She Walks in Beauty

Vincent Van Gogh

Starry Night Over the Rhone

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in Beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

~ Lord Byron ~

The World's Need

Vincent Van Gogh

Flower Beds in Holland

The World's Need

So many gods, so many creeds,

So many paths that wind and wind,

While just the art of being kind,

Is all the sad world needs.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox ~

Iris

Vincent Van Gogh

Irises

Iris

What is it about irises

in the garden

whether blue flag or yellow,

deep purple, white with red

why do they catch the attention, the imagination

more than lesser blooms?

A certain allure

that Georgia O’Keeffe didn’t taint

a beauty that draws you in

to ponder and marvel on

a delicacy that is real

but a perennial that wears well

the seasons in New England too

bitter cold and short summers

a herald for the Spring

whether in bog or flower bed

~ Raymond A. Foss ~

Regret

Vincent Van Gogh

Old Man in Sorrow

Regret

It's not for laws I've broken

That bitter tears I've wept,

But solemn vows I've spoken

And promises unkept;

It's not for sins committed

My heart is full of rue,

but gentle acts omitted,

Kind deeds I did not do.

I have outlived the blindness,

The selfishness of youth;

The canker of unkindness,

The cruelty of truth;

The searing hurt of rudeness . . .

By mercies great and small,

I've come to reckon goodness

The greatest gift of all.

Let us be helpful ever

to those who are in need,

And each new day endeavour

To do some gentle deed;

For faults beyond our grieving,

What kindliness atone;

On earth by love achieving

A Heaven of our own.

~ Robert William Service ~

nobody loses all the time

Vincent Van Gogh

Skull with Cigarette

nobody loses all the time

nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named

Sol who was a born failure and

nearly everybody said he should have gone

into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could

sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which

may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable

of all to use a highfalootin phrase

luxuries that is or to

wit farming and be

it needlessly

added

my Uncle Sol's farm

failed because the chickens

ate the vegetables so

my Uncle Sol had a

chicken farm till the

skunks ate the chickens when

my Uncle Sol

had a skunk farm but

the skunks caught cold and

died so

my Uncle Sol imitated the

skunks in a subtle manner

or by drowning himself in the watertank

but somebody who'd given my Unde Sol a Victor

Victrola and records while he lived presented to

him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a

scrumptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with

tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and

i remember we all cried like the Missouri

when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because

somebody pressed a button

(and down went

my Uncle

Sol

and started a worm farm)

~ e. e. cummings ~

Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)

Vincent Van Gogh

Self Portrait with Straw Hat

Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)

Starry, starry night.

Paint your palette blue and grey,

Look out on a summer's day,

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,Sketch the trees and the daffodils,

Catch the breeze and the winter chills,

In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze,

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.

Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,

Weathered faces lined in pain,

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,

But still your love was true.

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night,

You took your life, as lovers often do.

But I could have told you, Vincent,

This world was never meant for one

As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.

Portraits hung in empty halls,

Frameless head on nameless walls,

With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.

Like the strangers that you've met,

The ragged men in the ragged clothes,

The silver thorn of bloody rose,

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they're not listening still.

Perhaps they never will...

~ Don Mclean ~

I Saw A Man Pursuing

I Saw A Man Pursuing
~ Stephen Crane ~

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•
And ran on.

“You lie,” he cried,

“You can never -”

“It is futile,” I said,

I accosted the man.

I was disturbed at this;

Round and round they sped.

I saw a man pursuing the horizon.

Pied Beauty

Vincent Van Gogh

Wheat Field Under Threatening Skies

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things -

For skies of couple-colour as a brindled cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced -fold, fallow, and plough;

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise Him.

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins ~