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?
It all reminded me of the Old English poem, The Wanderer, that my Olde English professor made us memorize. My memory does not do justice to the entire peom, but i remember the most poignant which I have 'Ctrl+C, Ctrl +V' ed.
| 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! |
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