Vindskeivt

Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) Hoar Time about the house betakes him slow, Seeking an entry for his weariness. And in that dreadful company distress And the sad night with silent footsteps go. On my poor fire the brands are scarce aglow, And in the woods without what memories press Where, waning in the trees from [...]

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Av Oscar Wilde, Poems in Prose  (1893) And there was silence in the House of Judgment, and the Man came naked before God. And God opened the Book of the Life of the Man. And God said to the Man, ‘Thy life hath been evil, and thou hast shown cruelty to those who were in [...]

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Den vakre form er aldri det man kaller helt ren: De geometrisk homogene, euklidske former er i høyden pene som byggeklosser eller gummiballer. Et ansikt og strukturen i krystaller er aldri helt symmetrisk, men vil skjene. Blir et klavers oktaver stemt for rene, får instrumentet falske intervaller. Litt skrått blir mønstret lagt i vevens renning: [...]

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Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) Rise up, and do begin the day’s adorning; The Summer dark is but the dawn of day. The last of sunset fades into the morning, The morning calls you from the dark away. The holy mist, the white mist of the morning, Was wreathing upward on my lonely way. The way [...]

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Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) This is the laughing-eyed amongst them all: My lady’s month. A season of young things. She rules the light with harmony, and brings The year’s first green upon the beeches tall. How often, where long creepers wind and fall Through the deep woods in noonday wanderings, I’ve heard the month, when [...]

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Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) The stranger warmth of the young sun obeying, Look! little beads of green begin to grow, And hidden flowers have dated their tops to show Where late such droughty dusts were rudely playing. It’s not the month, but all the world’s a-maying! Come then with me, I’ll take you, for I [...]

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Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) The north-cast wind has come from Norroway, Roaring he came above the white waves’ tips! The foam of the loud sea was on his lips, And all his hair was salt with falling spray. Over the keen light of northern day He cast his snow cloud’s terrible eclipse; Beyond our banks [...]

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Av Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) The winter moon has such a quiet car That all the winter nights are dumb with rest. She drives the gradual dark with drooping crest, And dreams go wandering from her drowsy star. Because the nights are silent, do not wake: But there shall tremble through the general earth, And over [...]

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