Poem of the Week

Sorry not to have been around recently - new jobs = less time and a rather tired Oxford Reader. Also, shockingly, I've barely done any reading. It's taken me the best part of a week to read one Agatha Christie.

Anyway, hopefully will get back into the swing of things, and in the meantime, here's a poem - dedicated to the wonderful spirit that was and is Natasha Richardson.

They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship.
If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.
For they must needs be present, that love and live in that whch is omnipresent.
In this divine glass they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure.
This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.

William Penn, from More Fruits of Solitude