Tribute to Martin Heidegger whose review on Wikipedia implies the permanence of Poetry and Civilization:
Delight in Disorder
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wanton ness
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomached;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see wild civility
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Upon Julia's Clothes
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering take to me!
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
------ ------- ------- -------- --------
The Coronet
When for the thorns with which I long, too long.
With many a piercing wound,
My Savior's head have crown'd
I seek with garlands to redress that wrong:
Through every garden, every mead,
I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantling all the fragrant tow'rs
That once adorn'd my shepherdess's head.
And now when I have summed up all my store,
Thinking (so I my self deceive)
So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of glory wore:
Alas I find the serpent old
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flow'rs disguised does fold,
With wreaths of fame and interest.
Ah, foolish man, that would'st debase with them.
And mortal glory, heaven's diadem!
But Thou who only could'st the serpent tame
Either his slippery knots at once untie,
And distangle all his winding snare:
Or shatter too with him my curious frame:
And let these wither, so that he may die,
Though set with skill and chosen out with care.
That they, while Thou on both their spoils dost tread,
May crown Thy feet, that they could not crown Thy head.
Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)
Delight in Disorder
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wanton ness
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomached;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see wild civility
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Upon Julia's Clothes
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering take to me!
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
------ ------- ------- -------- --------
The Coronet
When for the thorns with which I long, too long.
With many a piercing wound,
My Savior's head have crown'd
I seek with garlands to redress that wrong:
Through every garden, every mead,
I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantling all the fragrant tow'rs
That once adorn'd my shepherdess's head.
And now when I have summed up all my store,
Thinking (so I my self deceive)
So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of glory wore:
Alas I find the serpent old
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flow'rs disguised does fold,
With wreaths of fame and interest.
Ah, foolish man, that would'st debase with them.
And mortal glory, heaven's diadem!
But Thou who only could'st the serpent tame
Either his slippery knots at once untie,
And distangle all his winding snare:
Or shatter too with him my curious frame:
And let these wither, so that he may die,
Though set with skill and chosen out with care.
That they, while Thou on both their spoils dost tread,
May crown Thy feet, that they could not crown Thy head.
Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)
