I found this over on Jerry Pournelle’s Chaos Manor. It seemed fitting given the discussion as of late.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
– Robert Frost
Har! I’ve been hearing that one a lot, lately.
One of those dang things that’s just too apt for comfort.
My favorite Robert Frost poem is pretty apropos in many parts of North America right now too (including my own woods).
You reminded me of a line from an old song, which I read in ‘Lucifer’s Hammer’:
‘And God hung a rainbow as a sign
Ain’t gonna be flood but Fire next time!’
…of course, that was due to an asteroid, not faux agw.
I know which one you mean without even opening it.
“And miles to go before I sleep.”
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.
The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.
“It’s looking crook,” said Daniel Croke;
“Bedad, it’s cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad.”
“It’s dry, all right,” said young O’Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.
And so around the chorus ran
“It’s keepin’ dry, no doubt.”
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“Before the year is out.”
“The crops are done; ye’ll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o’-Bourke
They’re singin’ out for rain.
“They’re singin’ out for rain,” he said,
“And all the tanks are dry.”
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.
“There won’t be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
There’s not a blade on Casey’s place
As I came down to Mass.”
“If rain don’t come this month,” said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak –
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“If rain don’t come this week.”
A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.
“We want an inch of rain, we do,”
O’Neil observed at last;
But Croke “maintained” we wanted two
To put the danger past.
“If we don’t get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“Before the year is out.”
In God’s good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.
And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.
It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o’-Bourke.
And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“If this rain doesn’t stop.”
And stop it did, in God’s good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o’er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.
And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o’er the fence.
And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey’s place
Went riding down to Mass.
While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.
“There’ll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“Before the year is out.”
I think John O’Brian had it pegged in 1921…. LoL
J. Hansford,
It’s been a long time since I heard that poem. It really does say it all, doesn’t it?
Trivia question: What poem by a well-known poet includes the word “Fahrenheit?”
Frost was an amateur astronomer, perhaps if he were alive now he would write a poem about the Sun’s mysteries.
by Robert Frost – 1947
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud —
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says “I burn.”
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats’ Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
Delete this comment!
No Email, eh? This’ll do.
Please delete my first post of “Choose Something like a Star” I didn’t read far enough
between the lines about permitted pseudo-HTML. The second attempt is the keeper.
This 3rd comment is just Email.
-Ric Werme
What you get and what you see
Things that don’t come easily
Feeling happy in my vein
Icicles are in my brain
Something blowing in my head
Winter’s ice, it soon will spread
Death would freeze my very soul
Makes me happy, makes me cold
My eyes are blind, but I can see
The snowflakes glisten on the tree
The sun no longer sets me free
I feel there’s no place freezing me
Let the winter sunshine on
Let me feel the frost of dawn
Fill my dreams with flakes of snow
Soon I’ll feel the chilling glow
Don’t you think I know what I’m doing
Don’t tell me that it’s doing me wrong
IPCC’s really a loser
This is where I feel I belong
Crystal world with winter flowers
Turn my days to frozen hours
Lying snowblind in the sun
Will my ice age ever come?
http://www.swyzzlestyx.com/rockandroll/Snowblind.mp3
Been walking my mind to an easy time,
My back turned towards the sun.
Lord knows when the cold wind blows,
It’ll turn your head around.