Fun_People Archive
13 Sep
LIT BITS V3 #252

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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Wed, 13 Sep 100 14:53:45 -0700
To: Fun_People
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Subject: LIT BITS V3 #252

X-Lib-of-Cong-ISSN: 1098-7649  -=[ Fun_People ]=-
Excerpted-from: LITERARY CALENDAR V3 #252

Today is Friday, 8 September 2000; on this day,

356 years ago (1644),

     Francis Quarles, best remembered for his _Emblemes_ (1635), a
     collection of symbolic pictures and paraphrases of scripture in ornate
     and metaphysical language, dies in London.

163 years ago (1837),

     American poet and journalist whose best work will convey a sense of
     the majesty and excitement of the Old West, Joaquin Miller is born in
     Liberty, Indiana. His first few books of poetry, _Specimens_ (1868)
     and _Joaquin et al._ (1869) will attract little attention.

89 years ago (1911),

     Euell Gibbons, stalker of wild asparagus, is born in Clarksville,

85 years ago (1915),

     D. H. Lawrence watches the zeppelin raid on London: "So it is the
     end-our world is gone, and we are like dust in the air."

53 years ago (1947),

     Novelist (_Falling in Place_) and short story writer Ann Beattie is
     born in Washington, D.C.

Today's poem:

                      A Divine Rapture

     E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
     That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
     And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
     Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
     Where in a greater current they conjoin:
     So I my Best-belov&egrave;d's am; so He is mine.

     E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
     E'en so we joined; we both became entire;
     No need for either to renew a suit,
     For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:
     Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
     So I my Best-belov&egrave;d's am; so He is mine.

     If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
     The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
     Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
     I would not change my fortunes for them all:
     Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
     The world 's but theirs; but my Belov&egrave;d's mine.

                                             Francis Quarles

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