Sunday, March 17, 2013



Fiorella used to hate "Ozymandias," Percy Bysshe Shelley's depressing poem about how nothing matters because nothing endures.

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

Love Endures

How long lasts love?  Past tomorrow's dawn? 
Past hurt and anger, betrayal, desertion, death?
This weakness of the heart--will it grow strong
Enough to last the years, and stay weak yet?
Love ripens in the lusty sun of youth
And is consumed, but blossoms always sweet
To be the springtime baby's first-fed fruit,
The sustenance of summer, winter's treat.
The music of the song survives the singer
And echos of itself divinity;
Thus Love and Beauty, Truth, and Courage linger
Long past their actors in eternity.
         How long lasts love?  My love is yours
         As long as Love endures; yes, love endures.

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