Yesterday, I participated in a poetry reading at The Inquirer. One of the poems I read, Phyllis McGinley's "Ballade of Lost Objects," usually brings tears to my eyes. It didn't yesterday because I steeled myself against that happening.
From the article:
The novelist Sebastian Faulks cries over Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Frost at Midnight" (a marvelous poem—though not, I would have thought, one likely to induce tears).I have always been deeply touched by the last line — "Quietly shining to the quiet moon" — to say nothing of the thoughts Coleridge addresses to his infant son
Unless I mistook what I saw and heard, the lector at a Friday morning Mass downtown seemed to be fighting tears as she read the psalm. And now, of course, I don't remember which one it was.
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