The Ruined Maid by Thomas Hardy

“O ‘Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?” —
“O didn’t you know I’d been ruined?” said she.

-“You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!” —
“Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re ruined,” said she.

-“At home in the barton you said thee’ and thou,’
And thik oon,’ and theäs oon,’ and t’other’; but now
Your talking quite fits ‘ee for high compa-ny!” —
“Some polish is gained with one’s ruin,” said she.

-“Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!” —
“We never do work when we’re ruined,” said she.

-“You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!” —
“True. One’s pretty lively when ruined,” said she.

-“I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!” —
“My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain’t ruined,” said she.

 

by Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928),

Westbourne Park Villas, 1866

Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

 

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834)

Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions by John Donne

No man is an island, entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main;

If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less,

As well as if a promontory were,

As well as if a manor of thy friends or of thy own were;

Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind;

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

 

by John Donne (1572 – 1631), England

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

by Lewis Carroll (1832 – 1898)

Home-Thoughts, From Abroad by Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England

Now that April’s there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England – now!

 

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows –

Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops – at the bent spray’s edge –

That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

The buttercups, the little children’s dower,

-Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

 

by Robert Browning (1812 – 1889)

Happiness Week: Friday

I’ve got that Friday feeling! Other people didn’t feel that way so I tried to lead the way. Did I succeed or did I fail? It doesn’t matter because its positivity week!

WITH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP MY WOOBAT EVOLVED INTO A SWOOBAT! 🙂

A very quiet day. Good for focusing on the task at hand. At least I spent it with nice people.

Rugby is on the television tonight. The Wales vs England game. The old enemy. Took our land. Supressed our language. Mined the minerals from beneath our homes for ‘their’ empire for a pittance in payment. No one cared for anything other than this today.  You are not a Welshman if you don’t drop everything and are obsessed with the game shouting a tthe television screen decrying the events and telling ‘your’ team what ‘we’ have to do to win. I don’t watch rugby or care about it but it is on the television and is deemed a national event. I am going to go read some short stories instead… Robert W Chambers’ The King In Yellow is this weekends choice then… Ladies love watching those muscular men in short shorts running up and down a field clutching an egg shaped ball. It is all very symbolic of what fuels their libido… The way they handle those balls you can tell they would make worthy breeding stock and care giving fathers. Shame their egos are bigger than their…

Caryl Parry Jones sums up what rugby is to the Welsh national identity with this Welsh language charity single performed by her character Cameron Jenkins (the ever injured rugby player): Ultimately Rugby is an emotional roller-coaster.

Cameron Jenkins’ charity single as part of his ‘Hwpo Fe Mewn’ appeal for the BGDB charity (Living With Dislocated Fingers).
Don’t forget about our Welsh and International rugby heroes who are suffering with dislocated fingers, because it’s an emooootional rollercoaster.

The general gist of the chorus lyrics are:

‘obviously, (you know)! / Its an emotional roller-coaster /  pop it out and then pop it back in / its an emotional roller-coaster!’

Small cuts have opened on my hands during the day but they will heal now I have time to attend to skincare. Don’t mock this concern as unmanly. Cuts can get infected and become dangerous if not attended to especially with broken skin which is no longer an effective barrier to bacteria, and viruses entering the blood stream. I assure you those rugby players spend far more time on their appearance than the average person on the street e.g. designer haircuts, spray tans, etc. And for their work having massages for physio, access and the time to use the best sports equipment for exercise and support from the top professionals in the healthcare industry. And once past their physical prime they are treated like demi-Gods walking into any pub and finding a beer, free of charge, being offered to them by the lesser orders. ‘Good bloke’ is their title no matter how much of a sociopath they are in person. ‘done great things’ – like carry a ball from one end of the field to the other. These are the modern day warriors on whom society pins its reputation. Prancing primadonnas of great height and strength who drop to the floor and spend months off ‘work’ hainv top of the line privately funded healthcare if they break a toe or finger.

Hot cross buns and tea for supper.

My cat likes to go towards the door as if to escape the house but he stops short. As much as others think he will run away I think he just wants some fresh air. I think you don’t realise how revitalising fresh air is until you don’t have access to it.


One more day of the Happiness Week… burnout. So much to do and so little time.

The week seems to have gone well. Still feel something went wrong at some point though.. No, maybe not… Just have to accept things are not a constant… Not a flat circle… Time is not a flat circle… I want to rewatch True Detective again. If I do then it proves truly that time is a flat circle:

Everything we’ve ever done or will do, we’re gonna do over and over and over again.