Who is She?
by Gabriel Rosenstock
Who is this goddess of yours?
Who is she?
‘Pure fantasy, I wager.’
‘Is she not clear to you?’
‘No, she is not.’
‘Clearer than day is she
‘ clearer than night …’
‘Not clear to me …’
‘Day in night is she
‘ night in day …’
‘I see her not …’
‘Look inside yourself!’
‘Difficult …’
‘Then look
at her frost
covering the grass.’
ref. url: Who is She? In English and Gaelic
Music
by Walter de la Mare
When music sounds, gone is the earth I know,
And all her lovely things even lovelier grow;
Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees
Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies.
When music sounds, out of the water rise
Naiads whose beauty dims my waking eyes,
Rapt in strange dreams burns each enchanted face,
With solemn echoing stirs their dwelling-place.
When music sounds, all that I was I am
Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came;
And from Time’s woods break into distant song
The swift-winged hours, as I hasten along.
ref. url: Music by Walter de la Mare
Google Maps has a cool shot of an SR-71 Blackbird on the deck of the USS Intrepid at the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum in New York City.
Today is the birthday of Lord Byron, an English poet born in 1788 in Scotland. He was born George Gordon Noel.
His first success was the poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage written in 1812, which is based around his journeys from England to the eastern Mediterranean.
Check out today’s daily poem for another of his more recognizable poems, She Walks in Beauty.
This particular poem is one of my favorites, and it was featured in the television series Beauty and the Beast that ran on the CBS network in the US from 1987 until 1990. The first season of this show has recently been released on DVD.
She Walks in Beauty
by Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
ref. url: She Walks in Beauty
Hear it being read by Bill Berkson