The chess-board is the world; the pieces are the phenomena of the universe; the rules of the game are what we call the Laws of Nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is always fair, just and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance.
Thomas Huxley
Showing posts with label Monday's Journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Monday's Journey. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday's Journey
I'd not give room for an Emperor-
I'd hold my road for a king.
To the Triple Crown I'd not bow down-
But this is a different thing.
I'll not fight with the Powers of Air-
Sentries pass him through!
Drawbridge let fall-He's the Lord of us all-
The Dreamer whose dream came true.
The Siege of the Fairies
Monday, May 4, 2009
Monday's Journey
The Night Will Never StayThe night will never stay,
The night will still go by,
Though with a million stars
You pin it to the sky,
Though you bind it with the blowing wind
And buckle it with the moon.
The night will slip away
Like sorrow or a tune.
Eleanor Farjeon
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday's Journey
I know it's now Tuesday, oh well.
The Indian Upon God
I passed along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs' and saw the moor fowl pace
All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bell and made us strong or weak
Is and undying moor fowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from his eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk.
For I am in his image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop on rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made this grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and he waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.
William Butler Yeats
The Indian Upon God
I passed along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs' and saw the moor fowl pace
All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bell and made us strong or weak
Is and undying moor fowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from his eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk.
For I am in his image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop on rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made this grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and he waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.
William Butler Yeats
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