Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me"
John Keats (1)
Times have often been grave & grim (and humans vicious & violent). But ‘nobler natures’ do keep creating and guarding beauty.
Thus, on a gray and troubled November day, one can find quiet relief, standing in the windy entry hall of a lovely museum (3), watching a leaf landing on the floor, whirling amidst swirling mosaic patterns.
just three dwindling notes
(1) the full poem
(2) for A: English for dwarrelen! Wirbeln in German?
(3) The Ghent Museum of Fine Arts - built in the early 20th century, and recently so carefully & lovingly restored, including the floor mosaics