STAND on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
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11 comments:
hi. i was stoned when i read this. i proceeded to read the entire poem. half an hour has passed, and i am still in awe.
i did not write it.
(i wish)
you figured that i hope.
it's ts eliot.
stoned = stoned?
yeah. ts eliot. i read the rest of the poem. thats what i meant.
stoned=stoned.
you like eliot otherwise?
i love his rhythm
not qualified to judge. dont always appreciate poetry. dont read too much of it either.
gerontion has a line thats a favourite though.
o which one.
After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities.
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once again-i havent read much.
shit. i read it today, and it knocked the wind out of me, once again.
wow. i'm happy for you. this is weekend, so maybe you were stoned stoned again?
where the hell did your blog go!!
haha. nice. but being stoned has nothing to do with weekends.
i deleted the blog. didnt feel like writing for anyone to read. i still read (some) blogs, though.
that kind of thing.
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