I have always loved poetry. It was my literary upbringing, my bedtime stories (The Wreck of the Hesperus, The Highwayman, Winkin Blinkin & Nod), My fantasy world (The Lady of Shalott), My historical education (Paul Revere's Ride, In Flanders Fields, O! Captain! My Captain!, The High Tide at Gettysburg), and laid roots from which moral and ethical foundation were laid (IF, The Goops)
And so it was with great surprise and delight that I stumbled upon Candy Sandwich's post today, detaling the following:
Second Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Poetry Reading
WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.
Enjoy!
22
By Emily Dickenson
I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way
The value might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this my purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love
Depreciates the sight;
But, 'til the merchant buy,
Still fabled, in the isles of spice
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, 'tis mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way
The value might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this my purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love
Depreciates the sight;
But, 'til the merchant buy,
Still fabled, in the isles of spice
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, 'tis mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.
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