*Full fathom five thy father lies*.
*Of his bones are coral made*. *Those are pearls that were his eyes*. *Nothing of him that doth fade*, *But doth suffer a sea-change* *Into something rich and strange*. *Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell* * Ding dong, Ding dong bell*
On Sat, Oct 12, 2013 at 7:17 PM, JOANNA A. <123hop at comcast.net> wrote:
> Ah, yes, Marvell. I don't know why people say Donne is hard. I think
> Marvell is much, much harder.
>
> I can see he's a great poet, but I have a very hard time understanding him.
>
> Joanna
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> On Sun, 13 Oct 2013 01:53:15 +0000 (UTC)
> "JOANNA A." <123hop at comcast.net> wrote:
>
> > Tropical. Think tropical.
>
> Okay. My man Andrew Marvell, quondam
> colleague of John Milton in Oliver Cromwell's
> Foreign Office:
>
> Where the remote Bermoothes ride
> In th' ocean's bosom unespied,
> From a small boat that row'd along
> The list'ning winds received this song:—
> "What should we do but sing His praise
> That led us through the watery maze
> Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks,
> That lift the deep upon their backs,
> Unto an isle so long unknown,
> And yet far kinder than our own?"
>
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