January 20th, 2009

Black rose


Happy 200th Birthday, Mr. Poe.
O! I care not that my earthly lot
    Hath — little of Earth in it —
That years of love have been forgot
    In the fever of a minute —

I heed not that the desolate
    Are happier, sweet, than I —
But that you meddle with my fate
    Who am a passer-by.

I heed not that my founts of bliss
    Be gushing, oh! with tears
That the tremor of one kiss
    Hath palsied many years —
‘T is not that the flowers of twenty springs
    Which have wither'd as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
    With the weight of an age of snows.

Nor that the grass — O! may it thrive!
    On my grave is growing or grown —
But that, while I am dead and alive
    I cannot be, love, alone.


Black rose

Such a beautiful idea

Mysterious Poe 'toaster' returns to writer's grave

Umbrella Love

Watching History

I just came back to the computer after gathering in a large classroom to watch the inauguration together with  students, teachers and administrators.  We had some disappointing technical glitches but I was moved by the rapt attention paid to the projection on the wall.  Some, like me, had quiet tears rolling down their faces.  Others watched with this intent and focus. 

I feel a weight lifted.  It's 45 minutes into the Obama presidency and I feel lighter though nothing has yet been done. 

The speech was wonderful.  It was direct and pointed at the times, inspirational and, I think , that like most of Obama's big speeches, it gave hope and also indicated that we, as Americans, have a responsibility to ourselves to make things better than they've been.

I wish I had a glass of wine to toast to the new era of American greatness.