capri0mni | (Reply)

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2) The two local cats here determinedly stop and pass the time of day with me though. One is a hopeful starer. The other is a mewler and purrer. I always say hello to them but have never petted either of them.

"You know what would make the Universe Perfect, right this minute? For you to do nothing except be yourself and sit still."

I understand what you mean about sharing a perfect moment with another living being... but I like to pretend I have a Higher Purpose in life than being a cat cushion! ;-P

4) I love it when the zeitgeist arrow points to poetry!

Sonnet 18 is a perfect poem but not a perfect loving sentiment imo. When I think of a sonnet encapsulating mature love then my mind turns to Elizabeth Barret Browning's Sonnets from the Portugese:

Number 43

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

My personal Shakesperian sonnet of the week has, however, been (love "delves the parallels"!);

Sonnet 60
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.