Today I recite the second stanza of W.B. Yeats’ “The Stolen Child,” that many of us are memorizing for National Poetry Month. Here’s the first.
And yes, I’m still working on “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” I’m almost there.
Oh, and about those Surinam cherries. You can read about them here. The writer tells it all much better than I can. The cherry I tried fell into my hand, but it’s possible I was too quick to try one and not patient enough wait until it was full “bloody.” I wanted to snag it before the birds did. Also, I may or may not have ingested seeds and only now read this from the above linked article: “The fruit is extremely high in vitamin C and A. Don’t eat the seeds. One probably wouldn’t kill you [my bolding, and I thought it might] but if you think the unripe fruit tastes bad the seed is distaste on steroids.” Also, the best ones are apparently the ones you have to “fight the ants for,” but seeing as how we are already fighting ants and on an actual ant-killing spree here, that might not be the best gauge either. And that recipe for Surinam Cherry Chiffon Pie? Sounds good, but I can’t see myself picking out all the seeds. And that cherry garnish is not ripe. Nope. And I don’t know that I’m environmentally conscious enough to eat take time to them if I find them (only the ripest of the ripe ones, of course) on the biking trail. Besides, I’m too busy now watching out for rattlesnakes who want to eat me.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
(Okay, this preview is scary on steroids.)
Are you daring to memorize “The Stolen Child,” too?