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.”

Overheard

 Technology eavesdrops. Every phone listens. Alexa always seems ready to break in on a conversation. We can be comfortable in our own homes when suddenly that voice in the box interrupts, wanting to know if we need more information or engage some activity. If we did any of these things in a course of a normal conversation, that would be considered rude and intrusive. But we live with it. Let’s face it: we’re apathetic. Conditioned.


Then there are those individuals who are constantly on the phone. And let me state the obvious, that they are on speakerphone. Whether it be in the store and a place of business, it doesn’t seem to matter—yelling into a speakerphone presents itself as a poor symbol of status. One never knows when an individual is on the phone even if there is no talking. I’ve seen people carrying on a normal routine and then suddenly they’re talking to somebody who’s been there listening the whole time. It’s unnerving. 

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