The English Ones

Musings #6 There’s always time for #poetry

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:

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.

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