And
day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
And
night by night the monitory blast
Wails
in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd
O'er
empty fields, or upland solitudes,
Or
grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
Of
melancholy, tenderer in its moods
Than
any joy indulgent Summer dealt.”—Irish poet William Allingham (1824-1889),
“Autumnal Sonnet”
I
took the photo accompanying this post in late October 2008, when I was in the
area of Boston. I wish I had labeled more precisely where this poem was taken,
because the only area I can distinctly recall where there was a body of water
was Walden Pond.
It
would be appropriate if it were Henry David Thoreau’s paradise that I was
shooting. In any case, the great Transcendentalist, I think, might have found a
kindred romantic spirit across the Atlantic in William Allingham.
No comments:
Post a Comment