Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Our House at 8.31pm

One of the challenges about getting older is bedtime. I used to love working all night, sometimes I still do. But it seems, more and more, this is the way I feel.


Was it for this I uttered prayers,

And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,

That now, domestic as a plate,

I should retire at half-past eight?




~Edna St Vincent Millay


P.S  Forgot to thank Leigh for posting this poem last week, that got me laughing, then got me thinking.  Just love the line "That now, domestic as a plate'. Thanks Leigh

5 comments:

  1. Forgot to thank Leigh for posting this poem last week, just love the line "That now, domestic as a plate'. Thanks Leigh

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  2. But...

    This be our solace: that it was not said
    When we were young and warm and in our prime,
    Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead,
    Sleeping away the unreturning time.

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  3. Tracy, thanks, that's a great response, who wrote it? I am still suffering "domestic as a plate"...so pithy.

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  4. It's another one of Edna's and one of my favourites. Here's the full poem:

    When we are old and these rejoicing veins
    Are frosty channels to a muted stream,
    And out of all our burning there remains
    No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream,
    This be our solace: that it was not said
    When we were young and warm and in our prime,
    Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead,
    Sleeping away the unreturning time.
    O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love,
    When morning strikes her spear upon the land,
    And we must rise and arm us and reprove
    The insolent daylight with a steady hand,
    Be not discountenanced if the knowing know
    We rose from rapture but an hour ago.

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  5. Thanks Tracy, I had forgotten how good she was, so have dug out more of her to read. Don't you love the last line "We rose from rapture but an hour ago.". Kind of puts "domestic as a plate" in it's place.

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