( via / me )

Listening to Joelma and making this horse.

"Binsey Poplars
felled 1879

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow & river & wind-wandering weed-winding bank.

O if we but knew what we do
When we delve or hew —
Hack and rack the growing green!
Since country is so tender
To touch, her being só slender,
That, like this sleek and seeing ball
But a prick will make no eye at all,
Where we, even where we mean
To mend her we end her,
When we hew or delve:
After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve
Strokes of havoc unselve
The sweet especial scene,
Rural scene, a rural scene,
Sweet especial rural scene."

--G M Hopkins

Let justice.

"Bach’s 339. When I was a child, while reading one of Minulescu’s poems, I came across: 'Les fleures du mal and at page / three hundred and thirty-nine: La mort des amants.' I never found the edition he was referring to but in searching for it I fell in love with that number: 339." --@dreamsofbeing_

Sonnet-ghazal.