By H.D.
Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
more precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem—
you are caught in the drift.
Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?
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I've posted that one before, but it was the Poem of the Day at The Academy of American Poets today and I always love rereading H.D.
Sunday was quite warm and mostly sunny -- we didn't get the eclipse in this part of the U.S., and Tropical Storm Alberto stayed well south of us -- so after lunch and Adam's job at Hebrew school, we all went to Homestead Farm to pick strawberries. It's early in the season, so it wasn't mobbed and there were lots of berries just coming ripe. We also stopped to see the goats, lambs, calf, pigs, and chickens:
After dinner we had intended to watch the finale of Harry's Law, but although neither our local TV listings nor NBC said so in advance, it's apparently been postponed a week in favor of reality TV reruns to get higher May sweeps ratings. So instead Daniel, Paul and I watched a few more seventh season DS9 episodes -- never a hardship -- while Adam biked with friends and prepared for HSAs this week!
2 comments:
A nice post today. The farm is so peaceful and pretty. How fun to share these experiences from my armchair!
I love roses and the poem was very sweet. I wondered how you pick your poems. I can only come up with the usual staples all English majors know!
Thank you! Tomorrow I need to post photos of the animals at the farm (mostly kept for kids to pet, they have only one calf and I don't think they sell the chicken eggs). It gets very crowded at apple-picking time but strawberry season is so early this year that I think most people weren't geared to go picking yet.
I ran out of my favorite poems ten years ago when I started blogging, so I hunt all over the place for new ones!
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