The poem of today is by William Wordsworth.
When you are ever looking for a poet who will only always present you with intriguing, sensible thoughts, go for Wordsworth:)
If ever there was a poet who not only loved poetry but believed in it, then this man was he. As he said, his thoughts on the subject were that poetry is "the most philosophical of all writing" whose
object is "truth...carried alive into the heart by passion". Very well put!
Also, sorry the picture may not exactly fit the poem.. being as the first line is "the sky is overcast", and the picture is of a beautiful evening sky... it was just too pretty not to share this artwork of God from a few nights ago!! :)
Please attempt to overlook my weakness for beautiful skies, and see the beauty of the poem on it's own account! :P
------The sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground--from rock, plant, tree, or tower.
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up--the clouds are split
Asunder,--and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!--the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent;--still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.
Ciao for now