Collected Works

Candid in May

Candid in May

Pink, small, and punctual,
Aromatic, low,
Covert in April,
Candid in May,

Dear to the moss,
Known by the knoll,
Next to the robin
In every human soul.

Bold little beauty,
Bedecked with thee,
Nature forswears
Antiquity.
—Emily Dickinson, “May-Flower”

***

Greetings one and all,

Many thanks, as always, for your help and support, in all ways, but particularly with our “spring cleaning” project mentioned last week.

It went so well, we’re continuing it this week, with a different set of books, so do take a glance at the list.

With warmest wishes for the week and beyond,

—John-Scott

thinking, full of light

thinking, full of light

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Ozymandias”