This song.
I must waltz.
Now.
Waltzing,
in a t-shirt
and underwear.
In my ears
This song--
and the vacuum.
One flick,
a narrow path of clean carpet--
the song is gone.
Well,
Behind the noise,
invisible.
Do I live this way?
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries
4 comments:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God
Noel, poetry like this makes me swoon...it really does make me physically swoon.
I know.
The first time I read that, I thought...
Elizabeth...
how?
What poem does it belong to?
Aurora Leigh. Book vii.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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