A.E. Housman at his most melancholy:
|Into my heart an air that kills|
|From yon far country blows
|What are those blue remembered hills,|
|What spires, what farms are those?
|That is the land of lost content,|
|I see it shining plain,
|The happy highways where I went|
|And cannot come again.
Ah, the land of lost content. It's there for all of us, isn't it? Somewhere, in our memory, receded beyond some horizon, just beyond the grasp of our fingers. Where we dwelt once, a long time ago, but like the shivering Adam and Eve outside the Gates of Eden, can never return to again. Hey! Know what? I've actually found a picture of it! And here it is:
These are the daughters of three of my nurses; the photo was taken by one of their mothers, a woman who has no formal training in photography except for one course in college, but who takes the most amazingly expressive pictures of her kids, that go well beyond the usual kid pix in terms of composition, lighting, and catching their subjects at exactly the right moment.
Isn't this the land of lost content that we all remember? Sitting in the shade of a porch swing on a hot summer day, eating a popsicle... Can anything ever be as nice as that?