The seasons change and now, in the middle of the dark days - the fogs, rain, short evenings, dark dawns, Tennyson's poem comes to mind with a sense of mellow Victorian nostalgia:
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
In fact, I wouldn't want to return to the 'days that are no more' but the changing seasons allow for a little self-indulgence and there's nothing quite like a bout of nostalgia to welcome the winter!
The Original "Getting Real"
Please click on the picture to order this book.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment