A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep –while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

© Edgar Allan Poe

Love’s Alchemy

This week’s See*Photo*Write Challenge at 1st Writes reminded me of the poem Love’s Alchemy by John Donne:

Some that have deeper digged love’s mine than I,

Say where his centric happiness doth lie;

I have loved, and got, and told,

But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,

I should not find that hidden mystery.

Oh, ’tis imposture all!

And as no chemic yet th’ elixir got,

But glorifies his pregnant pot

If by the way to him befall

Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,

So lovers dream a rich and long delight,

But get a winter-seeming summer’s night.

 

Our ease, our thrift, our honor, and our day,

Shall we for this vain bubble’s shadow pay?

Ends love in this, that my man

Can be as happy as I can, if he can

Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom’s play?

That loving wretch that swears

‘Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,

Which he in her angelic finds,

Would swear as justly that he hears,

In that day’s rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.

Hope not for mind in women: at their best

Sweetness and wit, they are but mummy possessed.

***

al·che·my

[al-kuh-mee]

noun, plural -mies for 2.
1. a form of chemistry and speculative philosophy practiced in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance and concernedprincipally with discovering methods for transmuting baser metals into gold and with finding a universal solvent and anelixir of life.
2. any magical power or process of transmuting a common substance, usually of little value, into a substance of great value.

***

I studied Donne in college and confess that although I wrote and presented a paper on his work at a conference, I don’t think I ever fully understood the metaphysical poet.

Today as I read and pondered the poem, I interpreted it to mean: (FYI – if you are a student who ‘googled’ an analysis of John Donne’s Love’s Alchemy and got this post, please hit the back button now because I don’t want to be the reason you fail) there is no element in nature, no chemicals or materials that combine and create love. Love is not born when stars are aligned a certain way and two people drink from a magical well at precisely the same time. There are no love spells or potions. Love is from God and cannot be explained in forms of science.

Poetry Smoetry Part 1

I don’t consider poetry my strong suit. However, I’ve been known to dabble. Thanks to Writing with Shelley’s Poetry Schmoetry Blogfest, I’ve decided to go out on a limb and share some of my dabbles.

Falling Star

 

The sun is my sister.

The sky is our home.

Separately we reign.

 

The Earth is an alien.

A terrorizing image

of what could be…

or

An extraterrestrial

paradise of promises

for the future.

 

This lifetime is over.

I long to flee

all that is familiar.

 

I fall light years.

Triton trumpets my arrival.

An abyss awaits.

 

Homesick, I look to the sky.

Without a telescope,

how easy now to see –

How much brighter

the sun compared to me!