Melancholetta

A Brook in The City by Robert Frost

Hi,

True to the legend, poets have violent mood swings :-) As much as I agree with that, I don't seem to be moving beyond melancholy. Pity, the Gods to be, havent given me the eyes for anything better, I guess. :-)

How do you cope with change? Don't we always wonder when sometimes we do "slow down" and look back and see how many things have changed? Things change so seamlessly and effortlessly that it takes some time to realise that they have indeed changed. And we all fit into the new schema of things as well as we did earlier, most of the time. Well, change is one rule of nature that man still seems to obey without a whimper, I guess...maybe because the choice is not his.

Stangenlord


A Brook in the City

The firm house lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear A number in.
But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
>From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook wasthrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run -
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.

-- Robert Frost

posted by Dileepan @ 6:40 PM