Tonya and I sat out drinking coffee on the front porch after her early morning run and I happened to mention the poem Pippa Passes. I had to learn that in school, but she had never heard of it. So, for those of you who do not know of the poem, it was written by Robert Browning in 1841.
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven -
All's right with the world!
1 comment:
My blog has no weather. But if it did it would be confusing a pixelly or windless and dry. If Robert Browning came by he'd be like, "ew" and maybe take a leak and leave.
This isn't an exercise in self pity. I'm just trying to contrast the vivid imagery your post here puts forth versus the crap I publish.
I don't know why I chose to do it in such a confusing and self defeating manner. Anyway: good job!
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