Last night in class the lecturer read this wonderful poem by Edna St Vincent.
“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why”
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain,
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more
I have always loved sad songs and sad poems . I think they tug at the heart strings and gives a depth of emotion that only experience can bring. A tinge of regret, a hazed memory of the past and a low sigh at the passing thought.
More importantly, I love poems because they are subjective and hence affords the possibility of free interpretation.
My other half claims that sadness has depth but no breath. Which to me means something and almost nothing at all because his favorite poem is
I met a traveller 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”.
Which essentially to him means: “In the grand scheme of things, we’re nothing at all”.
Yet he claims he’s an agnostic.