So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.
William Ernest HenleyRead
Here is the ghost _x000D_ _x000D_ Of a summer that lived for us, _x000D_ _x000D_ Ere is a promise _x000D_ _x000D_ Of summer to be.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the fleeting nature of summer and the hope for its return.
In this quote, William Ernest Henley uses the imagery of summer to express both nostalgia for the past and anticipation for future joys. The 'ghost of a summer' suggests the beautiful moments that have come and gone, while the 'promise of summer to be' offers hope and renewal, embodying the cycle of experiences in life that are both ephemeral and perennial.
In practice
This quote can be used in a speech about the appreciation of seasonal change.
So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.
It is the artist's function not to copy but to synthesise: to eliminate from that gross confusion of actuality which is his raw material whatever is accidental, idle, irrelevant, and select for perpetuation that only which is appropriate and immortal.
Were I so tall as to reach the pole or grasp the ocean at a span, I must be measured by my soul. The mind is the standard of the man.
I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
The moon was a sharply defined crescent and the sky was perfectly clear. The stars shone with such fierce, contained brilliance that it seemed absurd to call the night dark.
How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!
Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.
Perhaps nature is our best assurance of immortality.
Many a night I saw the Pleiads,_x000D_ _x000D_ Rising thro' the mellow shade,_x000D_ _x000D_ Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies,_x000D_ _x000D_ Tangled in a silver braid.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
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