| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Man against the Sky by Edwin Arlington Robinson: The goods he took away from there were few,
And soon we found ourselves outside once more,
Where now the lamps along the Avenue
Bloomed white for miles above an iron floor.
"Now lead me to the newest of hotels,"
He said, "and let your spleen be undeceived:
This ruin is not myself, but some one else;
I haven't failed; I've merely not achieved."
Whether he knew or not, he laughed and dined
With more of an immune regardlessness
Of pits before him and of sands behind
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The House of Dust by Conrad Aiken: And one, from his high bright window looking down
Over the enchanted whiteness of the town,
Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers,
Desires like this to forget what will not pass,
The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass,
Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours.
Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again,
Slurred bells of grief and pain,
Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places.
He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow.
He desires to forget a million faces . . .
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Little Britain by Washington Irving: fellow, with bandy legs and pot belly, a red face, with a moist,
merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair behind. At the
opening of every club night he is called in to sing his
"Confession of Faith," which is the famous old drinking trowl
from "Gammer Gurton's Needle." He sings it, to be sure, with
many variations, as he received it from his father's lips; for it
has been a standing favorite at the Half-Moon and Bunch of
Grapes ever since it was written; nay, he affirms that his
predecessors have often had the honor of singing it before the
nobility and gentry at Christmas mummeries, when Little
Britain was in all its glory.
|
