We can all be Socrates.
Look inside yourself,
Examine your life just like me,
Don't let ego make a fool of you,
Admit to knowing nothing be free.
For a virtuous life cannot be led,
When false knowledge is claimed,
Be prepared to drink the hemlock cup,
So all can see societies folly defamed.
By Leonidas
that dress is cool! thanks x runner for the link to the website...i particularly enjoyed reading about dandelion folklore, the old romantic in me enjoyed this bit...Originally Posted by XRunner
Dandelion Thoughts
Folklore says that blowing the seeds off a dandelion is said to carry your thoughts and dreams to your loved one. At least, so they say... Source: "Unusual Vegetables, Something New for this Year's Garden," Rodale Press Emmaus, PA.
"Are you separated from the object of your love? Carefully pluck one of the feathery heads; charge each of the little feathers composing it with a tender thought; turn towards the spot where the loved one dwells; blow, and the seed-ball will convey your message faithfully. Do you wish to know if that dear one is thinking of you? blow again; and if there be left upon the stalk a single aigrette, it is a proof you are not forgotten. Similarly, the dandelion is consulted as to whether the lover lives east, west, north, or south, and whether he is coming or not."
Source: "The Child and Childhood in Folk-Thought," by Alexander F. Chamberlain
Last edited by freckle; 25-10-2010 at 10:26 PM.
Always good to see you on this thread Matt, hope you are well....like the reference to hemlock cup
Hope you are well too. Done any running lately ?.
Not much actually as I have had a rather nasty knee injury, had hoped to do Gibside trail race on the 7th Nov but unlikely to as a bit out of the game running wise, have tried to compensate with gym, swimming etc but not quite the same. Good news is that i have seen physio and have a way back into running but hills may have to wait a while i reckon...how about you matt?
No not really have been looking after helen a lot over summer until 2 weeks ago as she had pancreitis if it's spelled that way and then had her gall bladder removed. Plus i have felt not the best.
After watching the film Centurion the other night i've gone all roman, found this poem about a Centurion wanting to stay here, and lets not forget, there was no benefit system in place in those days:wink:
Obviously he's fallen in love with the Lake District.
The Roman Centurion's Song
(Roman Occupation of Britain, A.D. 300)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
LEGATE, I had the news last night - my cohort ordered home
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below:
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!
I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall,
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.
Here where men say my name was made, here where my work was done;
Here where my dearest dead are laid - my wife - my wife and son;
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?
For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies,
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze -
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted days?
You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine an olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!
You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending pines
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but -will you e'er forget
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?
Let me work here for Britain's sake - at any task you will -
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.
Legate, I come to you in tears - My cohort ordered home!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind - the only life I know.
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!
Good to see you back Matt, keep smiling mate
And get well soon freckle marra
Unleash Hell Steve!
Sorry to hear this Leonidas. I hope you are both well soon.
Loved the poem!
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