A shilling life will give you all the facts:
How Father beat him, how he ran away,
What were the struggles of his youth, what acts
Made him the greatest figure of his day;
Of how he fought, fished, hunted, worked all night,
Though giddy, climbed new mountains; named a sea:
Some of the last researchers even write
Love made him weep his pints like you and me.
With all his honours on, he sighed for one
Who, say astonished critics, lived at home;
Did little jobs about the house with skill
And nothing else; could whistle; would sit still
Or potter round the garden; answered some
Of his long marvellous letters but kept none.
— W.H. Auden
On a day of mixed ambitions, writing and saucemaking, tuition and textbooks and laying down gravel, this poem resonates with such a clangor! Love these. Love to start my day this way. Thank you, thank you.
I’m not sure if I’ve commented before. But I do want to let you know that this is one of my favorite blogs … your simple black-and-white layout bubbles poetry inside me every time I load the page. I so look forward to your postings. Thank you.
Shawna commented on The Gladdest Thing:
I’m not sure if I’ve commented before. But I do want to let you know that this is one of my favorite blogs … your simple black-and-white layout bubbles poetry inside me every time I load the page. I so look forward to your postings. Thank you.
Very nice piece. Can relate to this poem alot! Good read
Kenny Kato commented on The Gladdest Thing:
Very nice piece. Can relate to this poem alot! Good read