Chapter I.
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Song Of A Second April
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
The men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively,-only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
"So it hit me. I'm having a midlife crisis, she's having a quarterlife crisis. We both have broken hearts and we're working on fresh starts. I'm twice her age, she's half mine and together we're figuring it out."
Start At The Beginning
Songs Stuck In Our Heads
LXIX
The heart once broken is a heart no more,
And is absolved of all a heart must be;
All that is signed or chartered heretofore
Is canceled now, the bankrupt heart is free;
So much of duty as you may require
Of shards and dust, this and no more of pain,
This and no more of hope, remorse, desire,
The heart once broken need support again.
How simple 'tis, and what a little sound
It makes in breaking, let the world attest:
It struggles, and it fails; the world goes round,
And the moon follows it. Heart in my breast,
'Tis half a year now since you broke in two;
the world's forgotten well, if the world knew.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
And is absolved of all a heart must be;
All that is signed or chartered heretofore
Is canceled now, the bankrupt heart is free;
So much of duty as you may require
Of shards and dust, this and no more of pain,
This and no more of hope, remorse, desire,
The heart once broken need support again.
How simple 'tis, and what a little sound
It makes in breaking, let the world attest:
It struggles, and it fails; the world goes round,
And the moon follows it. Heart in my breast,
'Tis half a year now since you broke in two;
the world's forgotten well, if the world knew.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
An answer from Hugh Grant himself...
You and I both turn 50 this year, unfortunately, me first. Do you have any thoughts on the day? I'm having a bizarre year and am wondering if much of it is symptomatic of turning 50? Do you think anything of it? Does it matter to a man with your life? by dazzledgirl
"I used to look at the day I'd turn 50 as a catastrophe. Now I simply can't wait to get it over with."
by hgclaretjug
www.formspring.me/hgclaretjug
"I used to look at the day I'd turn 50 as a catastrophe. Now I simply can't wait to get it over with."
by hgclaretjug
www.formspring.me/hgclaretjug
Pieces of Inspiration
Song Of A Second April
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
The men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively,-only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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