By Honoré de Balzac
Translated by George Saintsbury
In Nature's poem flowers have each their word
The rose of love and beauty sings alone;
The violet's soul exhales in tenderest tone;
The lily's one pure simple note is heard.
The cold Camellia only, stiff and white,
Rose without perfume, lily without grace,
When chilling winter shows his icy face,
Blooms for a world that vainly seeks delight.
Yet, in a theatre, or ball-room light,
With alabaster petals opening fair,
I gladly see Camellias shining bright
Above some stately woman’s raven hair,
Whose noble form fulfils the heart's desire,
Like Grecian marbles warmed by Phidian fire.
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It was cooler on Tuesday, but still beautiful outside, and I am still behind on everything -- the laundry isn't even started, though my weekly Voyager review now is. Paul's mother reports that his father continues to improve, though we still don't know how long Clair's recovery might take.
We decided to take a walk at McCrillis Gardens in the late afternoon to see whether the azaleas were in bloom -- they're starting, but will be more impressive next week, though the bluebells are spectacular. Evening involved Agents of SHIELD and the Graham Norton episode we missed over the weekend.
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