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Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
Oct. 9th, 2012 12:15 amI have been drifting on the wings of poesy, looking for titles for things. I have a list of titles that have no stories yet attached. Best worst title for a Downton Abbey fic ever: "The Passionate Chauffeur to His Love."
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sineala suggests that "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" is an infinitely malleable title that should be adapted to all fandoms. World War I Eagle AU: wounded soldier Marcus! Sent to recuperate at a country house! Where he meets socialist shepherd Esca!
Shepherd!fic could totally become a new genre of AU.
***
Speaking of World War I: lo these many years ago, when I studied abroad in England, I read a biography about Rupert Brooke, who died in Greece kind of like Lord Byron and therefore became the icon of a generation. He was handsome! He was kind of a jerk! And he wrote great poetry! What more could you want in a hero?
Unfortunate
by Rupert Brooke
Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;
Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!"...
She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.
***
(Wouldn't the first two lines of this be the perfect epigraph for a story about Lady Mary? The rest of the poem, not so much. But the first two lines?)
sineala suggests that "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" is an infinitely malleable title that should be adapted to all fandoms. World War I Eagle AU: wounded soldier Marcus! Sent to recuperate at a country house! Where he meets socialist shepherd Esca! Shepherd!fic could totally become a new genre of AU.
***
Speaking of World War I: lo these many years ago, when I studied abroad in England, I read a biography about Rupert Brooke, who died in Greece kind of like Lord Byron and therefore became the icon of a generation. He was handsome! He was kind of a jerk! And he wrote great poetry! What more could you want in a hero?
Unfortunate
by Rupert Brooke
Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;
Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!"...
She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.
***
(Wouldn't the first two lines of this be the perfect epigraph for a story about Lady Mary? The rest of the poem, not so much. But the first two lines?)
