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Little Willow [userpic]

Poetry Friday: David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

June 10th, 2016 (06:00 am)

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Song: Here by Alessia Cara

As I laid down my pen, a moment since, to think of it, the air from the sea came blowing in again, mixed with the perfume of the flowers; and I saw the old-fashioned furniture brightly rubbed and polished, my aunt's inviolable chair and table by the round green fan in the bow-window, the drugget-covered carpet, the cat, the kettle-holder, the two canaries, the old china, the punchbowl full of dried rose-leaves, the tall press guarding all sorts of bottles and pots, and, wonderfully out of keeping with the rest, my dusty self upon the sofa, taking note of everything.

- from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

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Posted by: Violet Nesdoly (Violet Nesdoly)
Posted at: June 11th, 2016 07:05 pm (UTC)

Wonderful! Your snippet put me, for a moment, in a Rosamunde Pilcher novel. There's lots of poetry in mundane things, isn't there?

Posted by: Little Willow (slayground)
Posted at: June 11th, 2016 09:03 pm (UTC)

Indeed, there is.

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