Sunday, June 15, 2008

True Ease in Writing comes from Art, not Chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance,
'Tis not enough no Harshness gives Offence,
The Sound must seem an Eccho to the Sense.
Soft is the Strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth Stream in smoother Numbers flows;
But when loud Surges lash the sounding Shore,
The hoarse, rough Verse shou'd like the Torrent roar.
When Ajax strives, some Rocks' vast Weight to throw,
The Line too labours, and the Words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the Plain,
Flies o'er th'unbending Corn, and skims along the Main.
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd Lays surprize,
And bid Alternate Passions fall and rise!
While, at each Change, the Son of Lybian Jove
Now burns with Glory, and then melts with Love;
Now his fierce Eyes with sparkling Fury glow;
Now Sighs steal out, and Tears begin to flow:
Persians and Greeks like Turns of Nature found,
And the World's Victor stood subdu'd by Sound!
The Pow'rs of Musick all our Hearts allow;
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Beer for dogs??!!

I am not the person that tree-huggers and animal-lovers would approve of... I would probably not hurt an animal unless it was cooked and served up with some proof that it was good... Prashanth would love it if I could possibly stay away from it and not collect so much bad karma... But, you would definitely not fine me campaigning for animal rights, defintely not their rights to alcoholic drinks... Seriously, How would you deal with drunk canines!! May be they will have an age-limit for canines to have alocholic drinks.. I dont belive they had this on national news...

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

A new start...

Seems like I can only improvise.. cant quite create anything... Be it a poem for somebody.. Or a title for this blog... I was thinking of going with glutenfreewife... but that's taken... So, augustmusings it is...

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old;
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past,
For thy records and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow and this shall ever be;
I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.