6.3.2007
Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
Meginflokkur: Bloggar | Aukaflokkar: Ljóð, Menning og listir | Breytt s.d. kl. 17:57 | Facebook
Bloggvinir
- Valgerður Sigurðardóttir
- Anna Benkovic Mikaelsdóttir
- Anna Ragna Alexandersdóttir
- Baldur Kristjánsson
- Baldvin Jónsson
- Bertha Sigmundsdóttir
- Birgitta Jónsdóttir
- Brattur
- Brynja skordal
- Brynjar Jóhannsson
- Calvín
- Dunni
- Egill Bjarnason
- Egill Jóhannsson
- Einar Bragi Bragason.
- Elías Stefáns.
- Gestur Guðjónsson
- Gullvagninn
- Gunnar Helgi Eysteinsson
- Gunnlaugur B Ólafsson
- Guðjón H Finnbogason
- Guðmundur Helgi Helgason
- Guðsteinn Haukur Barkarson
- Haraldur Bjarnason
- Heidi Strand
- Heiða B. Heiðars
- Helgi Jóhann Hauksson
- Húmoristaflokkurinn
- Ingibjörg Álfrós Björnsdóttir
- Ingólfur
- Isis
- Jenný Anna Baldursdóttir
- Jonni
- Jóhanna Sigrún Jónsdóttir
- Jón Axel Ólafsson
- Jóna Á. Gísladóttir
- Júdas
- Júlíus Valsson
- Karl V. Matthíasson
- Kjartan Pétur Sigurðsson
- Kolbrún Hilmars
- Kristján G. Arngrímsson
- Kári Harðarson
- Linda
- Lára Hanna Einarsdóttir
- Marinó G. Njálsson
- María Anna P Kristjánsdóttir
- Máni Ragnar Svansson
- Nanna Katrín Kristjánsdóttir
- Orgar
- Pjetur Hafstein Lárusson
- Ragnar Freyr Ingvarsson
- Ragnar Geir Brynjólfsson
- Ragnheiður
- Ragnhildur Jónsdóttir
- Rut Sumarliðadóttir
- Salmann Tamimi
- Sema Erla Serdar
- Signý
- Sigurður Sigurðsson
- Steinar Immanúel Sörensson
- Steingrímur Helgason
- Svanfríður Guðrún Gísladóttir
- Svanur Gísli Þorkelsson
- Svavar Alfreð Jónsson
- Sveinn Ólafsson
- SM
- Thelma Ásdísardóttir
- Toshiki Toma
- Vefritid
- Viggó H. Viggósson
- Villi Asgeirsson
- Yousef Ingi Tamimi
- hreinsamviska
- molta
- Ágúst Hjörtur
- Ár & síð
- Ása Hildur Guðjónsdóttir
- Ásgeir Kristinn Lárusson
- Þorleifur Ágústsson
- Þorsteinn Siglaugsson
- Þórdís Katla
Myndaalbúm
336 dagar til jóla
Tenglar
myndefni
- Myndirnar mínar á flikr.com flestar fyrir fjölskylduna
- Ég á YouTube
blogg
- Dagbók Ástu Sólveigar Bloggað frá París
- Ingi, Allý og börn
- Welcome to my mind
- Uppi í háu húsi
- Jóhanna Kristjónsdóttir
- Vita Facilis
- Móa í Medford
- Tómas Atli Ponzi
- Waiter Rant
- Inspiratations and Creative Thoughts
- Castles in the sand
- hnakkus
- Jólin Ýmislegt dóladót
- Saumakistan Handavinna af ýmsu tagi
- Baldur McQueen
ýmislegt
- Global Voices Online
- Reporters Without Borders
- Amnesty
- Ísland Panorama
- Bergmál
- Le Droit Humain
- Explore Crete
- Félag CP á Íslandi
- OKUR
- Guðspekifélag Íslands
- Orkusetur
- Friendship Tapestry
- The Gnostic Gospels
- The Gnosis Archives
- Madame Blavatsky
- Tolle
- BC Recordings
- KIVA
- Koptíska kirkjan í Egyptalandi
- The Teachings of Jesus Christ
- Wikibók Völu
- Alþjóða Sam-Frímúrarareglan á Íslandi
- Alþjóðahús
- LAUF
- banksy
- Greinasafn Sigurfreys
- Halldór grín
Mið-Austurlönd
Stjórnmál
Heimsóknir
Flettingar
- Í dag (22.1.): 0
- Sl. sólarhring: 1
- Sl. viku: 7
- Frá upphafi: 0
Annað
- Innlit í dag: 0
- Innlit sl. viku: 7
- Gestir í dag: 0
- IP-tölur í dag: 0
Uppfært á 3 mín. fresti.
Skýringar
Athugasemdir
Þetta er búið að vera eitt af mínum uppáhaldsljóðum lengi, eða síðan ég las þetta brot úr því í, af öllum stöðum, sakamálasögu eftir Agötu Christie, sem hét "Darkest Night" og er frekar óvenjuleg frá hennar hendi, ein af hennar síðustu, held ég, frásögnin er af sjónarhóli morðingjans.:
" Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night."
Greta Björg Úlfsdóttir, 7.3.2007 kl. 11:21
Bæta við athugasemd [Innskráning]
Ekki er lengur hægt að skrifa athugasemdir við færsluna, þar sem tímamörk á athugasemdir eru liðin.