On a Drop of Dew

Dear Readers,

My apologies for my recent silence. I have been working steadily, but in a fairly peaceful and undramatic fashion. Although i’ve had a lot of ideas, I haven’t had any that I thought were the sharing kind. I am currently writing my paper on the topos of thirst for a symposium that I will be attending in a month or so. Plans proceed apace to visit the UK next year for ‘research and training’ purposes (this is true, honest!). All in all, my life has been quite satisfying.

Today I thought that I would share a poem with you that has been on my mind of late, for several reasons. Firstly, because it shows the same kind of aqueous Neoplatonism that I am interested in within medieval thought, and because, well, Andrew Marvell is the bomb. I’d like to share it with you (courtesy of http://www.bartleby.com/105/144.html) and hope you enjoy it.

Andrew Marvell – On a Drop of Dew

See how the Orient Dew,
Shed from the Bosom of the Morn
Into the blowing Roses,
Yet careless of its Mansion new;
For the clear Region where ’twas born 5
Round in its self incloses:
And in its little Globes Extent,
Frames as it can its native Element.
How it the purple flow’r does slight,
Scarce touching where it lyes, 10
But gazing back upon the Skies,
Shines with a mournful Light;
Like its own Tear,
Because so long divided from the Sphear.
Restless it roules and unsecure, 15
Trembling lest it grow impure:
Till the warm Sun pitty it’s Pain,
And to the Skies exhale it back again.
So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray
Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day, 20
Could it within the humane flow’r be seen,
Remembring still its former height,
Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green;
And, recollecting its own Light,
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 25
The greater Heaven in an Heaven less.
In how coy a Figure wound,
Every way it turns away:
So the World excluding round,
Yet receiving in the Day. 30
Dark beneath, but bright above:
Here disdaining, there in Love.
How loose and easie hence to go:
How girt and ready to ascend.
Moving but on a point below, 35
It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the Manna’s sacred Dew destil;
White, and intire, though congeal’d and chill.
Congeal’d on Earth: but does, dissolving, run
Into the Glories of th’ Almighty Sun. 40
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s