gilded butterflies
...so we'll live, and pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies... King Lear
About Me
- Name: kate
- Location: Melbourne, Victoria, Australia
I'm a whimsical twenty (!) year old who adores dreaming and travelling and words and photography and doesn't quite live in the real world.
Links
- Cathy's Blog
- Heidi's Blog
- Leila's Travels
- Daniel's Myspace
- Sarah's Myspace
- Lesley's Blog
- My Bookcrossing bookshelf
- Poetry Daily
- The Language of the Fan
- The Ugly Green Chair's Fabulous Shrine to Amelie
- The Mile Long Page
- The Surrealist Compliment Generator
Previous Posts
- I just love this poem I found the other day, so I ...
- Ahem... I haven't updated in quite a while, have I...
- HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEILA!!! Hope you are having lots ...
- My 19th Birthday yesterday - wahhhhh!19 is so old...
- Just finished reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycl...
- HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY VICKI & CATHY!! (slightly dela...
- I bid a fond adieu to Leila and Hedi who are leavi...
- Today I felt like doingsomething different; a blog...
- Didn't we all enjoy the fabulous Excellence Assemb...
- Wow! I haven't blogged for some time. I knew that ...
Sunday, June 11, 2006
1 Comments:
To Autumn
1.
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Kate! We should get married! haha. Love daniel
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