Then today, another blog gave me a chance to look up a phrase and find the poem that it originally came from...And I thought to post it here...Imagine how many have died since 1697!
The phrase was coined by William Congreve, in The mourning bride, 1697:
Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night
The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King;
He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.
Why am not I at Peace?
When I talked with the wife this morning, we shared thoughts on how to allow your spouse to die, how to let go. I hope I have years to let go of Robert....but I am sure it will be even harder than it was to say farewell to my parents. As it probably was for Rebecca to bid her dear dad goodbye early Monday morning.
Music...wonderful stuff. My friend Jill mentioned how she knows when she's in a slump...there have been no songs sung by her. But then she knows how to get out of that slump...by singing. or listening. or enjoying. Music! Ah wonderful Music. Put some one and soothe your savage breast.