There are some books you grow too old for. And then, there are books that you are never too old for. I unabashedly enjoy reading and re-reading L M Montgomery's classic, no not Anne of Green Gables, but Emily of New Moon. Dont get me wrong, I was/am a devoted fan of the entire Anne of Green Gables series and practically devoured all 5 books. But Emily of New Moon has a special place. I still remember exactly when I finished reading it - St Catz library, Oxford, an afternoon in November 2003, in my 20s! - I shut the book, traipsed down the spiral staircase, literally skipping here and there and promising myself that I shall be like Emily in terms of retaining my childish passion for life for ever and ever. Old promises have a way of coming back and biting you. Where has it all gone?
Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Where is the horse gone? Where the rider? | ||
Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa? | Where the giver of treasure? | |
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? | Where are the seats at the feast? | |
Hwær sindon seledreamas? | Where are the revels in the hall? | |
Eala beorht bune! | Alas for the bright cup! | |
Eala byrnwiga! | Alas for the mailed warrior! | |
Eala þeodnes þrym! | Alas for the splendour of the prince! | |
Hu seo þrag gewat, | How that time has passed away, | |
genap under nihthelm, | dark under the cover of night, | |
swa heo no wære. | as if it had never been! |
1 comment:
I love that same poem, for the exactly the same reasons. That's one of the reasons I cherish memories. I'm terrified of forgetting - Because if I do, then it will be as if it had never been!
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