Melancholetta
by Lewis Carroll
WITH saddest music all day longShe soothed her secret sorrow:At night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrongSuch cheerful words to borrow.Dearest, a sweeter, sadder songI'll sing to thee to-morrow."
I thanked her, but I could not sayThat I was glad to hear it:I left the house at break of day,And did not venture near itTill time, I hoped, had worn awayHer grief, for nought could cheer it!
My dismal sister! Couldst thou knowThe wretched home thou keepest!Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,Is thankful when thou sleepest;For if I laugh, however low,When thou'rt awake, thou weepest!
I took my sister t'other day(Excuse the slang expression)To Sadler's Wells to see the playIn hopes the new impressionMight in her thoughts, from grave to gayEffect some slight digression.
I asked three gay young dogs from townTo join us in our folly,Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drownMy sister's melancholy:The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,And Robinson the jolly.
The maid announced the meal in tonesThat I myself had taught her,Meant to allay my sister's moansLike oil on troubled water:I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,And begged him to escort her.
Vainly he strove, with ready wit,To joke about the weather -To ventilate the last 'ON DIT' -To quote the price of leather -She groaned "Here I and Sorrow sit:Let us lament together!"
I urged "You're wasting time, you know:Delay will spoil the venison.""My heart is wasted with my woe!There is no rest - in Venice, onThe Bridge of Sighs!" she quoted lowFrom Byron and from Tennyson.
I need not tell of soup and fishIn solemn silence swallowed,The sobs that ushered in each dish,And its departure followed,Nor yet my suicidal wishTo BE the cheese I hollowed.
Some desperate attempts were madeTo start a conversation;"Madam," the sportive Brown essayed,"Which kind of recreation,Hunting or fishing, have you madeYour special occupation?"
Her lips curved downwards instantly,As if of india-rubber."Hounds IN FULL CRY I like," said she:(Oh how I longed to snub her!)"Of fish, a whale's the one for me,IT IS SO FULL OF BLUBBER!"
The night's performance was "King John.""It's dull," she wept, "and so-so!"Awhile I let her tears flow on,She said they soothed her woe so!At length the curtain rose upon'Bombastes Furioso.'
In vain we roared; in vain we triedTo rouse her into laughter:Her pensive glances wandered wideFrom orchestra to rafter -"TIER UPON TIER!" she said, and sighed;And silence followed after.
Nirvana
ReplyDeleteI remember the story of the mother
who had to give up her newborn --
how, years later,
she could still feel the impression
of his tiny head below her shoulder.
Yesterday, a bird stood on the walkway
as though transfixed, amused.
You and I worked the yard for hours,
its whole area, perimeter.
When done, you said, look,
there's a bird just standing there.
I recognized him.
You dug up worms but
his head was cocked to one side.
The wide open beak begged
but couldn't eat.
We saw the gruesome injury
and headed to wildlife rescue
where they said there was no hope.
I wished I had brought him back
to launch home to heaven, from the
color and loam of my own front yard
where he'd always be, like a sentry,
snug in the nirvana of dark earth,
among yellow flowers bright as suns
that once liit his flight.
C Julie K. Shavin 2009
Great B&W
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