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.
Thursday, October 08, 2015
Wednesday, October 07, 2015
We started off pure gold, then people began
polluting us when we were too young
to fight back.
If a jeweler now examined you he might exclaim,
"What happened to you? You turned into pyrite!"
Don't be worried by such a candid remark; don't
let it depress you for there is a way
to reverse this process. Everything I write gives
practical clues, clues, clues!
poem by Rumi