Carl Gustav Jung

Simple things are always the most difficult. In actual life it requires the greatest art to be simple, and so acceptance of oneself is the essence of the moral problem and the acid test of one’s whole outlook on life. That I feed the beggar, that I forgive an insult, that I love my enemy… all these are undoubtedly great virtues…

But what if I should discover that the least amongst them all, the poorest of all beggars, the most impudent of all offenders, yea, the very fiend himself-that these are within me, and that I myself stand in need of the alms of my own kindness, that I myself am the enemy who must be loved-what then?

—Carl Gustav Jung

A new day

Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.

THICH NHAT HANH

Chimes

Brief on a flying night,
  From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
  And go with the hour.

Like birds from the cote to the gales,      
  Abrupt—oh, hark!—
A fleet of bells set sails,
  And go to the dark.

Sudden the cold airs swing:
  Alone, aloud,      
A verse of bells takes wing
  And flies with the cloud.

Alice Meynell

Moonrise

Will you glimmer on the sea?
Will you fling your spear-head
On the shore?
What note shall we pitch?

We have a song,    
On the bank we share our arrows—
The loosed string tells our note:

O flight,
Bring her swiftly to our song.
She is great,      
We measure her by the pine-trees.

By H.D.
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936)
The New Poetry: An Anthology.  1917

Irradiations

Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:
Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

Whirlpools of purple and gold,
Winds from the mountains of cinnabar,
Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancing      
Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light;
Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards;
Rippling, quivering flutters; repulse and surrender,
The sun broidered upon the rain,      
The rain rustling with the sun.


Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds:
Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.

Verse I
John Gould Fletcher

Ode To The Rebels

I Go my way complacently,
  As self-respecting persons should.
You are to me the rebel thought,
  You are the wayward rebel mood.

What shall we share who are separate?        5
  We part—as alien persons should.
But oh, I have need of the rebel thought,
  And a wicked urge to the rebel mood!



Florence Kiper Frank, You

Fireflies in the Corn

How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,
  Riding the air and carrying all the time
  Your little lanterns behind you: it cheers
  My heart to see you settling and trying to climb
  The corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.


D. H. Lawrence