We won’t, now. Never will, and yet we have.
The soaring notes of Handel’s Messiah, the sharp and engaging observations of Dickens, my mother’s stories about Laurence Olivier in his prime, the impact of his Henry V film in World War II. Gerard Manley Hopkins, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, TS Eliot, two Bronte sisters, Blake…in this winter crowd of tourists, I engage in a literary stations of the cross, here in Poets’ Corner.
Above, the stone arches rise and meet each other. We can be astonished by words, by buildings, but in the end individual imaginations let us soar. Thank you.