Last night we had our first meeting. It was an auspicious beginning to what, I think, will be a fulfilling marathon of reading.
Rene Sully-Prudhomme (pen name) was a writer who proved to be great fuel for conversation. I think he was a man divided between his heart and his head. It seemed that he tried to reason his way through matters of the heart, which always fails miserably, all while being so artistically mature. But he was young and we were reading his journals, which of course, are never meant to be read publicly. But poems...
At The Water's Edge
To sit and watch the wavelets as they flow
Two - side by side;
To see the gliding clouds that come and go
And mark them glide;
If from low roofs the smoke is wreathing pale,
To watch it wreath;
If flowers around breathe perfume on the gale,
To feel them breathe;
If the bee sips the honeyed fruit that glistens,
To sip the dew;
If the bird warbles while the forest listens,
To listen too;
Beneath the willow where the brook is singing,
To hear its song;
Nor feel, while round us that sweet dream is clinging
The hours too long;
To know one only deep over mastering passion -
The love we share;
To let the world go worrying in its fashion
Without one care -
We only, while around all weary grow,
Unwearied stand,
And midst the fickle changes others knows,
Love - hand in hand
Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
