Living Poetry

"There is nothing inorganic... The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit -- not a fossil earth, but a living earth"

Henry David Thoreau

Walden

 

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How far, Since Then

Ultima Thule

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, 

We sailed for the Hesperides, 

The land where golden apples grow; 

But that, ah! that was long ago. 

 

How far, since then, the ocean streams 

Have swept us from that land of dreams, 

That land of fiction and of truth, 

The lost Atlantis of our youth! 

 

Whither, ah, whither? Are not these 

The tempest-haunted Orcades, 

Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar, 

And wreck and sea-weed line the shore? 

 

Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle! 

Here in thy harbors for a while 

We lower our sails; a while we rest 

From the unending, endless quest. 

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Painting Sunsets

My new children’s fantasy novel Painting Sunsets will go on sale next month. You can pre-order the book online or through your local bookstore.

Find out more here:

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Rise

I’d shake your hand but as you see

(ha ha). My name is Mrs. Grubb.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

A new face is a joy round here.

They come and then they disappear

 

All the time. So welcome the new

And remember the old, the ones who rise.

I may rise myself someday.

You’d not think so to look at me,

But still it is a possibility.

 

And yet I’d miss this old beguiling earth.

That’s all my wisdom in a bit of verse.

 

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