Laryngitis

Laryngitis. Of the cyber variety. Cyberlaryngitis. I like it.

I didn't know why I wanted to blog, but I just started one day, after weeks and weeks of being nagged by a Musing friend - HA! get it? a Musing? and Sarah. [Weeehoo! I crack myself up.]

Then I realized why I blog. I hadn't even had a chance to blog about it. Then people started noticing me. And liking me. The blog, I mean. And I hate to admit this, but I started getting nervous.

I think I lost my voice. I heard if you give it a rest, it'll come back. Give it a rest.

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Sticking Point

I believe that the unborn are alive.
I believe that whether the description is zygote, fetus, baby, wanted, unwanted, unplanned, inconvenient . . . the living is alive.

That Barak Obama does not himself believe in abortion but supports legislation that supports abortion, is deeply sad to me.

I believe that the lives of the living are as important as the lives of the unborn.
I believe that the living need justice, decency, equality, protection and respect.

And this, this is why Barak Obama's victory is deeply gratifying and uplifting to me.

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Bond - Shaken & Stirred

My mother died over twenty years ago, but only recently, just recently, have I been able to say, "I miss my mom."

Look, she was difficult...high strung, demanding, a perfectionist. She was as warm and protective as a mama bear and yet could snap and nip just as quickly. But we were One at one time. When that bond is broken, by death, by estrangement . . . or by adoption, there is pain. Cosmic, profound, soul-wrenching pain. And all these years, I was ignoring the gaping wound, not believing that our bond could be so strong.

She never knew me. I never felt like she knew me. Or cared. She hated that I was so tender and sensitive. I think she wanted me to be strong and confident. And yet she was miserly with praise. Heaping measures of criticism came my way.

I'm not here to diss my mother. I am here to tell you how shaken I am at realizing, that no matter who she was, I can finally say how much I miss my mother. What have I missed by denying that? What energy have I subconsciously poured into waste drainage that should have instead sustained me and made me stronger?

Funny. I think I'm going to get stronger now that I've admitted this stirring in my belly, this ache, this throbbing, this unbreakable bond that is my mother.

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Conversation with Dr. Boo

Waking up from a nap all soft and warm and groggy, Boo says . . .

"Oma, about 3 seconds ago I couldn't breathe."

.

"It's not fun being sick, is it?"

.

"No. I hope Dipsy doesn't catch my cold." (of the Teletubbies.)

.

"No, I hope not."

.

"You know how Dipsy can get sick, Oma? He has an allergy to . . . hay and. . . hay and dog fur. And ho-, ho-, hot water. If he goes in the hot water, he gets a temperature of 105."

.

"What's his normal temperature?"

.

"91. I mean 98. Percent."
.
.
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What a Change 12 Hours Can Bring

.
This is Boo on any given day. He is honestly, as others have said to me, the most cheerful little boy. Sun, rain, hot, cold. Okay, so sometimes he is anxious and needy. But you get the picture.
















.
This is Boo today, with a 103 temperature. The only good thing about this is that oma get lots of snuggles.
.

Happy New Year!

Sae hae-eh bok mahnee badusayo!
May you be much blessed this new year!

So say Koreans at Seol-nal, Lunar New Year. Today, January 26, 2009 is Lunar calendar year 4706, Year of the Ox. It would traditionally involve ancestral rites, like serving food at an alter and bowing at the tombs, but Koreans are now more than 50% Christian and would more likely be at church.

I have heard it is the biggest holiday of the year with store promotions, fireworks, displays, eating special foods and visiting family. We used to dress is traditional wear, visit our grandparents, bow to them and receive money! The younger you are, the more you have to bow, but the more money you could get!

We eat dumpling soup with rice cake, which symbolizes prosperity.

We do turkey at Thanksgiving, the tree at Christmas, but we do none of these things. Wait . . . I am not one for new year's resolutions, but here's one I will keep:

I resolve to start this tradition in our household to continue my son's and my heritage.

You never know what you'll learn while blogging.

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Soup photo courtesy of aeriskitchen

Gamey

I am not a playful person. I can be goofey, and I love me some sarcasm and punnery, but I really don't even know how to play. But board games? I can do games. It has to be good, though. I refuse to buy dumb games. (I won't mention any!) I love Charades, I love that drawing game and I love me some Scrabble. Until Boo is old enough for Scrabble, I'm on the lookout for a good, clever game. My friend introduced us to Sorry and we have played that until the board is ready to fall apart. Oh, and if Boo innocently wants to play a game with you, DO NOT, and I repeat: DO NOT go easy on him because he's a little kid. He'll eat you up! He plays by the "take no prisoner" rule.

Imagine my joy at finding Blokus! I was browsing the toy store shelves, you know, on my feet, in real time, when the geometric design of the cover caught my eye. You know, my being an architect an' all. It's pretty steep at $29.99, but I was intrigued enough to take the chance.

I love this game. HH loves this game. Boo loves this game. I can play at a very basic level with just Boo. Add HH and it takes on a whole 'nother dimension! Very easy rules, but the tactician in you will clearly be challenged! Everone has 21 modular pieces. You must start at the very corner. As you take your turn, you can only touch one corner of your own piece. That's it!

You must offensively stake out your own territory, while defensively blocking your opponents' access to their own corners. It reminds me of a combination of the game Go, or Baduk ("checkers") as it is known in Korea (BTW, the ubiquitous dogs' name in Korea is Baduk!) combined with Tangoes. It is terrific at making you (or your child) think tactically, imagine the fit of the geometric shapes and may be better than I Spy at making you really look! At the end of the game, the board may look something like this:

The person with the least number of squares left wins! Simple, sturdy, clever, intelligent, FUN!

Did I say I love this game?

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Around the World

Heard from behind the IKEA shower curtain:

"Mom, after I'm done with my shower, I'm going on a world-wide adventure, OK?"

Sure, honey. I would love for you to see the world, all its beauty and variety and sadness and festivities. I'd love for you to stay in a hut and eat unusual foods and swim in crystal clear waters. I'd want you to meet wise monks in monasteries, work in a Chinese orphanage, learn a dying Native Alaskan language, see Ronchamps at sunset.

"Mom, what's a 'world-wide adventure?'"


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Becoming "Glass Half-Full"

I am, by nature and nurture, a "glass half-empty" person. My husband, my sweet, awesome husband is by nature and nurture, a "glass half-full" person. In the 12-1/2 years we've been married, the most important thing I've learned from him is to be positive. I remember the moment my heart turned. You see, I thought positive people were less sensitive, less aware and critical than I. I thought positive, upbeat people just didn't see what I saw, felt what I felt, knew what I knew. {Ugh.}

I can picture us standing in our bedroom, each of us tidying up [or "redding up" as we say in some parts of PA,] discussing something - I don't even know what, when I realized that my dear husband chooses to be positive. He sees. He feels. He knows. But he chooses wisely.

I have since then practiced being a "glass half-full" person. Yes, it can be learned. Am I always cheerful and positive? Umm that would be a negative. Is my first thought and comment always positive? Negative again on that one. Believe you me, I can b*tch with the best of 'em! We tell Boo that he needs to practice at being strong - in body, heart and mind. That memorizing verses strengthens his heart and mind. That doing homework is practicing. And to take the ole proverbial taste of my own medicine, it took practice to become a positive person. Or shall I say for myself it takes practice.

Why bother, you ask? Yes, it's more pleasant. You'll be more popular at cocktail parties and jewelry parties. Yes, it helped me to improve our marriage. I related to my in-laws better. But here's the key for me. How can I be negative and unappreciative and always notice the bad things, when my gracious God, my Heavenly Father has given me all things? Romans says all things work together for good to those that love Him. Jesus said what father, when a child asks for bread, will give him a stone? The Old Testament says God gathers us to His breast like a hen with her chicks. Then, do I turn around and scoff in His face?

So, to borrow from Hippocrates:

#1. First, do no harm.

For many of us, and especially my gender, that means don't say anything.
Nothing. Nada. Stop. Take a breath.

#2. Think of something positive to say.

Anything. You can do it. I know you can.

#3. Say the positive thing. Only.

It may hurt and you may wince, but you can do it! You do it every time
you look at your toddler's drawing and coo, "Oh that's be-yooootiful!"

#4. Don't say the negative thing that first came into your head.

Make a note in your head not to do /say/ see/act/wear what you thought
was so aweful, but keep the words to yourself.

Lift it up to the Spirit and ask Him to help you. If you want to, that is. We use the phrase with Boo, "is that a wise choice or a sad choice?" so much that my siblings tease me about it. The point being, that our behavior, our very thoughts are our choice.

Now drink. Let's drink from this life God has given us!

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It's My Bag

I promised HH that I'd go to bed early tonight, but I'm playin with Lora, cuz I'm blackbelt and I gotta. I love my bag cuz it's really sharp, just the right size and it's got that zippered part like Lora's and lots of other little pockets for me to put litte stuff that we women are always feeling like we have to have just in case. I love the top stitching that matches my gloves that are black and have topstitching and it also matches my super comfortable black pumps that are black and have topstitching that I can wear with jeans. I carry it everyday that I'm wearing black which is almost every day unless I'm going to church or something or feeling extra spunky. I've been carrying it with my very warm black cashmere coat that I got at Neiman's which I don't have to tell you the price of cuz that's not this meme!

My adorable, totally functional bag was $6 at a thrift store. Blackbelt scooooooores!

This meme is Beth's from Total Mom Haircut and here are her rules:

1) Post a picture of whatever bag you are carrying as of late. No, you cannot go up to your closet and pull out that cute little purse you used back before you had kids. I want to know what you carried today (or the last time you left the house - it’s freaking snowing here so you know I’m in my velour pants today and the green precious is sitting on the steps).
2) I want to know how much it cost :) and this is not to judge, because I’m honestly telling you I was ready to put down some cash; I just got lucky. This is for entertainment purposes only. So spill it. And if there is a story to go along with how you obtained it, I’d love to hear it.
3) Tag some chicks. And link back to this post so people know why the heck you’re showing everyone your diaper bag/non-diaper bag.

I tag Carla, of Four by 40 cuz she's so not a bagaholic. Unless it's for Aldi. But we'll have to wait until she gets home from doing her great work. And Grace at Serious Whimsey cuz she should have some Whimsey now.

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Wordless Wednesday - Ho Ho Ho

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Snips and Snails

You know how dirty little boys can get. Boo comes home covered in marker. He showers without shampooing his hair. He washes half his face. And sometimes - ack! I can't even write it! Ew. Ew. Ew.

I said "Boo, "ung-ahs" are really, really dirty. They are full of germs. If you have any left on your hands, you can get sick and make other people sick. Hundreds of years ago, people didn't have bathrooms. The "ung-ahs" used to float down the streets and hundreds of thousands of people died!"

Think I made a convincing case? Think he'll have nightmares?

I HOPE SO!!!!!!!

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His Words Speak

I believe the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. had a clear vision of his Lord, his home, his meaning in life. He was fighting for His Kingdom. The Kingdom of God. The. Kingdom. of. God.

The final paragraph of his final speech, “I See the Promised Land:”

“Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

Thank you, Pastor King.

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Point of View

8:30 AM EST

Photo by Oma, "Cold Pizza Breakfast"

Photo by Boo, "Oma Needs Her Morning Coffee"








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Be Still My Heart

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Srsly. This is the kind of thing that gets me really, really, really excited. It's something that has always been "me" and won't ever change.

Listen to him. Really listen. The whole thing. Wade Davis is an Explorer with the National Geographic, a modern day Indiana Jones! When we are eroding the rain forest, we are also eroding a people. It is not just about the inanimate global warming and animal habitats. It is about people. He gives us delicious morsals of their belief systems, their place in the world. I savor the kiss of knowlege and it reveals how pedantic and pedestrian our own "advanced" lives are.

I've read many a National Geographic. I used to read TimeLife books as a child. Read the encyclopedia for fun. And yet, I was stunned.

Believe. See. It is Amazing.



I love Ted.

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No Meme Ma'am

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

This was one of the questions of a New Year meme I've been meming to do. (ha ha get it?) But I had a problem. I had nothing that I got really, really excited about. I'm just coming out of the "raisng a small child" stupor and it's time to consider seriously what I am about now.

I am not going back to find the "splendor in the grass," trying to recapture something gone by. For many of us women, it's the days of being thinner. Believe me, I'd like to be down a dress size...or two. But I am different now. In many ways. And I'm not going to spend all my time worrying about a svelt waist. I have this wonderful opportunity to look up from the haze of being consumed by Adorable Male Child.

Who am I? What do I like? What do I want to do? and most importantly, what will I wear??





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I Am Here

I was shopping at LOFT today. I was dressed smartly in knee-high boots and leggings, a hip smocked coat with balloon sleeves and a J-Lo worthy cap. I was confident - armed with a gift certificate, eager to spend it.

There was an obvious but subtle tone as I entered the glass doors. Someone may have looked over, but nobody acknowleged me. There seemed to be several clerks and several shoppers. I looked around every corner of the store, collecting an armful of clothes to try on. Nobody offered to start a dressing room for me. I was holding shirts up to pants. Not one clerk asked what size I was looking for. There was a young blond behind the wrap desk that kept giving me sideward glances but never smiled or said hello.

I asked directions to the dressing room. One showed me to the back of the store. She checked once to see if I needed anything. Meanwhile, in the next booth, a clerk and customer are going at it like Marie Antoinette and her servant girl. I purposely went out to the 3-way mirror in the hallway and stood looking at myself. I even lingered. I was not 3 feet from the servant, I mean, clerk and she paid me no mind. Not a "that's a nice color," or "can I get you anything." I left everything in the dressing room, unwilling to spend my money there and headed for the door.

You see, I had already gone through this routine at NY& Co next door. I was able to keep up my wall of protection, built brick by brick over the years and years of being ignored. At the deli counter, at the auto dealer, at K-Mart and at Nordstrom. Dressed well or dressed poorly. In Boston, Altoona, St. Louis and Reading. I had before that store, seen my surgeon who confirmed that I was doing well and had no reason to think that the lump he removed would result in cancer. So. Maybe it was because I was emotional, having walked out of his office knowing I had been spared my ascent to see my Maker. Maybe I was just tired of holding it all in. Maybe all that. But really? Really, I have come to internalize and really understand, really understand, that it's not me. It doesn't matter what I do, what I wear, how I act. Because I look like I do, some people ignore me, and make me, by their sin of ommission - make me invisible.

I approached the African-American clerk, who seemed to be in charge. I approached her quietly. Gently I asked, "Have you ever gone into a store and been ignored?" She gave me a subtle "sista" roll of the eyes, a tactful swagger and said in a conspiratorial tone, "Oh yeah. I wish I hadn't, but I have." I shocked her by saying, "Well, that's how I was treated here."

I am here. I will be known.

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Clogged

I have so much in my heart, I can't get it out my head.

Secretary of State

Boo is a wide open plain in sunlight. He is not coy, or manipulative. Yesterday, this 45 lb negotiator stood at the bank of gumball machines at the dollar store.

"I'll tell you what, mom. If you give me a quarter, I'll share a piece of gum with you."

Even I couldn't say no to that.

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Teeny-tiny

Boo absolutely treasures our weekend time together as a family. Unfortunately, we had a birthday party to go to on Saturday for one of his little friends. He did not want to go, but did not put up a big fuss. (I mean, I wanted to put up a fuss. Does anyone actually like going to a party with a dozen six-year olds??) I was going, because in our duty distribution, I somehow got "birthday parties."

So Boo and I are on our way, wrapped present in tow, when Boo lets out a big, dramatic yawn.
"What's wrong, buddy?" I ask. "Oh, nothing. Just that I am SO tired."
In my most innocent and sympathetic voice, I say, "Oh, I'm sorry, honey! Should we go home and take a nap?" You never saw a light go on and off so fast in your life. I saw the delight go on at the word "home" and extinguish at the word "nap."


"I'm only a little bit tired. Just a teeny-tiny bit tired. I'm only little tired like a fruitfly."



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Wussy Snow

I've always lived in places where it snowed. Except for a short stint in San Jose, where I felt like an outer space alien. It's important to specify what kind of alien when referencing California. If I'm going to be scorned, I want to be deported for the right reasons. (Oops, my political slip is showing.)

I grew up mostly in central Pennsylvania, where it SNOWS. I mean SNOW. Not namby-pamby snow. Snow when it's cold. Snow that is deep. Snow that gets packed on the streets. Snow that defies salt, truck blades and wheels. Snow that stays. In my home town, it is not uncommon to wake up to this:


Sure, in January. But sometimes in March. And one year, in April. OK, so it's not Minnesota or Idaho, but I'm used to, and long for, real snow. I now live in balmy southeastern Pennsylvania (you can beg to differ, Musings,) where the snow tends to dust or sprinkle, on the flaky side. Yesterday, here in PA, (yes, we really call our state "P-A") we got some snow. I overheard people worrying about getting to work, having enough groceries and whether such-and-such event would be canceled. So here's the "snow:"


You Mid-westerners and Canadians can stop laughing now. My sarcasm notwithstanding, I love where we live. I love this small town. I love our house. I love our life. Fortunately, the men in my life don't care about my view of snow. They don't do sarcasm. They just have a great time. My cheerful, happy, run-about son - I am so glad you are in my life. And Handsome Husband, you are my Sunshine.




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Confessions of One Tugged Heart

Every once in awhile, I get a hankering. A hankering, a hungering, a longing.
For another child.

I go to a "waiting child" site and look at all the little ones waiting. Waiting for a new mama. A third mama, a fourth mama . . . a Forever Mama. One waiting one will tug at me, calling to me, like this one:


There's something about him that reminds me of my Boo:


Maybe they don't look alike at all. Maybe it's a little sadness, a little uncertainty so common with children waiting for a new mama. We are waaay past the regulation age limit. HH has some health issues. I have some health issues. Boo, our only, is just right for us. I've thought this through a hundred times. Two hundred times.

"La coeur a ses raison que la raison ne connait point."
- Blaise Pascal

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UPDATE: Here he is at what must be around 16-18 months:

To A New Year

As I look to the future, but think back on my life, I remember these words:

We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind

And here, in its entirety, by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.


The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.


Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there
came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of
mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through
the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts,
thou happy Shepherd-boy!


Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the children are culling

On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
—But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?


Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's
Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.


Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.


Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation

Were endless imitation.


Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent,
read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
Mighty prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling
all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave,
A presence which is not to be put by;
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy soul shall
have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

O joy! that in our embers

Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest—
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.


Then sing, ye birds,
sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,

of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.


And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears

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