Of these, I confess, I once wrote
Gah. I have no interest in doing any of the things I need to do, which is more than a bit problematic. :-( Tonight might be one of the nights on which I say, "Aw, screw it" and just go to bed. I swear, the number of words I've misspelled since beginning this post is embarrassing enough that I begin to think that maybe I just shouldn't do anything requiring brain power for the rest of the evening. Maybe I'm psychically transferring all my brain power to my mom so she can win at Quiz Bowl this year. Go, Perry and the Masons!
Since I seem to be on a roll with posting classical poetry, here's a little something by Faltonia Betitia Proba.
When He saw them all shining steadfast in such clear skies,
the Almighty gave His name and number to the stars.
And the year He divided into four equal parts--
summer's heat, soft spring rains, the winds driving in the cold.
And so that we might know each season by their own signs,
the earth swells up with Spring, cries out for nourishing seed,
the grain lies parched in the midday heat on the threshing-floors;
Autumn lays out its fruits, one by one, and darkness comes
with Winter, black berries trodden down by olive press.
And so the year turns over and over on itself,
traces the tracks it has laid many times before...
Trans. Josephine Balmer
So, this poem is made up entirely of quotes from Virgil. The remix has been around for a long, long time.
Since I seem to be on a roll with posting classical poetry, here's a little something by Faltonia Betitia Proba.
When He saw them all shining steadfast in such clear skies,
the Almighty gave His name and number to the stars.
And the year He divided into four equal parts--
summer's heat, soft spring rains, the winds driving in the cold.
And so that we might know each season by their own signs,
the earth swells up with Spring, cries out for nourishing seed,
the grain lies parched in the midday heat on the threshing-floors;
Autumn lays out its fruits, one by one, and darkness comes
with Winter, black berries trodden down by olive press.
And so the year turns over and over on itself,
traces the tracks it has laid many times before...
Trans. Josephine Balmer
So, this poem is made up entirely of quotes from Virgil. The remix has been around for a long, long time.