a comment yesterday reminded me how much i'd missed the writing of the transcendentalists
i feel like id slept 100 years and now im finally seeing the face of royalty transformed
In INSPIRATION by Henry David Thoreau,
we find a reflection on the act of writing something that persists through the ages.
If with light head erect I sing, Though all the Muses lend their force, From my poor love of anything, The verse is weak and shallow as its source.
But if with bended neck I grope Listening behind me for my wit, With faith superior to hope, More anxious to keep back than forward it;
is a reflection on restraint, humility and Contemplation, for the poem continues:
Time cannot bend the line which God hath writ.
a Contemplation, without which he is blind deaf and dumb:
Always the general show of things Floats in review before my mind, And such true love and reverence brings, That sometimes I forget that I am blind.
... until, his ears are made to hear, his eyes to see and for all his learning he is made to discern.
Such is the Muse, the heavenly maid, The star that guides our mortal course, Which shows where life's true kernel's laid, Its wheat's fine flour, and its undying force.
She with one breath attunes the spheres, And also my poor human heart, With one impulse propels the years Around, and gives my throbbing pulse its start.
now, go read the whole thing and enjoy your Sunday