The clouds had made a crimson crown Above the mountains high. The stormy sun was going down In a stormy sky. Why did you let your eyes so rest on me, And hold your breath between? In all the ages this can never be As if it had not been. Here is a poem almost as brief as its subject, containing in it that paradox of limitation and infinity which characterizes the “moment.’ A moment, of course, is different than a second, or any other scientific division of time. “A moment”… Read more Poetry Survey Series Post Six: A Moment by Mary Elizabeth Coledridge →
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,And lay them prone upon the earth and ceaseTo ponder on themselves, the while they stareAt nothing, intricately drawn nowhereIn shapes of shifting lineage; let geeseGabble and hiss, but heroes seek releaseFrom dusty bondage into luminous air.O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day,When first the shaft into his vision shoneOf light anatomized! Euclid aloneHas looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate theyWho, though once only and then but far away,Have heard her massive sandal set on stone. Here… Read more Poetry Survey Series Post 2: Sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay →
Here, a filament too thin to be green stands up on a cane of slow silent water from under warm dirt. Here, under the sun, is a Radish Plant. Radishes are good with salt.… Read more The Coarse and The Divine →
Slow Literature 