Thursday, August 27, 2009

Absence makes the time pass slowly...

"Herseemed she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
The wonder was not quite gone
From that still look of hers;
Albeit, to them she left, her day
Had counted as ten years.

(To one it is ten years of years:
...Yet now, here in this place,
Surely she leaned o'er me--her hair
Fell all about my face...
Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)

--excerpts from Dante Gabriel Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel

“Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age."
~John Dryden