Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies
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oh what a lovely idea! everything inspires me, i think. everything dreamy, romantic and creative. movies, photography, people, stories, words, flowers, and especially anything from the past is very inspirational to me :)
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Love this one. I love her.slightlymoreJune 22 2008, 17:57:27 UTC
THE CLOUD
by: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
AM a cloud in the heaven's height, The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and free, I cast my shadow on hill and sea-- But why do the pines on the mountain's crest Call to me always, "Rest, rest?"
I throw my mantle over the moon And I blind the sun on his throne at noon, Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind, I am a child of the heartless wind-- But oh the pines on the mountain's crest Whispering always, "Rest, rest."
must have passed the crest a while ago And now I am going down-- Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know, But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown.
All the morning I thought how proud I should be To stand there straight as a queen, Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me-- But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.
It was nearly level along the beaten track And the brambles caught in my gown-- But it's no use now to think of turning back, The rest of the way will be only going down.
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oh what a lovely idea! everything inspires me, i think. everything dreamy, romantic and creative. movies, photography, people, stories, words, flowers, and especially anything from the past is very inspirational to me :)
( ... )
Reply
Reply
by: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
AM a cloud in the heaven's height,
The stars are lit for my delight,
Tireless and changeful, swift and free,
I cast my shadow on hill and sea--
But why do the pines on the mountain's crest
Call to me always, "Rest, rest?"
I throw my mantle over the moon
And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,
Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,
I am a child of the heartless wind--
But oh the pines on the mountain's crest
Whispering always, "Rest, rest."
Reply
by: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down--
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown.
All the morning I thought how proud I should be
To stand there straight as a queen,
Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me--
But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.
It was nearly level along the beaten track
And the brambles caught in my gown--
But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down.
Reply
( ... )
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