by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Go not, happy day,
From the shining fields,
Go not, happy day,
Till the maiden yields.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
When the happy Yes
Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news
Over glowing ships;
Over blowing seas,
Over seas at rest,
Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro' the West;
Till the red man dance
By his red cedar-tree,
And the red man's babe
Leap, beyond the sea.
Blush from West to East,
Blush from East to West,
Till the West is East,
Blush it thro' the West.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
. . .
I have led her home, my love, my only friend.
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
* * *
Well, I know it's been a long time since I've posted, but maybe this will serve as my excuse: I just got engaged.
John, who's been blogging from a number of locations since before I began (Fiddleback Fever, This Red Rock, Poor Man's Bible), has been my good friend for a long time, and more than a friend for a good while too. But now it's official, and we're going to be getting married. Who would have known, when I was putting up mopey love poetry at the beginning of this blog, certain John was never going to like me back, that we would reach this day? But we have. It's been a wonderful journey up to this point, and I fully expect it to get even better.
Pray for both of us, Gentle Reader, and keep reading poetry. It keeps your soul healthy, and helps you listen to it, so that when it tells you what it wants, you hear.
My soul has been saying, "Marry John." So I'm listening!
P.S. I have not forgotten the cento contest! I'm working on it!
