Orbler
Byron Twain
Brenton
Dexter
Jeanne Dininni
Shilpa KarhikCount That Day Lost by George Eliot
February 29th 2008 00:13
Count That Day Lost
by George Eliot
by George Eliot
George Eliot
If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went --
Then you may count that day well spent.
But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay --
If, through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face--
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost --
Then count that day as worse than lost.
A Review in Poem by Dexter
“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers” says Blanche DuBois,
But what about the stranger who is kind, what do they depend on?
Their purpose of design, a selfless gesture, a small acknowledgment,
Or does the reward come from the giving, feeding the soul.
Life is an act of irrelevant size, a minor note in timeless work,
Revealing humanity in the choices of each day,
The sun rises and the spirit awakens, cause and effect,
Common isolated experiences can bleed into society.
Birth to be measured, a personal gain till death,
Or richness of experience, shared in consequence,
While we mend and repair our tattered tragedy,
The healing of others may beg less energy.
Fighting for our own desires without remorse,
A reclusive essence, a hollow dream,
Wealth of health, a blessed instrument to gift,
Smile and others learn, frown and be alone.
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