Wednesday, 19 September 2012

A Thing of Beauty...

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.

John Keats, A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever

Insonia. Tiago Sousa.

Sunday, 16 September 2012

There’s a certain Slant of light...

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons―
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes―

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us―
We can find no scar,
But internal differences,
Where the meanings are―

None may teach it―Any―
Tis the Seal Despair―
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air―

When it comes, the Landscape listens―
Shadows―hold their breath―
When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance
On the look of Death―

Emily Dickinson, There's a certain Slant of light