The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.
Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.
The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying
And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.
Louis MacNeice
2 comments:
Is it better to be born miserable, and die happy;
Be born happy, and die miserable;
Be born and die neither, but with a happy interim;
Be born and die happy, and nauseate everyone with your too much in-between happiness;
Be born miserable, die miserable, with much misery in between drinks;
Or be born and die neither, with neither still in between?
The advantage of being miserable three-fold, life-through is the 'pleasure' in knowing things can't get any worse (oh,.. that's the optimist in me speaking...)
Thus is the unhappiest person happiest!
Post a Comment