Friday, September 23, 2011
12:53 PM
In gayest guise to shine,
All forms of grace, all tints of light,
Fringe her robe divine.
Sun-lit heaven, and rainbow cloud,
Changeful main, and mountain proud,
Branching tree, and meadow green,
All are decked in broidered sheen.
Not a bird on bough-propped tower,
Insect slim, nor tiny flower,
Stone, nor spar, nor shell of sea,
But is fair in its degree.
'Tis not pride, this vaunt of beauty;
Well she 'quits her trust of duty;
And, amid her gorgeous state,
Bright, and bland, and delicate,
Ever beaming from her face
Praise of a Father's love we trace.
_Blessed John Henry Newman, My Lady Nature and Her Daugthers
Autumn need not always be poignant, drowning us with its mystery and heart-breaking beauty. Rich as it is with delights, it may even be more carefree than the lightest spring. A happy equinox to you!
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About Me
- Jacobitess
- Warsaw, Poland
- Domine, spero quia mundum vicisti. Lord, I trust that Thou hast overcome the world. Panie, ufam, żeś pokonał świat.
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