This journal is mostly public because most of it contains poetry, quotations, pictures, jokes, videos, and news (medical and otherwise). If you like what you see, you are welcome to drop by, anytime. I update frequently.

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Mar. 27th, 2010

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"Of all sad words of tongue and pen..."

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File:Maud-Muller-Brown.jpeg
Source: commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Maud-Muller-Brown.jpeg

MAUD MULLER

by: John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

      AUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
      Raked the meadows sweet with hay.
       
      Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
      Of simple beauty and rustic health.
       
      Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
      The mock-bird echoed from his tree.
       
      But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
      White from its hill-slope looking down,
       
      The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
      And a nameless longing filled her breast--
       
      A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
      For something better than she had known.
       
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Nov. 6th, 2009

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Forgiveness

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My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So turning gloomily from my fellow men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and, trembling, I forgave!

(John Greenleaf Whittier)

Jul. 14th, 2009

med_cat: (holmes and watson friends)
med_cat: (holmes and watson friends)

Quote and poem of the day

med_cat: (holmes and watson friends)
"So long as we love, we serve; so long as we are loved by others, I should say that we are almost indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend."

(Robert Louis Stevenson)

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So turning gloomily from my fellow men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and, trembling, I forgave!

(John Greenleaf Whittier)