Go to the winter woods: listen there, look, watch, and
"the dead months" will give you a subtler secret than
any you have yet found in the forest.
-- Fiona Macleod, from Where the Forest Murmurs
O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth.
-- John Davies, 1570-1626, Ode to the West Wind
(Or: The trees look beautiful, and all over is white and still, but boy is it windy!)
"the dead months" will give you a subtler secret than
any you have yet found in the forest.
-- Fiona Macleod, from Where the Forest Murmurs
O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth.
-- John Davies, 1570-1626, Ode to the West Wind
(Or: The trees look beautiful, and all over is white and still, but boy is it windy!)
2 Comments:
Hey -- that's from Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind." (Reminds me that I mean to post about having lunch with Frans [oops: z] Wright.)
Must always double check the copy-and-pasting. Danke schoen. How is dear FranZ?
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