Maggie's Farm

Of faith, hope, and charity
--the greatest of these is . . .


And, from my collection of Yeats' favorites:

The Stolen Child

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To to waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Ok, ok. This one is for Bird Dog, Buddy, Habu, and The Barrister. Well, now that I think about it --it is for some of the gals on this farm also! ;-)

I have always felt this one should have come from Mark Twain rather than Poe, but here it is anyway:

ELDORADO – Edgar Allan Poe

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

-THE END-

Lesley: Is this what you are referring to?


Let Them Alone


If God has been good enough to give you a poet
Then listen to him. But for God's sake let him alone until he is dead;
no prizes, no ceremony,
They kill the man. A poet is one who listens
To nature and his own heart; and if the noise of the world grows up
around him, and if he is tough enough,
He can shake off his enemies, but not his friends.
That is what withered Wordsworth and muffled Tennyson, and would have
killed Keats; that is what makes
Hemingway play the fool and Faulkner forget his art.

Robinson Jeffers

Lesley:

Glendaloch--sunup 1976. YOu could hear them still. No fences, no ticket gates; just park the car get out and start to walk up the narrow little valley where a few kept the best alive for all. Twilight stillness--no one else waiting for the sun.

Would love to have a story of Yeats' life: Yes, Vanessa would have been wonderful--but, I think perhaps Nicole Kidman could do it--would like it to be a gal with little bigger bones. As for Daniel Day Lewis--yes, he is a fine actor and would not be a bad choice--but not my first pick--don't know who would be though.

A CRADLE SONG

The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering of the dead.

God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with his mood.

I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.

Lesley:

Glendalough--sunup 1976. No fences, no ticket gates; just park the car get out and start to walk up the narrow little valley where a few kept the best alive for all. I could hear them still. Glowing stillness--no one else waiting for the sun.

Would love to have a story of Yeats' life: Yes, Vanessa would have been wonderful--but, I think perhaps Nicole Kidman could do it--would like it to be a gal with little bigger bones though. As for Daniel Day Lewis--yes, he is a fine actor and would not be a bad choice--but not my first pick--don't know who would be though.

A CRADLE SONG

The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering of the dead.

God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with his mood.

I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.

JH Thank you for the reminding me of Gray. I spent a lovely hour with him yesterday!

So, where is it that we shall go to? Or, rther is it always that we seek to define quality as Pirsig does, or do we seek to be next to that which I can only define as quiet elegance as we do with Yeats? While we can certainly point to quality, or development standards--how is it that we define that subtle whisper of elegance? Is it the same in each heart? Does every eye recognize it as that something that is present, yet not?

Oh, but some of them--those that once were so common--now bring comfort to older hearts!

I try not to be sophomoric, but my own education is lacking in this area!