“And Yet God Has Not Said a Word!”

Today instead of posting my own poetry (because I have nothing new) I’d like to share a poem by another poet, a very well-known, classical poet. Someone whose work is well worth sharing, I think.

I present Mr. Robert Browning’s

Porphyria’s Lover

“The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
and did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!”


The above text was copied from Sparknotes.com

Free clip art from Microsoft Office

Do What Now?

I guess some things will always be a mystery to me. I’m not wet behind the ears or anything, but there are times in life when I have to step back and ask the universe, “Do what now?” The most mysterious things to me are the actions of other people. Why do people do what they do? What makes them behave that way?

Criminals, for example, are especially baffling. Some of them are very skilled and escape the law for a long time. Some forever. But more often than not, they aren’t the most cunning.

For instance, approaching a complete stranger and asking said stranger if he/she would like to buy drugs. Really? This seems like a very unwise thing to do. That person might be a cop. Or that person might call the cops on you. I always thought that drug dealing was supposed to be a rather clandestine affair. Why not knock door to door like the Avon lady? “Yes would you like to buy some crack today? Pills? I have some black tar heroin on sale.” Strange.

I also don’t get going out on a limb to steal insignificant items. I can understand stealing food, necessities for one’s child, medication needed to save the life of a loved one. But mascara? Lightbulbs? A CD? DVD? KY? Okay. I understand juveniles pulling a juvenile stunt. But adults do this. Why? I think if I were going to risk being arrested, I’d at least want to make it worth it. Dr. Pepper lip gloss? Although yummy, not worth jail time.

Exposing yourself in public. Also a mystery. What is the point? And yes, it is illegal, even in New Orleans. Even on Bourbon St. Even on Mardi Gras. And I for one wouldn’t want to be the hungover tourist sitting in Orleans Parish Prison covered in delousing powder alongside a dozen potentially violent criminals. Let’s face it. We have the number one murder rate in the U.S. right now.

 I also can’t grasp sex in a public restroom. All I have to say to this is a resounding, “EW!” I am afraid to even touch anything or use the toilet in a public restroom. Just. Yuck.