We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I love you, though I rage at it, Though it is shame and toil misguided, And to my folly self-derided Here at your feet I will admit! It ill befits my years, my station, Good sense has long been overdue! And yet, by every indication Love's plague has stricken me anew: You're out of sight---I fall to yawning; You're here---I suffer and feel blue, And barely keep myself from owning, Dear elf, how much I care for you! Why, when your guileless girlish chatter Drifts from next door your airy tread, Your rustling dress, my senses scatter And I completely lose my head. You smile---I flush with exultation; You turn away---I'm plunged in gloom, Your pallid hand is compensation For a whole day of fancied doom. When to the frame with artless motion You bend to cross-stitch, all devotion, Your eyes and ringlets down-beguiled, My heart goes out in mute emotion, Rejoicing in you like a child! Dare I confess to you my sighing, How jealously I chafe and balk When you set forth, defying Bad weather, on a lengthy walk? And then your solitary crying, Those twosome whispers out of sight, Your carriage to Opochka plying, And the piano late at night... Aline! I ask but to be pitied, I do not dare to plead for love; Love, for the sins I have committed, I am perhaps unworthy of. But make believe! Your gaze, dear elf, Is fit to conjure with, believe me! Ah, it is easy to deceive me!... I long to be deceived myself!
Refresh your memory about the father of Russian literature here.
See, the Russians can teach us a thing or two about love...That's beautiful! Will show it to the kids, and tell them that, despite all the loathsome "hooking up" going on around them, that love still exists, that they will find someone who feels this way about them...someone they can try to reach out to this way....I hope and pray!
All of us can live in hope...
Now back to reality and drive the offspring to a 6:45 school sports team bus....
I think Pushkin penned a great poem of love and the oft frustrations that attend that emotion. It certainly must rank as a great poem although I am not a lierary scholar.
I am sure I will read it more than once in my life now I know of it's existence.
Thanks for having these literary offerings. It seem right that in the warmth of Maggies Farm such things should be recited. I visualize a family, seated for dinner, each person with an offering. The offering is literary and remarks of the attributes of mankind that speak to grace and beauty, not war and destruction.**
** The preceeding does not put Habu into the metrosexual catagory but rather shows his appreciation for the beauty of the world that does exists.