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; … Continue reading Keats: To Autumn
After the fret and failure of this day, And weariness of thought, O Mother Night, Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away And all our little tumults set to right; Most pitiful of all death’s kindred fair, Riding above us through the curtained air On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth … Continue reading C.S. Lewis: Night
When the flowery hands of spring Forth their woodland riches fling, Through the meadows, through the valleys Goes the satyr carolling. From the mountain and the moor, Forest green and ocean shore All the faerie kin he rallies Making music evermore. See! the shaggy pelt doth grow On his twisted shanks below, And his dreadful … Continue reading C.S. Lewis: The Satyr
By: William Shakespeare That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which … Continue reading Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayest in Me Behold
Suddenly there came to me The music of a mighty sea That on a bare and iron shore Thundered with a deeper roar Than all the tides that leap and run With us below the real sun: Because the place was far away, Above, beyond our homely day, Neighbouring close the frozen clime Where out … Continue reading C.S. Lewis: L’apprenti Sorcier
Jove gazed On woven mazes Of patterned movement as the atoms whirled. His glance turned Into dancing, burning Colour-gods who rushed upon that sullen world, Waking, re-making, exalting it anew – Silver and purple, shrill-voiced yellow, turgid crimson, and virgin blue. Jove stared On overbearing And aching splendour of the naked rocks. Where his gaze … Continue reading C.S. Lewis: Le Roi S’amuse
When words lose their meaning, then the nihilist creed gains a terrible victory: nothing means anything. One may point out the diverse observation given above, but what good are facts anymore? Languages change, and all that nonsense. If languages do in fact change, then how might anyone hold a reasonable expectation for rational communication?