Thursday, May 3, 2012

My dearest sister

  My sister, Marianne Dashwood has made a blog of her own! My delight was extraordinary. So please do go and see her blog.
 "Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?"
The name is rather long but the meaning of that sentence is delightful! Marianne never did strike me with her character. I thought she was rather blind to what Willoughby was and that she was a little wild and overly romantic. But then again. How could she know what he was? (what? there is no such thing as 'overly romantic') Well, perhaps.
  But anyway, please go and see her blog. "And if you don't have anything appropriate to say about it, please restrict your remarks to the weather".   Bravo! Excellent advice, Mrs. Dashwood.

Sonnet VII

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth show,
It is my love's being yet it cannot die,
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.
I found this here.

"Is love a fancy or a feeling? Or a Farrar's?"


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