Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

Timber-errrrr!

Anyone who has witnessed
the felling of a tall tree is left
with the definitive feeling of sadness.

As the saw rips through the heart of the giant,
it begins to sag down
on the side where the wound is gaping.

The tree begins to lean
away from the cutters,
but they continue their work--just a moment longer.

Then come the sounds:
the crack, crack, cracking of the wood fibers
in front of the saw teeth.

Another pass of the saw,
and the popping noise increases!
Those sounds! More rapid, then a continuous roar!

If you were standing nearby
you suddenly realize that everything above
is coming to earth.

The great mass starts to topple,
the popping and crackling and exploding sounds
burst from the base until with a fearful momentum,

the whole tree comes sprawling down.

Sometimes, we see a man come down like that.
He had stood out, so apparently strong before the entire world,
but the sappers were at his heart.

The supports were cut from under him
until he came crashing down
to the ground.

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