Tuesday, September 27, 2011
(Potted Fuchsia, watercolor by Beatrix Potter,
1866-1943, English writer, illustrator, sheep
breeder, conservationist, and creator of Peter
Rabbit, among many others)
Yesterday’s pastoral verse by Christopher Marlowe was full of over-the-top promises. One would expect the modern version of that proposal to be more grounded in reality.
COME, LET US FIND
Come, let us find a cottage, love,
That’s green for half a mile around;
To laugh at every grumbling bee,
Whose sweetest blossom’s not yet found.
Where many a bird shall sing for you,
And in your garden build its nest:
They’ll sing for you as though their eggs
Were lying in your breast,
Were lying warm in your soft breast.
’Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When Life is all too short for love;
But we, away from our own kind,
A different life can live and prove.
And early on a summer’s morn,
As I go walking out with you,
We’ll help the sun with our warm breath
To clear away the dew,
To clear away the morning dew.
~ William H. Davies (1871-1940), Welsh poet