We had to memorize a poem from the modern period for our final (tomorrow!! AHH!) so I, naturally, chose T.S. Eliot. This is Part IV of “Little Gidding” in his Four Quartets.
The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
The mysteriously elusive Cohens
Where, you wonder, have the Cohens gone? I will tell you. They are hunkering down for the next week and a half until school's out: completing end of the year projects, cramming for finals (and comprehensive exams), buying graduation dresses (ok only one of us did that), etc. etc. They promise to be faithful bloggers once their lives slow down a bit. But right now things are a bit hectic around here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)