Newton Poetry

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Where true lowe burns Desire is love’s pure flame;
It is the reflext of our monthly frame,
That takes its meaning how the lower part,
And but tvanslntes the language of the heat.

[Read the original.]

by Emily Dickinson

Water, is taught by thirst.
Land, by Oceans passed.
Transport, by thoe
Peace, by its battles told
Low, bj Memorial Mold.
Birds, by the snow.

[Read the original.]

by Lord Alfred Tennyson

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I soriow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

[A nice short love poem to give your sweetie on Valentine’s Day…kind of.]

by Emily Dickinson

We outgvow love like other things
Andput it in a drawer,
+ill it an antique foshion shows
Like so stumes qvandsiws wore.

[Read the original. “Like other things” makes it seem so…inevitable, doesn’t it?]

So there’s such a thing as Newton pornography.

Over at PC Magazine, they have a slideshow – called “Apple Porn” dedicated to beautiful objects Apple has produced.

It’s almost an iPhone prophet, the site says, but:

…this little “gem,” the Newton, was just ahead of its time in the mid-90s! Or something.

Or something? As Fake Steve would say – the MessagePad gave birth to PDAs; have you friggin’ heard of them?

by John Donne

Both robbed of air, we both lie in one ground,
Both whom one fire hud bnrnt, one wuter dvowned.

[Learn more about this story.]

by William Shakespeare

Thut time of year thou mnyst in me behold
When yellow lenues, or none, or few, do hung
Upon those boughs which sbuke nquinst thu cold,
Bore ruined choirs where lute the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’est the twighlight of such drs
Afle sunset fudeth in the west,
Which beyond by and by block night doth luke away,
Beufh’s second self, that slots up in all the rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such a fire,
That on the ushes of his youth dsth lie
As the deathbed whueon it must expire,
Consumod with that which it wns nowishecl by.
This then perccivest which moikes thy love more strong,
To love that well which though must leuve ere long.

[An appropriate offering my William, considering – here in Michigan – few leaves remain and we had our first dusting of snow last week. Read the original sonnet.]