Tag: analog

Pale, beyond Porch and Portal

Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands; […] She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn – Algernon Swinburne – The Garden of Proserpine –

The Empty House

See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! […] “Secrets”, sighs the night-wind, “Vacancy is all I find; Every keyhole I have made Wails a summons, faint and sad, No voice ever answers me, Only vacancy.” […] – Walter de la Mare – The Empty House –  

Mon pays, c’est l’hiver

My Country it is not a country, it’s Winter My Garden it is not a garden, it’s the Plain My Path it is not a path, it is the Snow My Country it is not a country, it’s Winter – Gilles Vigneault – Mon Pays, c’est l’Hiver –

A Faded Picture

Oh, I want to go back / To my happy place That disappeared from view / Such a long, long time ago It’s a faded picture / Hanging on my wall It’s a faded picture / Isn’t there at all It’s only there / When I close my eyes – The Seeds –

The three Sisters

I want to make a confession, dear sisters. My soul is in pain. I will confess to you, and never again to anybody… I’ll tell you this minute. [Softly] It’s my secret but you must know everything… I can’t be silent… – Anton Checkhov – The three Sisters –

Let me help you remember II

There’s a lake and a beautiful salt pool with white roses all over and black slate rocks and I think it’d be GORGEOUS with your jewelry, as the black rocks are kind of moody and dark. – Sofia Ajram –

XVII. the Star

Bright star! Would I were stedfast as thou art, Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores – John Keats – Bright Star –

II. the High-Priestess

I and my brother priests – Worshipped a wonderful woman With a body lithe as a beast’s – Subtly, horribly human. Deep in the pit of her eyes – I saw the image of death, And I drew the water of sighs – From the well of her lullaby breath. She sitteth veiled for ever […]

I. the Magician

I knew, of course, that trees and plants had roots, stems, bark, branches and foliage that reached up toward the light. But I was coming to realize that the real magician was light itself. – Edward Steichen –