Wordsworth

                                   ...And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, -- both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being. - Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey (excerpt :))

I am not quite sure what the entire thing means, but I can sense what he's talking about... If that makes any sense at all.  Whenever I look at the sun when it hangs like a burning globe in the sky in the evening or the morning, I immediately think of this passage... and this passage makes me think of the beauty of the earth, and if the earth is this beautiful, how much more so our Creator?

It's so beautiful - the entire poem is beautiful.  I really enjoy reading Wordsworth. :)

Tennyson....

Tennyson expresses so much. I love reading his poetry.

"Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands

Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote its chords with all his might

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight."

Isn't that absolutely glorious?? For a moment, it lifts me above everything, I forget that I'm human... I forget that I am... and I close my eyes and repeat those lines to myself, and I feel like I exist in a sphere of perfect sublimity... Well, okay that's going too far.  But it surges my inspiration and makes me wild with delight when I read it.  And then I come back to reality.... because I see a few verses later...

"O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more!

O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!"

And my soul cries out for the exclaimer of this verse...

And then I think....

"Well, thank goodness it's not for real."

Because otherwise I would be in agonies. That's just me, though.

Ooops! I'm Sick!

Well, when I get sick, I get a bunch of random thoughts that magically wiggle themselves on to my blog.  I try to slap them and tell them "no" but they won't listen to me.  They have a mind of their own.

Yes, I'm sick.  Sore throat, bad cough... I feel like I have a fever, but I don't.

These are some things I have learned over the past few weeks:

Drink water. LOTS OF IT!

Don't eat too much sugar.

Exercise.

Don't pretend like you're an insomniac.

As you may have guessed, I did the absolute OPPOSITE of all of these.  My poor adrenals are all shriveled up, and I feel naughty that I've neglected them for so long.  But hopefully my health-world will be back to normal before too long.  Oh! And another thing I've learned....

Trust in the Lord! Because if you don't, it causes TONS of emotional stress, and if you have depleted adrenals, emotional stress will take it's toll, and you will become sick (like me!)

So, these are the things I have learned.  And now I am most fervently following all of the above rules as best I can.

But being sick means being emotional, and being emotional means thinking about my favorite things, and thinking of my favorite things inevitably brings the inevitable... Which is the thought of my non-existent-beautiful-brown-and-white-milk-cow-Annabel.

That's right.

You heard me...

A milk cow.


I really am a city girl, in some ways... I don't know anything about animals or living in the country, or anything agricultural.  I just like the thought of wide open hilly country... green pastures... ponds... fences... dogs... Oh! And... cows. Lots of them... And horses. Lots of horses.

And hats....


And boots....


And everything else...


*drifts off to dream world... smiles lazily*....


OOPS!


I forgot that's not my life.

Cleveland actually is a nice city, when you think about it.  The lawns are green.  There are lots of trees... (And telephone poles.)

I pretend like I'm a cow/country-girl... When, in reality, I'm not.  And that's okay with me.  I like pretending.  I have seven wonderful siblings... (OH! and a sister in law!) we have two cats... three lizards...

Life in the city is nice...

But it's not my favorite thing, and since I'm sick, I'll stick to one of my favorite things... cows....

I did my research today.  I still have no idea how much a calf would cost.  (duh... city girl...) But the Guernsey cows are docile things... they are conformable to any climate.  They produce thick, yellowy milk, that has lots of Vitamin A in it.  And, also, I've read that something in the milk doesn't irritate dairy allergies... it actually soothes the sinuses.  (At least that's what I read.)  They are alert, but not irritable.  And they are oh-so-pretty!

Goats... ehhh... not so much.

But I can just picture it.... (picture with me... close your eyes, and in your mind, imagine everything black... oh, imagine it after you read this, cuz you can't imagine what I'm saying with your eyes closed while you're reading it...)

Black... everything's dark... Then... a streak of light.  Dawn breaks over the beautiful country of Nowheresville.  All that's visible is a faint streak of pink and orange.

Everything is soft and quiet....

Dark hills are outlined by the early morning light....

A milk cow lows softly in the barn... Imagine the barn... the smell of hay... manure....


A young, crazy, wild girl... in pink pajama pants, hoodie, and muck boots three sizes too big... walking sleepily towards the barn, with a black dog by her side....

She goes into the barn, and nuzzles her face against her beloved cow....

Hmm... Something doesn't sound right....

Maybe because when my alarm clock goes off at five in the morning I'll be thinking: "Darn it!! Got to milk that dumb cow again today! Why can't cows milk themselves!! ... just five more minutes..." 


At six thirty.  "RUBY! MOMMY NEEDS YOU TO MILK THE COW!!"

Ruby rolls over lazily and says: "Yeah, love, I know.  I'll milk her... don't worry... don't I always??"

Ruby walks into the barn, staggering very dangerously.  She looks at the cow, her eyes half closed... puffy... swollen... tired....

"Dude, as much as I like you, you're kinda a pain in the back."

*proceeds to milk for an hour.*  Oh, and the dog.  The dog is barking.  The dog doesn't stop barking.  Until I yell at the dog.  "BEOWULF! QUIT THAT!" (not like I'd name my dog Beowulf... or maybe I would...)

She talks to the cow:

"I mean, Annabel, will you ever understand it? I need to wash my hair, and I have four weeks of school I haven't done, the lawn needs to be mowed and somehow I'm the only one that can do it and I think I'm suddenly coming down with something which I'm pretty sure is mad-cow-disease and I'm almost certain I got it from you and you're going to have to have a calf this spring and I'm cold and you don't know what it's like having a nice warm bed with a down comforter and having to wake up to that alarm clock every morning and having to get out of that nice warm bed and I miss flowers.  Do you know what flowers are, Annabel? Of course you do... You ate all ours, I forgot.  Well, at least we both like flowers. That's something in common.  But you like wildflowers.  I think they must taste sweeter.  Maybe if I don't have to milk you every day I'll plant you a whole patch of Forget-Me-Nots.  You know.  Just so you'll remember what I do for you every single morning."

Is that what sounds wrong with it?? It's the confusing thing about your imagination, you never know what reality is like.

But a Guernsey cow! My sweet Annabel, with her thick milk that will turn into butter and what-not!  It's beautiful! It's surreal! (it must be dirty work living on a farm.)

I wonder if I'd like it....

But I've decided, if we ever move to the country, I will make the greatest effort to get a Guernsey cow and name her Annabel.

Annabel.

Annabel Lee died... In a kingdom by the sea... but that was many and many a year ago... And maybe the angels repented.

They shouldn't have sent that cold wind to chill and kill Annabel Lee.  Even if she was in the sepulcher by the sea.

I strongly resent that poem.

A Poem :)

Hey y'all!

I found this poem in the Original Blue Back Speller... and I liked it, so I thought I'd share it with everybody.

But I don't know who it's by :P

The Rose

The rose had been wash'd, lately wash'd in a show'r
That Julia to Emma conveyed
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r
And weighed down its beautiful head.


The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet
And seem'd, at a fanciful view
To weep with regret for the buds it had left
On the flourishing bush where it grew.


I hastily siez'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd
And shaking it rudely—too rudely, alas!
I snapt it—it fell to the ground.


"And such," I exclaimed, "is the pitiless part
"Some act by the delicate mind;
"Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
"Already to sorrow resigned.


"This beautiful rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloomed with the owner awhile
"And a tear that is wip'd, with a little address
"May be followed, perhaps, with a smile."

Doomsday

 This is a poem I wrote late one night by a dying fire when I was supposed to be studying Newton's Law.  Well, what can you do when inspiration hits?


 There it is! I see it now!
My doom is inevitable!
A dark, dark wave surges on
It reaches high to the heavens
It stretches to the corners of the earth.
It rises from the depths of the sea
Behold! Doomsday! All will know judgement!
Surely, surely, we will perish!
We are fixed—we cannot move
Some terror grinds our feet to the earth.
Our minds are captive to the wave—
Ever coming—close and closer!
A veil of darkness shrouds the air
We cannot see—our sight is dimmed.
Our wits confounded, we think not right
Only one thing we comprehend—
Death! Darkness! Despair!
Sound the horn, ye vigilant saints!
Our doom is plunging on and on!
The Wave of Woe climbs high and higher
Feasting on all that crosses its path.
Yet as the wave has nearly reached us,
Its yawning mouth op’ning wide
A ray of hope invades our minds
Driving all evil before it.
Behold! A star shines brightly!
And as its light grows brighter still
We must cover our eyes—‘tis too brilliant
We are stricken with a new terror—
The terror of our King’s face!

He gives us strength to bear the sight —
To see him swallow up Death forever.
Clothed in robes of white so pure
Even the Wave quavers at the sight!
In his strong right hand a mighty sword
Sharp and flamed with light.
And in his left he holds a scroll
Behold! The scroll of Prophecy!
He speaks—His voice is terrible to hear—
His words scarcely less so!
But lo! He hath dominion over His Enemy!
O vigilant Saints, rejoice, be glad!
For our Lord has come to claim his Bride
The beautiful one he has chosen and saved
From Death, from eternal despair and death!
O sound the horn, ye vigilant Saints!
Lift high a glad song in the celestial city!
Blessed be our God, who hath spared us!
Never again will we live in fear and anxiety.
Never again will tears stain our shining faces.
Never again will we feel sorrow or pain.
For the Lord has swallowed up Death forever—
Let us hasten to the Wedding Feast of the Lamb!

A Day Trip To New Wilmington

Two Sundays ago was very busy... My dad played for a church service in New Wilmington, PA (close to Pittsburgh) and everybody excepting Gabriel and Duncan (who were in Lewisburgh helping Nana move) went along. I love the way my dad plays piano, and his style of praise music. We sang In Christ Alone, Crown Him With Many Crowns, Be Thou My Vision, and Open The Eyes Of My Heart. And then we sang one that my dad wrote.... everybody is crazy about it, and it's called Praise Your Name. But as I was saying, I was so enraptured with my dad's really playing out the songs, and by the depth of emotion in his voice, that it almost made me sob. Especially during the offertory when he played his own arrangement of I Surrender All, and one he wrote... Though He Slay Me....

Because I love this song so much, and because it makes me cry every time dad sings it, and because it's pretty much the best song on the face of the earth, I'm going to write down the lyrics....

My Lord, my God

I have no one else in heaven but you.

My life, my all is a fleeting shadow

Compared to you.

Everything I have, all I see and do

Will be swept away, but

Though he slay me,

Still will I hope in Him

Though he slay me

Still will I trust in the name of my God

Though the mountains crumble and fall in the sea

Though my path is dark and my eyes cannot see

Though He slay me

Still will I trust in the name of the Lord my God.

My life is Yours

I surrender all I have to your will

I give my life

As a living sacrifice to your will

I will put my trust

In your unfailing love

I will risk it all for

Though He slay me

Still will I hope in Him

Though He slay me

Still will I trust in the name of my God

Though the mountains crumble and fall in the sea

Though my path is dark and my eyes cannot see

Though He slay me

Still will I trust in the grace of the Lord my God.

Ahh, it's 100 times better when you can hear the music. Dad's hoping to work on recording a third CD of all his vocal songs... And I can't wait! Although nothing beats a live performance. :D

The sermon, spoken by Ralph Hawkins, was incredibly insightful and amazing. I'm still kind of dazed by the expressiveness that he used. He talked about Abram and Sara. How important it was back then to have an heir. And he talked about how even though Abram was near sighted in the physical sense, he was near sighted in the spiritual sense as well. He could not see down the road of that future... it held nothing for him. His only heir was a slave in his house. But God said: "Look up to the sky, and count the stars... if, indeed, you can" and proceeds to tell him that his offspring will be like the stars in the sky, even though he was so very old. It was not who Abram was that made this happen, but who God was and is.

Ahh...

Spiritually, we are as near sighted as Abram. How can we stumble along the paths of live by ourselves, on our own, in such a condition? Like I said in a previous post, pride makes us think that we can do it on our own. But no... not when it is clear that we know nothing certain about the future, not when we are as near sighted as Abram. Our trust belongs to God - He is our vision, and He is the one who will guide us - we cannot rely on our strength, or the strength of men.

After the service, there was a fund raiser for... something. :D (I just really cared about the food at that moment, so I didn't really see what it was for.) We set up a table and sold a very good amount of CD's. That was good. When the number of people began to decrease, I suddenly became aware of my four year old sister running wildly around holding a bright golden kitten, with a white throat, belly, and paws. The kitten was obviously panicked, my sister obviously not in a mood to care about that, and obviously intent on never letting it out of her sight. "LOOK! IT'S FREE!" she exclaimed excitedly. We then found that a few days ago, two girls had found the kitten in the park, had kept it, and now were giving it away. I have no idea how old she was, but she WAS horribly cute... We took her to mom. "Please mom.... Katharina died, and Ophelia left, and now we only had two." "Please dad?!" Daddy glanced at mom. He knew her aversion to cats, and so he said, "let's not take it..." Someone walked up and engaged him in conversation. "Please mom!" "Please!" "Look how cute she is?" "Mommy, how can you resist that?" the little kids (and me *grin*) pleaded with her. A grin flashed across her face: "Alright, fine." Then she turned around to face me, suddenly saying: "oh dear! What's wrong with me?" and then laughed.

So... we took her home....

...and she seemed to take to Elvis right away. (Elvis is a hound dog that we're watching while his owners are out of town.)

And we have *another* cat.

...And she likes to sleep in odd places. :D

I wanted to name her some Greek name, or Roman... I had Berenice in mind... I don't know why, but I really liked the sound of it. But of course no one else liked it at all, and so now her name is Bella. And that was our adventure for the day.

Annabel Lee

This is awfully sad..... One of my favorite poems.

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

One of the Most Classic Poems Ever Written....

Sorry, I don't know the author... Rachel sent it to me about two years ago. :)

Mary had a little lamb
Her father killed it dead.
And now it goes to school with her
Between two hunks of bread.

:D

The Fool's Prayer

by Edward Rowland Sill

The royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care
And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"

The jester doffed his cap and bells
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch's silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool;
The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

"'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
'Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept—
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!
The word we had not sense to say—
Who knows how grandly it had rung!

"Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
But for our blunders—oh, in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!"

The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool!"

(Sometimes blogger makes me mad because it won't let me do tabs!!! ahh!)

One of the Saddest Poems Ever!

I found this peoms in McGuffey's Fourth Reader.... It is so incredibly heart-wrenching. I love this poem, because the tragedy, the grief, and the story are all so original and classic... Very well written, and so... tragic! (Just the type of thing I like!) Oh, and I know it's kind of long, but it is so worth it!

Ginevra- by Rogers

If ever you should come to Modena,
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain you—but, before you go,
Enter the house—forget it not, I pray you—
And look awhile upon a picture there.

'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,
The last of that illustrious family;
Done by Zampieri—but whom I care not.
He, who observes it—ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half open, and her finger up,
As though she said, "Beware!" Her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers and clasped from head to foot
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls.

But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart—
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heirloom; its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With scripture-stories from the life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestors—
That by the way—it may be true or false—
But don't forget the picture; and you will not,
When you have heard the tale they told me there.

She was an only child—her name Ginevra,
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her palymate from her birth, and her first love.

Just as she looks there, in her bridal dress,
She was, all gentleness, all gayety,
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached deco'rum
And, in the luster of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joyl but at the nuptial feast,
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting.
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"'Tis but to make a trial of our love!"
And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.

'Twas but that instant that she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But taht she was not!

Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in a battle with the Turk.
Donati lived—and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find—he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless—then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
When on an idle day, a day of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,
That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, and thoughtless as Ginevra,
"Why not remove it form its lurking-place?"
'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton
With here and there a pearl, and emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished—save a wedding ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both—"Ginevra."

—There then had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down forever!

The End.

Poetry!

As many of you already know, poetry is one of my passions. To begin this blog, I will start with this poem that I wrote back in October of 2007.

Wind and Rum

From East to West, from North to South,
There blows a wind that bites the mouth
It gnaws the lip and chews the gum
And the only remedy is rum.
It blows across the hard, rock floors
Of Scotland and her wide bleak moors
I felt the sting of this wind on my face
As I herded my sheep 'cross that wide bleak space
And the only comfort for me red, raw gums
Was a beaker of that strong, hot rum.
It warms the spirit, it melts the snow!
It heats the blood from head to toe!
In the glow of the kitchen I heard that sound
Of the furious wind whipping 'round and 'round.
But I laughed at the wind and drank my brew
Enough to fill a whole ships' crew.
I awoke at dawn the next dark morn
And remembered nothing of the day before
But the only clue 'tis not a fable
Is the empty beaker on the table.
And still I hear that endless sound
Of the furious wind whipping 'round and 'round.

The End.