Your soul is a chosen landscape. Where charming masked and costumed figures go. Playing the lute and dancing and almost. Sad beneath their fantastic disguises. All sing in a minor key. Of all-conquering love and careless fortune. They do not seem to believe in their happiness. And their song mingles with the moonlight. The still moonlight, sad and beautiful, Which gives the birds to dream in the trees. And makes the fountain sprays sob in ecstasy, The tall, slender fountain sprays among the marble statues.
Paul VerlaineAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: french
- Born: March 30, 1844
- Died: January 8, 1896
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My dear Homer, if you are really only once removed from the truth, with reference to virtue, instead of being twice removed and the manufacturer of a phantom, according to our definition of an imitator, and if you need to be able to distinguish between the pursuits which make men better or worse, in private and in public, tell us what city owes a better constitution to you, as Lacedaemon owes hers to Lycurgus, and as many cities, great and small, owe theirs to many other legislators? What...
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Our sadness is an energy we discharge in order to heal. …Sadness is painful. We try to avoid it. Actually discharging sadness releases the energy involved in our emotional pain.
To hold it in is to freeze the pain within us. The therapeutic slogan is that grieving is the ‘healing feeling.’
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