poetic farewell to summer

I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart
by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

I know I am but summer to your heart,

And not the full four seasons of the year;

And you must welcome from another part

Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.

No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell

Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;

And I have loved you all too long and well

To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.

Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,

I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,

That you may hail anew the bird and rose

When I come back to you, as summer comes.

Else will you seek, at some not distant time,

Even your summer in another clime

☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂

photography by lovely Nishe
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Saturday's Poetry Time

Frida Gustavsson, Mirte Maas, Xiao Wen Ju and Anais Pouliot by Tim Walker for Vogue US May 2012

The night is darkening round me 

by Emily Brontë 

The night is darkening round me, 

The wild winds coldly blow; 

But a tyrant spell has bound me, 

And I cannot, cannot go. 

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow; 

The storm is fast descending, 

And yet I cannot go. 

Clouds beyond clouds above me, 

Wastes beyond wastes below; 

But nothing drear can move me; 

I will not, cannot go.

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Saturday's Poetry Time; Love

Edie Campbell by Viktor Vauhtier

Love 

by Pablo Neruda 

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming

Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face, I no longer

Remember your hands; how did your lips

Feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues

Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that

Have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;

I have forgotten your eyes.

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Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to

My vague memory of you. I live with pain

That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will

Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing

Vines on melancholy walls. 

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to

Glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of

Summer pain me; because of you, I again

Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:

Shooting stars, falling objects.

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Saturday's Poetry Time...Roses and Rue

Valentino Resort 2013

Roses and Rue

by Oscar Wilde

Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,

Were it worth the pleasure,

We never could learn love's song,

We are parted too long

Could the passionate past that is fled

Call back its dead,

Could we live it all over again,

Were it worth the pain!

I remember we used to meet

By an ivied seat,

And you warbled each pretty word

With the air of a bird;

And your voice had a quaver in it,

Just like a linnet,

And shook, as the blackbird's throat

With its last big note;

And your eyes, they were green and grey

Like an April day,

But lit into amethyst

When I stooped and kissed;

And your mouth, it would never smile

For a long, long while,

Then it rippled all over with laughter

Five minutes after.

You were always afraid of a shower,

Just like a flower: 
I remember you started and ran

When the rain began.

I remember I never could catch you,

For no one could match you,

You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,

Little wings to your feet.

Saturday's Poetry Time; Mad Girl's Love Song

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath 


I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


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Miss Eyre and cover art timeline

She might not be the prettiest and most dashing girl of the Victorian world, but her spirit, intelligence, wit and her soul is what makes her such a strong and loved character. Miss Jane Eyre besides is our favorite orphan, for a long time has been one of the world’s favorite female fiction characters. I am not sure that analysis and debates whether she was or wasn’t early feminist character, could give us the true judgment, because we cannot experience our own feeling and perception of living in the time the book is written. Miss Eyre, to whom Victorian society has been cruel in many ways indeed, is exploring her ways of living and self-relationship with the world under the framework of same snobbish world. This issue of creating your own place under the sun in the world that doesn’t turn out the way we imagined it would be in early days, after 150 years, is still biggest issue that we can relate to. 

The fact that when novel appeared in 1847, published as autobiography under pseudonym Currer Bell, was sensationally successful, gives us a thought that reader in that time, mid-Victorian woman was not just a pretty face, behind her husband with exceptional needlework technique as her best quality. And surely, that Victorian Lady was the one that was questioning together with Charlotte Brontë and Jane, the woman's right on equality of emotions with man. I am not sure thought did the idea of independence awoke flame in Victorian ladies’ hearts but Jane delights us with her courage and ability needed when she left Thornfield Hall to set her own life away from beloved man. The fact of independent woman, teacher that is helping those needed help, not only that could be characterized as pre-feminist action, but also the fact she is not settling for suitable marriage proposal from St John.

At first glimpse, when reader meets 10-year-old Miss Eyre in Gateshead, she or he realizes that she won’t grow into one of those female Victorians with tape strip over her mouth. So it’s not unusual that our role model has been a heroine not just for girls that have traditional perception of love, but also for all those sarcastic spinsters who still believe in old-fashioned breathless romance in unconventional way. 

Which cover would you like to own? I would love French edition from 1957, and the goth one from 1943 with illustrated girls from Lowood on cover. (Bit Wednesday Addams, don't you think?)