On Remembering

ON POETRY … Thomas Carlyle

“In ancient and in modern times we find a few Poets who are accounted perfect;  whom it were a kind of treason to find fault with.  This is noteworthy, this is right: yet in strictness it is only an illusion. At bottom, clearly enough, there is no perfect Poet!  A vein of poetry exists in the hearts of all men;  no man is made altogether of Poetry.  We are all poets when we read a poem well.”



Above is one of my own photographs.  

This particular one is of a sunset on Loch Earn in Scotland.

Below – one of my earliest verses – composed long ago – in my youth.  




I saw her briefly in a week of ease
And tender, lonely looks of longing.
Of unfulfilled despairing hurt,
Of happy, hopeful love.


Leaving with promise of reunion
And pledges of a life-long trust.
Memory lasts but not the present.
History gives the lie to love.






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