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Little Willow [userpic]

Poetry Friday: Mutability by William Wordsworth

September 9th, 2016 (08:00 am)

Current Mood: optimistic
Current Song: We Sink by Chvrches

From low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sink from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime,
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whiten'd hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

- Mutability by William Wordsworth

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Posted by: Mary Lee Hahn (Mary Lee Hahn)
Posted at: September 10th, 2016 01:02 pm (UTC)

That's the tricky part, isn't it -- knowing the unchanging CORE of the truth, even though the outside appearances of it are ever changing...

Posted by: Little Willow (slayground)
Posted at: September 10th, 2016 04:23 pm (UTC)


Posted by: Amy Ludwig VanDerwater (Amy Ludwig VanDerwater)
Posted at: September 15th, 2016 01:42 pm (UTC)

"the unimaginable touch of Time" Yes...

Posted by: Little Willow (slayground)
Posted at: September 15th, 2016 03:08 pm (UTC)

For some, the tick tock of the clock is soothing; for others, it is deafening.

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