“A Sonnet is a moment’s monument,â€”
Memorial from the Soul’s eternity
To one dead deathless hour.”
~Dante Grabriel Rossetti
THE thoughts in me are very calm and high
That think upon your love: yet by your leave
You shall not greatly marvel that this eve
Or nightfallâ€”yet scarce nightfallâ€”the strong sky
Leaves me thus sad. Now if you ask me why,
I cannot teach you, dear; but I believe
It is that man will always interweave
Life with fresh want, with wish or fear to die.
It may be therefore,â€”though the matter touch
Nowise our love,â€”that I so often look
Sad in your presence, often feeling so.
And of the reason I can tell thus much:â€”
Man’s soul is like the music in a book
Which were not music but for high and low.
â€œThe books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These thingsâ€”the beauty, the memory of our own pastâ€”are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.â€
â€• C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory