When Irish eyes are smiling
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Today I am wearing my monogrammed dress shirt (a Xmas present from rosepurr. This is significant because my middle name comes from the patron saint of Ireland for whom this day was named. The legend says he drove the snakes out of Ireland. These "snakes" are probably symbolic for pagans. Because Ireland probably never had actual snakes. But it did have pagans.
The shirt, however, is blue. It does have French cuffs. So I am wearing my Irish harp penny cufflinks (another gift from rosepurr:
But I am wearing a green tie and green underpants (TMI!!!). And, yes, the underpants came that way (even more TMI!!!!!)
Today for lunch I'm having Guinness stew that rosepurr made over the weekend.
Tonight for dinner I will have the corned beef and cabbage that rosepurr and I put in the crockpot this morning. Along with the nice cold Guinness draughts in our fridge.
The sun is shining. It is a good day.
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, 'To be born woman is to know-
Although they do not talk of it at school-
That we must labour to be beautiful.'
I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
I love this line:
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'