19* NOVEMBER
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
SYMPOSIUM JISC HUB LEVEL 3, 3-4PM
POETRY READING LEVEL 2, 4-5PM
REFRESHMENTS PROVIDED

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

297d

Look now, look quick – a shooting star!
Make your wish! It’s very far
From here to where the active light
Set out and streaked across a night
In Glasgow’s greatly dark November…

—Edwin Morgan, “Leonids”
in the London Review of Books, June 2000

https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v22/n12/edwin-morgan/four-poems

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #astronomy #leonids #meteor #EdwinMorgan

Leonids
by Edwin Morgan

Look now, look quick – a shooting star!
Make your wish! It’s very far
From here to where the active light
Set out and streaked across a night
In Glasgow’s greatly dark November
To die there, a supernal ember.
What was your wish? You wanted more?
It’s granted! Up there is a store
Of light. It’s breaking now in showers
Not of stars but meteors,
Spark after spark, scattering, dying,
You could send your wishes flying
In thousands, born, reborn, delighting
To be part of that bright sighting
Which disappears and yet appears
Again in our unlonely years.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

298d

Outlaw, fiddler, & folk hero James Macpherson (c.1675–1700) was hanged #OTD, 16 November, for being Romani. Prior to his execution Macpherson composed his famous “Rant”. Macpherson sang this lament on the gallows & smashed his fiddle before meeting his fate

1/7

https://blog.historicenvironment.scot/2022/06/the-loss-of-a-son-jamie-macpherson-and-his-gypsy-heritage/

#Scottish #literature #history #18thcentury #earlymodern #Romani #poem #poetry #song #folksong

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

296d

Smoke in the woods
like someone walking in a silent film
beside the tracks…

—John Burnside, “Signal Stop, Near Horsley”
published in SELECTED POEMS (Cape, 2006)

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/389400/selected-poems-by-burnside-john/9780224078030

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #winter #JohnBurnside

Signal Stop, Near Horsley
John Burnside

Smoke in the woods
like someone walking in a silent film
beside the tracks.

A shape I recognise – not smoke, or not just smoke,
and not just snow on hazels
or fox-trails from the platform to the trees,

but winter, neither friend
nor stranger, like the girl I sometimes glimpse

at daybreak near the crossing, in a dress
of sleet and berries, gazing at the train.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

304d

For those lucky to have the means to buy gifts this holiday season, #MindfulSpending is power.

Do we really need more stuff this year, or should we spend on causes that need support?

We don’t stop billionaires by pouring more money into their pockets. Collectively, we can shift the holiday spend to small businesses, small presses, indie #art #music #poetry #writing, etc.

Imagine that.

#Christmas #Hanukkah #GiftIdeas

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

295d

What are you going to do
With what is left of yourself
Now among the rustling
Of your maybe best years?

—WS Graham, “An Entertainment for WS Graham for Him Having Reached Sixty-Five”

The Modernist romantic poet W.S. Graham (1918–1986) was born #OTD, 19 November

A 🎂 🧵

1/7

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/145184/an-entertainment-for-ws-graham-for-him-having-reached-sixty-five

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #modernism #romanticism #WSGraham

An Entertainment for W.S. Graham for Him Having Reached Sixty-Five
by W. S. Graham

What are you going to do
With what is left of yourself
Now among the rustling
Of your maybe best years?
This is not an auto-elegy
With me pouring my heart
Out into where you
Differently stand or sit
On the Epidaurus steps.
What shall I say to myself
Having put myself down
On to a public page?

Where am I going now?
And where are you going
Tricked into reading
Words of my later life?
Let me pretend you are
Roughly of my age.
Are you a boy or a girl?
And what has happened to you?

Look at the chirping various
Leaves of Mr Graham’s
Spanking summer. Where are
You at? I know my face
Has changed. My hair has blanched
Into a wrong disguise
Sitting on top of my head.

Beside each other perched
On the Epidaurus steps.
Where am I going to go?
Shall I rise to follow
The thin sound of the goats
Tinkling their bells?

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

295d

Centre for Robert Burns Studies Conference
17 January, University of Glasgow – £25 (includes tea, coffee, lunch, & a toast)

A day conference exploring the life, work, & legacy of Robert Burns.This year, the conference theme is the Burns Supper: a global phenomenon that celebrates its 225th anniversary in 2026.

@litstudies

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/centre-for-robert-burns-studies-conference-tickets-1851549627779

#Scottish #literature #RobertBurns #18thcentury #poetry #song #romanticism #BurnsSupper

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

123d

A liuthad soitheach a dh’fhàg ar dùthaich
le sgiathan geala a’ toirt Chanada orra.
Tha iad mar neapaigearan ’nar cuimhne
’s an sàl mar dheoirean,
’s anns na croinn aca seòladairean a’ seinn
mar eòin air gheugan.

—Iain Mac a’ Ghobhainn, “Na h-Eilthirich” (Iain Crichton Smith, “The Exiles”)
published in Nua-Bhardachd Gaidhlig / Modern Scottish Gaelic Poems, @canongatebooks 1999

https://canongate.co.uk/books/193-modern-scottish-gaelic-poems-a-bilingual-anthology/

#Scottish #literature #Gaidhlig #Gaelic #poem #poetry #Clearances #emigration #exile

Na h-Eilthirich
Iain Mac a’ Ghobhainn

A liuthad soitheach a dh’fhàg ar dùthaich
le sgiathan geala a’ toirt Chanada orra.
Tha iad mar neapaigearan ’nar cuimhne
’s an sàl mar dheoirean,
’s anns na croinn aca seòladairean a’ seinn
mar eòin air gheugan.
Muir a’ Mhàigh ud, gu gorm a’ ruith,
gealach air an oidhche, grian air an latha,
ach a’ ghealach mar mheas buidhe,
mar thruinnsear air balla,
ris an tog iad an làmhan,
no mar mhagnet airgeadach
le gathan goirte
a’ sruthadh do’n chridhe.

ALT

The Exiles
Iain Crichton Smith

The many ships that left our country
with white wings for Canada.
They are like handkerchiefs in our memories
and the brine like tears
and in their masts sailors singing
like birds on branches.
That sea of May, running in such blue,
a moon at night, a sun at daytime,
and the moon like a yellow fruit,
like a plate on a wall,
to which they raise their hands,
like a silver magnet
with piercing rays
streaming into the heart.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

292d

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,‍‍
‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,‍‍
‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍An’ fellow-mortal!

—Robert Burns, “To a Mouse, On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785”

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #RobertBurns #Scots #Scotlsanguage #environmentalism #naturewriting #18thCentury #Romanticism #November #winter

To a Mouse, On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.
Robert Burns

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,‍‍
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee‍‍
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,‍‍
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,‍‍
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave‍‍
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,‍‍
An’ never miss’t!

ALT

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,‍‍
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,‍‍
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,‍‍
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past‍‍
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,‍‍
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,‍‍
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men‍‍
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,‍‍
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,‍‍
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,‍‍
I guess an’ fear!

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

1y

American poet and playwright Georgia Douglas Johnson was born #OTD in 1880.

Her first collection of poetry, "The Heart of a Woman" (1918), was one of the earliest books of poetry published by a Black woman in the United States. Her second volume, "Bronze" (1922), focuses more explicitly on racial issues, delving into the experiences of Black Americans and the injustices they faced in society.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georgia_Douglas_Johnson

#books #literature #poetry #theatre

In the portrait, Georgia Douglas Johnson is depicted as a poised and elegant woman, likely in her middle years during the height of her literary career. Her facial features are soft yet defined, with a composed and thoughtful expression. She might have short, wavy hair styled in a way that reflects the fashion of the early 20th century, which adds to her sense of modernity and sophistication.

Johnson would likely be dressed in a formal, yet stylish outfit, reflecting both her literary status and her role as a leading cultural figure. A brooch or simple piece of jewelry might also be present, adding a touch of personal style.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

2y

Spanish writer Francisco Gómez de Quevedo y Villegas died #OTD in 1645.

Along with his lifelong rival, Luis de Góngora, Quevedo was one of the most prominent Spanish poets of the age. His style is characterized by what was called conceptismo. This style existed in stark contrast to Góngora's culteranismo.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_de_Quevedo

Books by Francisco de Quevedo at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/35792

#books #literature #poetry

Portrait of celebrated Spanish poet and writer, Francisco de Quevedo, attributed to Juan van der Hamen, 17th century (Instituto Valencia de Don Juan).

In the portrait, Francisco de Quevedo is depicted as a middle-aged man with a serious, contemplative expression. His distinctive facial features include a long, narrow face, a prominent mustache, and a goatee. One of the most notable details is the presence of Quevedo’s signature pince-nez glasses, which rest on his nose. These round spectacles are closely associated with Quevedo and emphasize his scholarly image.

Quevedo is dressed in the formal attire typical of a Spanish nobleman and intellectual of the 17th century. He wears a dark, austere robe, which contrasts with the lighter tones of his skin and the dark background.

ALT

2 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

294d

Whole Duty of Children
by Robert Louis Stevenson

A child should always say what’s true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table:
At least as far as he is able.

—from A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)

Today, 20 November, is World Children’s Day.

https://www.unicef.org/take-action/campaigns/world-childrens-day

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #19thcentury #children #childrensliterature #kidlit #RobertLouisStevenson #WorldChildrensDay

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

296d

"Gedanken über die Zukunft der Kinder und Enkel". Systembetrachtung aus der Sicht einer 🌱 Heilpflanze.

Es sind Gedanken zu gesellschaftlichen Entwicklungen, getragen von dem Wunsch etwas beizutragen und helfen zu wollen, wenn möglich. Ein Geschenk. Bedingungslos. Denn - Es ist ein unvorstellbar großes Abenteuer, dieses UNIVERSUM ... :-) :-) :-)

#Poesie #poetry #kultur #kunst #Bayern #Hoffnungsgeschichten #Hanfgeschichten #hope #cop30 #Merz #Soder #Klingbeil #ThorstenFrei #Reiche #Kulturkampf

"Gedanken über die Zukunft der Kinder und Enkel". Systembetrachtung aus der Sicht einer Heilpflanze.

ALT

Edited 296d ago

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

294d

Trouble is not my middle name.
It is not what I am.
I was not born for this…

—Liz Lochhead, “Listen”
A poem written for the Children’s Panel, to encourage new voluntary members, 2012. Published in FUGITIVE COLOURS (Polygon, 2016)

https://birlinn.co.uk/product/fugitive-colours/

#Scottish #literature #childhood #children #poem #poetry #WorldChildrensDay

Listen
by Liz Lochhead

Written for the Children’s Panel, to encourage new voluntary members, 2012.

Trouble is not my middle name.
It is not what I am.
I was not born for this.
Trouble is not a place
though I am in it deeper than the deepest wood
and I’d get out of it (who wouldn’t?) if I could.

Hope is what I do not have in hell –
not without good help, now. Could you
listen, listen hard and well
to what I cannot say except by what I do?

And when you say I do it for badness
this much is true:
I do it for badness done to me before
any badness that I do to you.

Hard to unfankle this.
But you can help me.
Maybe.
Loosen
all these knots and really listen.
I cannot plainly tell you this, but, if you care,
then – beyond all harm and hurt –
real hope is there.

ALT

1 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

294d

See ma mammy
See ma dinner ticket
A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine…

—Margaret Hamilton, “Lament for a Lost Dinner Ticket”
published in NEW POEMS 1972–73: a PEN anthology of contemporary poetry, ed. Douglas Dunn (Hutchinson, 1973)

https://www.scotslanguage.com/articles/node/id/21

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #childhood #children #Scots #Scotslanguage ##WorldChildrensDay

Lament for a Lost Dinner Ticket
Margaret Hamilton

See ma mammy
See ma dinner ticket
A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine.

See thon burnty
Up wherra firewiz
Ma mammy says Am no tellynagain
No’y playnit.
A jist wen’y eatma
Pokacrisps furma dinner
Nabigwoffldoon.

The wummin sed Aver near
Clapsd
Jistur heednur
Wee wellies sticknoot.

They sed Wot heppind?
Nme’nma belly
Na bedna hospital.
A sed A pititnma
Pokit an she pititny
Washnmachine.

They sed Ees thees chaild eb slootly
Non verbal?
A sed MA BUMSAIR
Nwen’y sleep.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original

294d

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
Through the blinds and the windows and bars;
And high overhead and all moving about,
There were thousands of millions of stars…

—Robert Louis Stevenson, “Escape at Bedtime”
from A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES (1885)

#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Childrensliterature #kidlit #childhood #children #19thcentury #Victorian #RobertLouisStevenson #WorldChildrensDay

Escape at Bedtime
by Robert Louis Stevenson

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
Through the blinds and the windows and bars;
And high overhead and all moving about,
There were thousands of millions of stars.
There ne’er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,
Nor of people in church or the Park,
As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,
And that glittered and winked in the dark.

The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,
And the star of the sailor, and Mars,
These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall
Would be half full of water and stars.
They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries,
And they soon had me packed into bed;
But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,
And the stars going round in my head.

ALT

0 0 0 View Post & Replies See Original