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"WHY do I make no poems? Good my friend
Now is there silence through the summer woods,
In whose green depths and lawny solitudes
The light is dreaming; voicings clear ascend
.
Now from no hollow where glad rivulets wend,
Now from no hollow where glad rivulets wend,
But murmurings low of inarticulate moods,
Softer than stir of unfledged cushat broods,
Breathe, till o'er drowsed the heavy flower-heads
bend.
Now sleep the crystal and heart-charmed waves
Round white, sunstricken rocks the noontide long,
Or 'mid the coolness of dim lighted caves
Sway in a trance of vague deliciousness;
............................And I,--I am too deep in joy's excess
For the imperfect impulse of a song.
.
Edward Dowden
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π π π π π π π π π π π π π π π π π π π
2 comments:
I know that Dowden was Irish, so am I to presume that your photos are also of Ireland? Wherever they are, they are stunningly beautiful.
Nice poem. These lovely photos really set the ambiance.
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