[Robert J. Clawson]

If the moon counts on this thread,
Frost has a lovely little poem entitled, "Moon Compasses." I'm remote from my library and wouldn't dare cite it. The last line is "So love would take between the hands a face."

Maybe someone can dig it and post it.

Bob

[Patricia A. Marsh]

Here ya go, Bob:


<dd><dd>MOON COMPASSES

I stole forth dimly in the dripping pause
Between two downpours to see what there was.
And a masked moon had spread down compass rays
To a cone mountain in the midnight haze,
As if the final estimate were hers;
And as it measured in her calipers,
The mountain stood exalted in its place.
So love will take between the hands a face. . . .

[This message has been edited by Patricia A. Marsh (edited May 16, 2005).]

[Patricia A. Marsh]

And, on a lighter note:


[indent]<dd>MY STARS

On the day I was born,
The unalterable stars altered.
If I decided to sell lamps,
It wouldn't get dark till the day I died.

Some stars. Whatever I do,
I'm a failure before I begin.
If I suddenly decided to sell shrouds,
People would suddenly stop dying.

<dd><dd><dd>by Abraham ibn Ezra
<dd><dd><dd>Translated by Robert Mezey

[Catherine Tufariello]

I'm grateful to make the acquaintance of both these Frost poems. And belated thanks to John, for the fascinating astronomical background to Meredith.

[Terese Coe]

Heavenly thread! Here's a bit of Charles Martin's graceful Ovid:

Under western skies
are meadows where the horses of the Sun
are pastured, feeding on divine ambrosia
instead of ordinary grass; and here,
exhausted by their efforts of the day,
this nourishment sustains them and renews
their vigor for the labors of the morrow.

And while his horses browse on their immortal
pasturage, and Night goes to work, the Sun
takes on the form of Leucothoe's mother,
Eurynome, and slips into her bedroom;
lamplight reveals his darling with her servants,
winding fine strands of wool upon her spindle.
Then kissing her as a fond mother would,
he says, "A secret matter, servants, leave!
Respect a mother's right to privacy."

Once witnesses are gone, the god emerges:
"I am that one who measures the long year,
who sees all things, and by whom all may see;
I am the world's eye and believe me, you
are something really special, quite a sight!"

[Robert J. Clawson]

Thanks mucho, Patricia,

Bob

[Robert J. Clawson]

Originally posted by Terese Coe:

"Heavenly thread!"

That's what Cole Porter used to sew gossamer wings.

Just one of those things,

Bob