+ bleu clair rhapsody et la symphonie de (relocated) [crickets] +

KING. What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day.
Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Many thanks.

For a Friend

rhapsody May 10th, 2007

+ Prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel +

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and
snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we
humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of Heavenly
Host – by the Power of God – cast into hell, satan
and all evil spirits, who prowl about the world
seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

Plans are afoot!

rhapsody May 8th, 2007

& at hand for the

2007 Chesterton Conference!

Thanks to Eric @

Chesterton and Friends,

for the info.

From Read Me a Rhyme, Please!

rhapsody May 7th, 2007

The Laughing Willow

By Ernestine Cobern Beyer

Beside a pool within a wood
A family of willows stood.
They could not rest, they could
not sleep;
All they did was weep and weep.
Indeed, they wept, this willow
clan,
As they have wept since time
began.Imagine, then, the pain and
grief
That shook the willows, root
and leaf,
When suddenly beside the
pool
The youngest willow broke
the rule!
A woodsy laughter, small
and thinned,
Fell lightly on the summer
wind.

“Weep!” cried all the willow
crowd.
“To laugh is simply not allowed!”
But though they showed him
what to do,
And gave him Sobbing Lessons,
too,
The youngest willow, small and
daft,
Just tossed his arms and laughed
and laughed!Many, many thanks to
Barbara Beyer Malley for
the okay to post
A variation of this poem
is included in Ms. Malley’s
book for children, Read Me
a Rhyme, Please! (linked to
the right) & available at
Barnes & Noble.

A Note of Thanks

rhapsody May 7th, 2007

When as a kid of just past ten -
Or almost twelve – Yes, that was when!
I came across a poem so dear
It left me smiling ear to ear.
A tree – the cause of why I grinned,
That laughed amidst the summer wind

As decades passed, and years flew by-
“A blog!” I thought I’d give a try;
Hmmm – what to show for all to see?
I’ll post my favorite happy tree!
The little one that’s not a crier,
Penned by Ernestine Cobern Beyer.

“Hi!” a lady typed one day,
“That’s my mom!” she wrote to say.
So it was a rhyme of whimsy
That inspired this verse – (so flimsy!)
To Barbara, Kathie, Margo, Tim-
It’s for you all I’m thanking Him!