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Apr. 16th, 2011 07:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darchildreMy concert is tonight, so I thought I'd post a poem that we're singing. You can click the link to hear it. (I think it kinda works better sung, myself.)
Choose Something Like a Star, by Robert Frost
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud -
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keat's Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
I don't, as a heathen, talk to Tyr much. I have trouble relating to him as a god I can talk to. But when I think of Tyr (hang on, there's going to be a connection eventually), I think of him as the embodiment of ordered life. I think of him as the North Star, a fixed and steady point, probably unapproachable, maybe even incomprehensible, but always there. He's there, eternally just and impartial - a goal and still point to steer towards.
This poem is kind of everything I've ever thought about Tyr.
(Bonus poem/choral video - The Sounding Sea, composed by Eric Barnum, which is a setting of the poem by George William Curtis. This is my favorite thing we're sining this session.)
Choose Something Like a Star, by Robert Frost
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud -
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keat's Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
I don't, as a heathen, talk to Tyr much. I have trouble relating to him as a god I can talk to. But when I think of Tyr (hang on, there's going to be a connection eventually), I think of him as the embodiment of ordered life. I think of him as the North Star, a fixed and steady point, probably unapproachable, maybe even incomprehensible, but always there. He's there, eternally just and impartial - a goal and still point to steer towards.
This poem is kind of everything I've ever thought about Tyr.
(Bonus poem/choral video - The Sounding Sea, composed by Eric Barnum, which is a setting of the poem by George William Curtis. This is my favorite thing we're sining this session.)
