Post by Charlotte on Feb 14, 2010 10:08:26 GMT -5
The Divine Poet
Repudiation of pleasur is a reason'd folly
of imperfection. Ther is no motive can rebate
or decompose the intrinsic joy of active life,
whereon all function whatsoever in man is based.
Consider how this mortal sensability
hath a wide jurisdiction of range in all degrees,
from mountainous gravity to imperceptible
faintest tenuities:—The imponderable fragrance
of my window-jasmin, that from her starry cup
of red-stemm'd ivory invadeth my being,
as she floateth it forth, and wantoning unabash'd
asserteth her idea in the omnipotent blaze
of the tormented sun-ball, checquering the grey wall
with shadow-tracery of her shapely fonds; this frail
unique spice of perfumery, in which she holdeth
monoply by royal licence of Nature,
is but one of a thousand angelic species,
original beauties that win conscience in man:
a like marvel hangeth o'er the rosebed, and where
the honeysuckle escapeth in serpentine sprays
from its dark-cloister'd clamber thru' the old holly-bush,
spreading its joybunches to finger at the sky
in revel above rivalry. Legion is their name;
Lily-of-the-vale, Violet, Verbena, Mignonette,
Hyacinth, Heliotrope, Sweet-briar, Pinks and Peas,
Lilac and Wallflower, or such white and purple blooms
that sleep i' the sun, and their heavy perfumes withhold
to mingle their heart's incense with the wonder-dreams,
love-ladden prayers and reveries that steal forth from earth,
under the dome of night: and tho' these blossomy breaths,
that hav presumed the title of their gay genitors,
enter but singly into our neighboring sense, that hath
no panorama, yet the minds eye is not blind
unto their multitudinous presences:—I know
that if odour wer visible as color is, I'd see
the summer garden aureoled in rainbow clouds,
with such warfare of hues as a painter might choose
to show his sunset sky or a forest aflame;
while o'er the country-side the wide clover-pastures
and the beanfields of June would wear a mantle, thick
as when in late October, at the drooping of day
the dark grey mist arising blotteth out the land
with ghostly shroud. Now these and such-like influences
of tender specialty must not—so fine they be—
fall in neglect and all their loveliness be lost,
being the soul deep springs of happiness, and full
of lovingkindness of the natural man, who is apt
kindly to judge of good by comfortable effect.
HAPPY VALENTINE!
Charlotte
Repudiation of pleasur is a reason'd folly
of imperfection. Ther is no motive can rebate
or decompose the intrinsic joy of active life,
whereon all function whatsoever in man is based.
Consider how this mortal sensability
hath a wide jurisdiction of range in all degrees,
from mountainous gravity to imperceptible
faintest tenuities:—The imponderable fragrance
of my window-jasmin, that from her starry cup
of red-stemm'd ivory invadeth my being,
as she floateth it forth, and wantoning unabash'd
asserteth her idea in the omnipotent blaze
of the tormented sun-ball, checquering the grey wall
with shadow-tracery of her shapely fonds; this frail
unique spice of perfumery, in which she holdeth
monoply by royal licence of Nature,
is but one of a thousand angelic species,
original beauties that win conscience in man:
a like marvel hangeth o'er the rosebed, and where
the honeysuckle escapeth in serpentine sprays
from its dark-cloister'd clamber thru' the old holly-bush,
spreading its joybunches to finger at the sky
in revel above rivalry. Legion is their name;
Lily-of-the-vale, Violet, Verbena, Mignonette,
Hyacinth, Heliotrope, Sweet-briar, Pinks and Peas,
Lilac and Wallflower, or such white and purple blooms
that sleep i' the sun, and their heavy perfumes withhold
to mingle their heart's incense with the wonder-dreams,
love-ladden prayers and reveries that steal forth from earth,
under the dome of night: and tho' these blossomy breaths,
that hav presumed the title of their gay genitors,
enter but singly into our neighboring sense, that hath
no panorama, yet the minds eye is not blind
unto their multitudinous presences:—I know
that if odour wer visible as color is, I'd see
the summer garden aureoled in rainbow clouds,
with such warfare of hues as a painter might choose
to show his sunset sky or a forest aflame;
while o'er the country-side the wide clover-pastures
and the beanfields of June would wear a mantle, thick
as when in late October, at the drooping of day
the dark grey mist arising blotteth out the land
with ghostly shroud. Now these and such-like influences
of tender specialty must not—so fine they be—
fall in neglect and all their loveliness be lost,
being the soul deep springs of happiness, and full
of lovingkindness of the natural man, who is apt
kindly to judge of good by comfortable effect.
HAPPY VALENTINE!
Charlotte