Earth's Crammed with Heaven
Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees, takes off his shoes, The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries, And daub their natural faces unaware More and more, from the first similitude. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book VII My father was a poet, from a family of poets. His generation of Andersons wrote many things in verse. At holidays and birthdays, gifts were usually accompanied with a bit of verse, written especially for the occasion and recited by the giver before unwrapping could commence. In my memory, these poems had an archaic quality to them, sounding very turn-of-the-twentieth-century; but it was the principle, more than the form, that mattered: giving thought to the significance of an event, a gift, a holiday, then translating that significance into couplets. However profound or mundane their own attempts at poetry might be, the Andersons appreciated the poetry of others. My father’s ...