What, for you, is the greatest passage in the English language, and why?
It was time tonight to put down my 7 year old reactive attachment disordered foster son, and he left it to me to choose what to read. My 16 year old adopted bipolar daughter, who often shares the reading of bedtime stories, also left it to me. This is often a challenging point in our day. So, instead of the standard kid book stories we usually read, I decided I'd read what I consider the finest passage in the English language.
It was actually both exhilarating and tearful to read, because I realized while reading it, my 71-IQ foster son and bright though troubled bipolar daughter may never realize why I consider this the finest passage in the English language. We ending up laughing in hysterical tears -- all of us -- while I read it. I don't presently fully undertand why (maybe it was just the wine). Regardless, I offer it here and ask UB75 readers to offer their own comments and alternative text for "the greatest passage in the English language". Over the years I've found some fine minds here and look forward to your "finest" and reasons why. Here's mine:
I just don't know anything that tops that first sentence, "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:/Its loveliness increases; it will never/Pass into nothingness; but still will keep/A bower quiet for us, and a sleep/Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing..."
Is it just romantic escapism? No, it envokes a state of mind, a state of peace; it is out of this state of mind and no other we should act in the world. Anything other just perpetuates the hate and violence we see around us. So this passage is a refuge, but also a restorer and a balance for the stance we each must take in face of injustice and disease that sprouts aggressively all around us.
My son and daughter, reacting to my tears as I read this passage, just laughed and laughed. I laughed too. It was complete release for all of us. It was one of those moments that make real everyday life worth being fully present for. Surely, though, in my sentimental moment, I forget or am not aware of other lovely or just or forceful passages in English. I therefore invite each of you to post your alternative. Thanks in advance.
(Go easy on me, though I've been posting here since 2001, this is probably only my 2nd or 3rd thread starter...)
It was time tonight to put down my 7 year old reactive attachment disordered foster son, and he left it to me to choose what to read. My 16 year old adopted bipolar daughter, who often shares the reading of bedtime stories, also left it to me. This is often a challenging point in our day. So, instead of the standard kid book stories we usually read, I decided I'd read what I consider the finest passage in the English language.
It was actually both exhilarating and tearful to read, because I realized while reading it, my 71-IQ foster son and bright though troubled bipolar daughter may never realize why I consider this the finest passage in the English language. We ending up laughing in hysterical tears -- all of us -- while I read it. I don't presently fully undertand why (maybe it was just the wine). Regardless, I offer it here and ask UB75 readers to offer their own comments and alternative text for "the greatest passage in the English language". Over the years I've found some fine minds here and look forward to your "finest" and reasons why. Here's mine:
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darken’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
’Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o’ercast,
They alway must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, ’tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city’s din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I’ll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm’d and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half-finish’d: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
-- John Keats, Endymion, Book 1
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darken’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
’Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o’ercast,
They alway must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, ’tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city’s din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I’ll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm’d and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half-finish’d: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
-- John Keats, Endymion, Book 1
I just don't know anything that tops that first sentence, "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:/Its loveliness increases; it will never/Pass into nothingness; but still will keep/A bower quiet for us, and a sleep/Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing..."
Is it just romantic escapism? No, it envokes a state of mind, a state of peace; it is out of this state of mind and no other we should act in the world. Anything other just perpetuates the hate and violence we see around us. So this passage is a refuge, but also a restorer and a balance for the stance we each must take in face of injustice and disease that sprouts aggressively all around us.
My son and daughter, reacting to my tears as I read this passage, just laughed and laughed. I laughed too. It was complete release for all of us. It was one of those moments that make real everyday life worth being fully present for. Surely, though, in my sentimental moment, I forget or am not aware of other lovely or just or forceful passages in English. I therefore invite each of you to post your alternative. Thanks in advance.
(Go easy on me, though I've been posting here since 2001, this is probably only my 2nd or 3rd thread starter...)
Naw, not up there with the other posts at all my friend. Plus it was a mediocre film at best.
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