Saturday, June 24, 2017
Friday, June 23, 2017
From The Complete Poems Of John Keats, edited by John Barnard
WRITTEN ON A SUMMER EVENING
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, -
That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.
Thursday, June 22, 2017
"If what I have said so far is clear and true and strange to unaccustomed ears, let me see if I can make it still more lucid."
From A Novelette and Other Prose, VIII. Anti-Allegory
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
"There are moments when in which stupid people say clever things, obtuse people say sharp things, and good-natured people say ill-natured things."
From Chapter 21, Miss Boncassen's River-Party, No. 1