Tag Archives: Poetry

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day (Robert Frost)


"I believe in pink." -Audrey Hepburn

Seriously?  How is it possible that we’re a week into March already (and that’s it’s been 2 MONTHS since I last posted)?  I can’t believe it.  Though, I suppose January and February kind of disappear when you’re sick for 5 weeks.  Can I just say that bronchitis is NOT fun?  Luckily, January and February usually tend to be kind of blah months for me anyway.  Once Christmas is over, I’m ready to leap into Spring.

I guess, in a way, I kind of got my wish–glossed over February and straight into March.  The other morning I awoke to the birds chirping outside my window–truly the first sign that winter is coming to an end– and driving home from work yesterday I saw the tiniest pink cherry blossoms peaking out of some bare branches.  A joyous sight if ever there was one!


Emily Dickinson wrote:

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

There’s “a little madness in the Spring,” a carefree euphoria that seems to come this time of year.  And with it, longer, warmer days, brighter colors, and the promise of new life.

Who can’t help but be cheered by Spring?


Magnolia Tree in full bloom.


From the Pens of Poets…

I have loved books and reading all my life.  I have fond memories of  Christmases spent curled up in the corner of the living room, devouring the new books I’d received.  In fact, I remember one Christmas Mom telling me to slow down and savor them so I would still have something new to read come New Year’s.

Recently I have begun collecting old and rare books–not really for investment purposes, simply because they make me happy.  My newest acquisition is the complete five volume set of Les Miserables, published in English by Little Brown in 1887.  I’m so proud of them that they currently hold the place of honor in the center of my mantle, alongside my copies of Hamlet, Twelfth Night, and Longfellow’s collection of poetry.





















While taking pictures of these old books the other night (because, indeed, I am that much of a nerd), I got to thinking about the relationship between photography and poetry: how each gives an impression, but leaves the reader or viewer to fill in the blanks and create their own interpretation.  This quote says it very well:

“The still photograph is to moving pictures what poetry is to prose – less comprehensive perhaps, less literal even, yet somehow capable of expressing a deeper truth.”       -Anonymous 

With this in mind, I began going through my archives, and favorite lines of poetry began to play in my head.  So for tonight’s blog, I thought I’d share a few of my impressions with you.

"I will arise and go now, and go to Inisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade." -W.B. Yeats

"O Ocean vast! We heard thy song with wonder, Whilst waves marked time." -Victor Hugo

"Out of the bosom of the Air, out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent & Soft & Slow descends the snow." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"And at the closing of the day she loosed the chain and down she lay; the broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott." -Lord Alfred Tennyson

So, there you have it.  Just a few snippets into my imagination.  As we come on upon fall, my favorite season of the year, I get in the mood to read poetry and literature, light a fire (’cause my new apartment actually has a real fireplace!), and let the words and imagery spark my imagination, give me new ideas, or revise ideas that have already formed.  Plus, it’s just a good excuse to get into my pajamas and drink hot cider!   🙂

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