Today is a very strange day. Hot, slow and fidgety.
I see an email from Brain Pickings in my inbox and decide to open it. Maybe I’ll read it later.
But then this yellow, knowing pop-up appears: You could use a poem, it says.
So here’s what it gives me. A precious little poetry of stars, and wonders, and passion, and time:
THE MORE LOVING ONE
by W.H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.