I have been staying with my mother for a week, in Ledbury, which seems to be something of a black hole as far as the Internet is concerned – a lot of the time it seems impossible to get online at all, and when you it keeps disappearing, for no apparent reason, so I eventually gave up trying to write anything for the blog, although I did manage to post the occasional comment on other people’s blogs.
Anyway, the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning spent her childhood at Hope End, her family’s 500-acre estate which stood just outside the town. Long after they moved away she eloped with the poet Robert Browning who, like Dickens, was born in 1812, and whose birthday I share (May 7, but, obviously, I am not quite that old, even if there are days when I feel like it ). The couple lived in Italy, and, should you wonder, there is a point to my ramblings, because it is April – a little colder and greyer than the April depicted in Browning’s poem, Home Thoughts from Abroad (written in Italy), but since I am now back home and reconnected with the Internet, I thought I would celebrate by sharing the poem with you.
experimental mixed media, paper and textile explorations...and a place to empty my head
"Vivre le livre!"
Come and set a spell on the porch steps 'n catch your breath
watercolouring my world
der inhalt meines buchregals
When I'm not reading I walk... and stitch... and cook... and dream...
Discussing the Liberal Arts
Ponderings of a retired Tasmanian, photographing, animal loving, book reading, travelling, motorbike riding penguin, growing old disgracefully, who still loves old Penguin books and sharing our world with others.
live mines and duds: the reading life
~for translated and literary fiction
"She had read novels while other people perused the Sunday papers" - Mary Elizabeth Braddon
Second Hand Books
Book reviews by someone who loves books ...
A collective of bibliophiles talking about books. Book Fox (vulpes libris): small bibliovorous mammal of overactive imagination and uncommonly large bookshop expenses. Habitat: anywhere the rustle of pages can be heard.
journeying through books and foreign lands
Exploring time and place.