Today’s Totally Random
Lines
There’s
but one down; the son is fled.
Third Murderer
Macbeth Act
III, Scene iii, Line 19
Since
we covered this short scene not very long ago, I’ve decided to offer something
completely different for your consideration this morning.
I chanced upon this sonnet, written in true
Shakespearean Sonnet form, whilst surfing today. Yes, every once in a while it
is actually possible to come up with something worthwhile whilst surfing the
internet; not that I recommend it.
This sonnet is a poem by Robert Frost. It’s absolutely
lovely. He just loves to write about trees, doesn’t he?
Into My Own
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as ‘twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e’re turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They
would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only
more sure of all I thought was true.
Oh, that is fabulous. You might have to read it
more than once before it sinks in. I can see why my Gram said Frost was her
favorite poet.
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