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Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world,
Crack Nature's moulds, all germains spill at once,
That makes ingrateful man!
King Lear, Act III, Scene 2
-- sdh
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Radio
I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark
from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman
Love this.
Posted by: Eric B | August 26, 2011 at 07:15 PM
Ah, Lear. Can't go wrong with him - never, never, never, never, never.
Posted by: Laura Orem | August 26, 2011 at 07:39 PM
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods, — They kill us for their sport.
◦ Gloucester, Scene I
Posted by: bill | August 27, 2011 at 11:28 AM