Give it a go

August 17, 2008 § Leave a comment

I usually agree with the literature types… on most matters in general. But I do think sometimes they’re too hard on the romantics. Tragedy is so god damn beautiful but a badly done one is like double jeopardy. Shelley notwithstanding the curses from lit students, one of whom I am not, managed to find some tune to amuse me, well touch me really:

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken;
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap’d for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

a song he wrote for Parry, morbid yet pretty me thinks.

Speaking of morbid, possible that PB wrote this with Mary Shelly the author of the wonderful Frankenstein in mind. The point when you question your sanity and not lament its loss, now thats interesting mind fodder. And, she’s a romantic through and through. I fell for the monster enough to be angered by his fate.

See how she pulls at you:

I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other. [The Monster]

Well, great reads both. I’ll go read some more Shelley and Shelly then.


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