Ancestral
by Archibald MacLeish
The star dissolved in evening—the one star
The silently
and night O soon now, soon
And still the light now
and still now the large
Relinquishing
and through the pools of blue
Still, still the swallows
and a wind now
and the tree
Gathering darkness:
I was small. I lay
Beside my mother on the grass, and sleep
Came—
slow hooves and dripping with the dark
The velvet muzzles, the white feet that move
In a dream water
and O soon now soon
Sleep and the night.
And I was not afraid.
Her hand lay over mine. Her fingers knew
Darkness,—and sleep—the silent lands, the far
Far off of morning where I should awake.
Ree-purrted by
Sophia
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Cat blogger and related blog posts for the day are welcome in the autolinkies!
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Click the pikshur or here to ree-purrt noos!
http://www.blog.catblogosphere.com/2008/06/30/emil-may-you-find-happiness-and-peace/
http://www.blog.catblogosphere.com/2008/06/30/emil-may-you-find-happiness-and-peace/
June 30th, 2008 at 10:43 pm
Such a sweet photo.
July 1st, 2008 at 3:12 am
That’s a purreshus pickshure. We Ballicai miss Emil so much. We are sending love and purrs to his fambly.
Here’s a poem we’d like to share:
“To an Athlete Dying Young” by A. E. Housman (1859-1936)
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields were glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.