The Hawk, by W.H. Davies
By William Henry Davies
Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched,
The air is all around:
What is it that can keep thee set,
From falling to the ground?
The concentration of thy mind
Supports thee in the air;
As thou dost watch the small young birds,
With such a deadly care.
My mind has such a hawk as thou,
It is an evil mood;
It comes when there’s no cause for grief,
And on my joys doth brood.
Then do I see my life in parts;
The earth receives my bones,
The common air absorbs my mind –
It knows not flowers from stones.
Reminiscent Song, by Sherwood Anderson
Read by Xe Sands
Hoo doggie, I’m tired and I ain’t got a write-up in me. A poem about regret and loss and all the rest of it? Sure – that I have. But a write-up about it? Not so much.
Besides, this stunning li’l piece o’pain, nostalgia and regret speaks for itself.
Sherwood Anderson wrote a few poems? Who knew?
Tom Jones, Book XI, Chapter8, by Henry Fielding
Read by Mark Turetsky
Book 11 Chapter 8 of Tom Jones.
This is part of an ongoing project in which I will record and post one chapter per week of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones over the course of four years.
In this chapter, Sophia learns why the innkeepers have been treating her so curiously. Also, a man arrives at the inn from Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s past.