Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.177.uio.satnet.net)
Date: 03-22-06 15:13
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Anything in any way beautiful derives its beauty from itself, and asks nothing beyond itself. Praise is
no part of it, for nothing is made worse or better by praise. -Marcus Aurelius, Mediations (2nd C.),
4.20, TR. Maxwell Staniforth
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season\'d showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As \'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better\'d that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul\'s thought, all naked, will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter\'d loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.