I am currently reading a book of poetry that I have put off reading for some time. I have several other works to share, still tumbling around in my head, but I thought reading some great works before I did that would be a good idea. One I just read spoke to me in a very clear voice. Across the centuries it seems this particular work rang true about me and expresses some of what I am feeling these days.
My Picture Left in Scotland by Ben Jonson
I now think love is rather deaf, than blind,
For else it could not be,
Whom I adore so much, should so slight me,
And cast my love behind:
I’m sure my language was as sweet,
And every close did meet
In sentence of as subtle feet
As hath the youngest he,
That sits in shadow of Apollo’s tree.
Oh, but my conscious fears,
That fly my thoughts between,
Tell me that she hath seen
My hundreds of gray hairs,
Told seven and forty years,
Read so much waist, as she cannot embrace
My mountain belly and my rock face,
As all these, through her eyes, have stopt her ears.