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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=453857" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spenser's Island</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">has not altered;--<br>a place as kind as it is green,<br>the greenest place I've never seen.<br>Every name is a tune.<br>Denunciations do not affect<br>the culprit; nor blows, but it<br>is torture to him to not be spoken to.<br>They're natural,--<br>the coat, like Venus'<br>mantle lined with stars,<br>buttoned close at the neck,-the sleeves new from disuse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If in Ireland<br>they play the harp backward at need,<br>and gather at midday the seed<br>of the fern, eluding<br>their &quot;giants all covered with iron,&quot; might<br>there be fern seed for unlearn-<br>ing obduracy and for reinstating<br>the enchantment?<br>Hindered characters<br>seldom have mothers<br>in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was Irish;<br>a match not a marriage was made<br>when my great great grandmother'd said<br>with native genius for<br>disunion, &quot;Although your suitor be<br>perfection, one objection<br>is enough; he is not<br>Irish.&quot; Outwitting<br>the fairies, befriending the furies,<br>whoever again<br>and again says, &quot;I'll never give in,&quot; never sees</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that you're not free<br>until you've been made captive by<br>supreme belief,--credulity<br>you say? When large dainty<br>fingers tremblingly divide the wings<br>of the fly for mid-July<br>with a needle and wrap it with peacock-tail,<br>or tie wool and<br>buzzard's wing, their pride,<br>like the enchanter's<br>is in care, not madness. Concurring hands divide</div><div style="margin:10px 0">flax for damask<br>that when bleached by Irish weather<br>has the silvered chamois-leather<br>water-tightness of a<br>skin. Twisted torcs and gold new-moon-shaped<br>lunulae aren't jewelry<br>like the purple-coral fuchsia-tree's. Eire--<br>the guillemot<br>so neat and the hen<br>of the heath and the<br>linnet spinet-sweet-bespeak relentlessness? Then</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they are to me<br>like enchanted Earl Gerald who<br>changed himself into a stag, to<br>a great green-eyed cat of<br>the mountain. Discommodity makes<br>them invisible; they've dis-<br>appeared. The Irish say your trouble is their<br>trouble and your<br>joy their joy? I wish<br>I could believe it;<br>I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Marianne+Moore">Marianne Moore</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=453857" data-title="Spenser's Island de Marianne Moore" data-description="has not altered;--
a place as kind as it is green,
the greenest place I've never seen.
Every name is a tune.
Denunciations do not affect
the culprit; nor blows, but it
is torture to him to not be spoken to.
They're natural,--
the coat, like Venus'..."></div>
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