shenstone-elegance

June 23, 2025

Now landed on some spangled shore
Awhile each dazled maniac roves
By saphire lakes, thro’ em’rald groves,
Paternal acres please no more;
Adieu the simple, the sincere delight —
Th’ habitual scene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch’s purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean’s perfume

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Thought:

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

Robert Frost

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