Feeling the Cold?

Feeling the Cold?

I found Him not in world or sun, Or in eagle’s wing, or insect’s eye; Nor through the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun:…   A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason’s coldest part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up...
In the beginning was the word

In the beginning was the word

We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started, And know the place for the first time.   T.S. Eliot (1888-1965).
A birth, and our death?

A birth, and our death?

… were we led all that way for Birth or death? There was a Birth certainly, We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. We returned to our places,...
Within myself I lose, or win

Within myself I lose, or win

Not in the clamour of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves are triumph and defeat.   Henry W. Longfellow (1807-82).
In despair is the music still playing?

In despair is the music still playing?

O God, can a man find you when he lies with his face downwards And his nose in the rubble that was his achievement? Is the music playing behind the door of despair?   Patrick Kavanagh (1904-67).