Brian’s Reflection: Friday, October 21, 11
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
…. from ‘Frost at Midnight’, by Samuel
Taylor Coleridge, English poet; he was
born on this date, 1772,
Coleridge is speaking to his infant son in his cradle, and about God; he says,
so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
I’m putting aside for today (at least) all my anguish about the World, about the sillinesses people say about “God”, about strife and hate and division, about the utter venality and stupidity and shocking meanness of politicians, and blah blah blah.
I’m just going to bathe in the simplicity of Coleridge’s wish for his son as if for us all. For you my friends (and “enemies”), known and unknown: I profoundly wish
‘All seasons shall be sweet to thee’.
For a moment, for eternity.