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Saturday, July 16, 2005

Chapter Seven, in which more Books come to The Beggars

About 50 volumes came in to the store today. Most are modern fine trade editions in Sociology and Anthropology, with a smattering of fiction. The highlights of the lot are an erotic volume in slipcase on Food, and a delicious volume with slipcase on Passion.

2 comments:

  1. Amelia and AmoryJuly 19, 2005 at 4:51 PM

    I tore your letter into strips
    No bigger than the airy feathers
    That ducks preen out in changing weathers
    Upon the shifting ripple-tips.



    In darkness on my bed alone
    I seemed to see you in a vision,
    And hear you say: 'Why this derision
    Of one drawn to you, though unknown?'



    Yes, eve's quick mood had run its course,
    The night had cooled my hasty madness;
    I suffered a regretful sadness
    Which deepened into real remorse.



    I thought what pensive patient days
    A soul must know of grain so tender,
    How much of good must grace the sender
    Of such sweet words in such bright phrase.



    Uprising then, as things unpriced
    I sought each fragment, patched and mended;
    The midnight whitened ere I had ended
    And gathered words I had sacrificed.



    But some, alas, of those I threw
    Were past my search, destroyed for ever:
    They were your name and place; and never
    Did I regain those clues to you.



    I learnt I had missed, by rash unheed,
    My track; that, so the Will decided,
    In life, death, we should be divided,
    And at the sense I ached indeed.



    That ache for you, born long ago,
    Throbs on; I never could outgrow it.
    What a revenge, did you but know it!
    But that, thank God, you do not know.

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  2. Amelia and AmoryJuly 26, 2005 at 1:50 PM

    Thomas Hardy wrote the poem, I am surprised that you are not familiar with his poetry as well....

    ReplyDelete