Thou still unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit dities of no tone.
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal---yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss
Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unweari-ed,
Forever piping songs forever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
Forever warm and still to be enjoyed,
Forever panting, and forever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"---that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"---that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Quite so.
That and "the worst Labor Government is better than the best conservative government"
Oh and "whatever you do, avoid Punt Road during peak hour".
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39 comments:
Good old Keats
add 'A pavlova should never go in a fan forced oven'
the worst Labor Government is better than the best conservative government
I would have expected more from an intellect like yours Ramon. Such dogmatism doesn't make much sense these days. Surely every government, regardless of "traditional perspective", should be judged solely on it's merits.
Got a plane to catch but couldn't let that lie. You can rubbish me in absentia.
Can someone liquid paper out that apostrophe? Shit I hate doing that.
Dessert problems, Squib?
Pfft Wari, I'm a Labor fundi.
Have just been eating little vanilla cupcakes with lemon icing. Can't go wrong with the classics.
(it had those little sliver shiny sugar balls on top too - it was like being five years old and back at grandmas house)
Ode to a Grecian Urn will be on mine next Friday. Coincidence much?
Like this one, and Ode to Autumn. Nice.
And squib, there's also something about leaving the oven door open for it to cool or something isn't there?
Boy, that's good eating MCL.
Speaking of lemons, does anybody want any - I'm currently trying to give away 36 billion of the little yellow fuckers.
"therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;"
God no, make the fucking pipes stop.
Here's my worst 5 instruments.
Saxophone
Oboe
Harmonica
Pipes
Bongos... when hippies play them.
So if I say yes Ramon because I very much want to make limoncello and have been planning to for over a year, how do we work it, considering you have a fear of meeting up with bloggers?
I do pass through your neck o' the woods every second Wed and could pick up a bag left in a laneway for example.
The oboe is beautiful Perseus. What are you talking about?
I may be interested in some of these lemons you speak of Ramon.
Band playing Sat night in Melb. I could do a Sunday pickup. Can I have a dozen?
The cello, for instance, sounds like history, and love, and the ocean, all at once.
meanwhile, the oboe is a woodwind reflection of the annoying buzzing noise a mosquito makes in your ear when you're trying to get to sleep on a hot night. That, or the whiny kid up the back of the class who always has a cold.
Melba, Pers - yes lemons for you!
Email me and we'll organise something for Sunday.
Somebody once described the oboe as "an ill wind, which nobody blows good".
I used to know a chick called Emma Davislim, who is renowned as one of the greatest oboeists on the planet. When she played it near me I would start rocking back and forth and ponder my mortality.
Wow how could I have gotten it so wrong? Ok Ramon I will email you. Maybe the pick up needs to coordinate with Perseus, and some beer and a gossip session.
I can't find an email. If I email Peseus can he give me yours? Or can he arrange the pick up?
I'll take as many lemons as you can spare. I will make limoncello on the Monday.
Sorry Melba, I've fixed that now.
Speaking of lemons I just started using the salted lemons I prepared earlier. Magnificent. Quarter the clean lemons and pack in salt and juice in a glass jar. Leave. For about 1 month. Use with chicken or rice dishes.
add 'A pavlova should never go in a fan forced oven'
Lies! All lies!
That's right, Melba. You are supposed to open the oven door and let it cool for 5 hours. I didn't trust our dog much with that one
I HATE BANJOS!!
Bugger the dog, I wouldn't trust me with that one.
Do you want some lemons, Squib?
but squib, banjos are charming
also i like bagpipes - i met a chap on the bus who made heritage style bagpipes as a hobby
he used to wear lime green business shirts with orange ties and would connect his laptop up with a couple of the other regulars and they'd play computer games on the hour long ride into work
I have to agree. I ADORE the bagpipes. We had a piper at our wedding. The sound of the pipes, it goes right into my soul, and stirs something in the ancient memory. It's a very deep emotional resonance.
I could use some lemons for use in various gin-or-scotch based drinks... Mostly with tonic
Yeah, I could do with some lemons. Throw 'em over here
I can't stand French Horns... any instrument that has to be played by fisting it is just wrong.
I'll come over with my Sounds of Scotland CD Witchy, and get some lemons if Ramon doesn't supply me with enough for limoncello. Thanks.
When i was working at the army base I rode past the pipers building on my way and sometimes someone would be practicingat 6:30 am *happy sigh*
(also once i got to pass a tank on my scooter -w00t!)
Cath should get an MS Paint prize for best line in this post. Although I adore French horn. But not the whole notion of being fisted.
No one wants to talk about the poem. When were you an 'unravished bride' and what about the poor heifer?
Rae, in the year that PSF has been going, I don't know that anybody has ever talked about the poem.
Ramon, you've been posting poems?
Talking of lemons, does anybody want any - I'm currently trying to give away 36 billion of the little yellow fuckers.
I'll trade you a wheelbarrow full of ripe Paw Paws Ramon (or Papayas as they're called in this neck of woods). Damm I love fresh lemon.. so many uses. Gin & Tonics, Marscapone Torte, sliced on to fresh fish.
Here's my worst 5 instruments.
Saxophone
Oboe
Harmonica
Pipes
Bongos... when hippies play them.
What about pan flutes Pers? Or steel drums. Sweet if you're stoned at Notting Hill Carnival but nausiating when some poor bastard has to play 'Sailing' by Chris Cross on them.
Damm American cruise ship tourists...
Pawpaw - bleachhh.
Homesick, I can't begin to imagine how much of the steel drums you'd have to endure, living in the Caribbean and all.
Homesick: What's for breakfast, darling?
Mr Homesick: Pineapple and coconut milk again.
Homesick: Again? What about that coconut cream pie I baked last night? Did you eat all of that? Tcha. Turn on the radio, please.
Mr Homesick: We have a radio?
Homesick: Yes, the coconut radio the Professor built for us. It's right next to the bamboo microwave and the refrigerator made from old aeroplane parts.
Mr Homesick: Oh, that radio. Well, I'm not turning it on. It's still Rocktober, which means 24/7 steel drum covers of 80s hits. If I hear 'No woman no cry' one more time there'll be more than a few crying women.
I can't stand French Horns... any instrument that has to be played by fisting it is just wrong.
Gives a new perspective to French Horn students being asked to practice their 'fingering'.
Point taken Ramon, re- reading my post now, I think I may have taken you too seriously...
Never travel with Wari.
We overnighted in Manila last night en route to sunny Moresby tonight. And the joint gets hit by a typhoon.
Nursing my many times broken heart after two weeks in Thailand.
Uncanny Boogey, Spouse and I had a similar conversation this morning. Spouse is now convinced, after reading your post, that our local internet provider must in fact be building their modems out of coconut husks.
I agree that Paw Paws are indeed terrible... does anyone else think they smell like milky vomit? I may have to trade with the neighbourhood rastas... their marvellous homegrown weed for my pukey Papayas.
I agree Homesick.. PawPaws smell like vomit. But people usually think I am strange for saying that. Bravo to you!
The only thing I know about Paw Paws is a joke about Queensland being the land of the Paw Paw and the piss poor.
Gives a new perspective to French Horn students being asked to practice their 'fingering'.
I used to have to proofread and edit term reports and every time I'd get to a kid's music report it'd talk about them practicing their fingering or fine-tuning their fingering and it still makes me LOL all over the place just recalling it.
It wasn't just reading it myself that's the pisser, but knowing that it was going home to the parents, who, I hope, would cack themselves as much as me.
Also, once, the principal told me I had to remove the phrase "doesn't cut the mustard" from another teacher's report. And the worst bit? I did as I was told.
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