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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Weed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I dreamed that dead, and meditating,<br>I lay upon a grave, or bed,<br>(at least, some cold and close-built bower).<br>In the cold heart, its final thought<br>stood frozen, drawn immense and clear,<br>stiff and idle as I was there;<br>and we remained unchanged together<br>for a year, a minute, an hour.<br>Suddenly there was a motion,<br>as startling, there, to every sense<br>as an explosion. Then it dropped <br>to insistent, cautious creeping<br>in the region of the heart, <br>prodding me from desperate sleep.<br>I raised my head. A slight young weed<br>had pushed up through the heart and its<br>green head was nodding on the breast.<br>(All this was in the dark.)<br>It grew an inch like a blade of grass;<br>next, one leaf shot out of its side<br>a twisting, waving flag, and then<br>two leaves moved like a semaphore.<br>The stem grew thick. The nervous roots<br>reached to each side; the graceful head<br>changed its position mysteriously,<br>since there was neither sun nor moon<br>to catch its young attention.<br>The rooted heart began to change<br>(not beat) and then it split apart <br>and from it broke a flood of water.<br>Two rivers glanced off from the sides,<br>one to the right, one to the left,<br>two rushing, half-clear streams,<br>(the ribs made of them two cascades)<br>which assuredly, smooth as glass,<br>went off through the fine black grains of earth.<br>The weed was almost swept away;<br>it struggled with its leaves,<br>lifting them fringed with heavy drops.<br>A few drops fell upon my face <br>and in my eyes, so I could see <br>(or, in that black place, thought I saw)<br>that each drop contained a light,<br>a small, illuminated scene;<br>the weed-deflected stream was made<br>itself of racing images.<br>(As if a river should carry all<br>the scenes that it had once reflected <br>shut in its waters, and not floating<br>on momentary surfaces.)<br>The weed stood in the severed heart.<br>&quot;What are you doing there?&quot; I asked.<br>It lifted its head all dripping wet<br>(with my own thoughts?)<br>and answered then: &quot;I grow,&quot; it said,<br>&quot;but to divide your heart again.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Bishop">Elizabeth Bishop</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384069" data-title="The Weed de Elizabeth Bishop" data-description="I dreamed that dead, and meditating,
I lay upon a grave, or bed,
(at least, some cold and close-built bower).
In the cold heart, its final thought
stood frozen, drawn immense and clear,
stiff and idle as I was there;
and we remained unchanged toge..."></div>
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