A repeat from December 2012. . . . I love this bleary little photo.
Paul and Henri at Cornusson, Parisot Commune, in the Pyrenees, France, ca. 1870 — like yesterday’s post — by Eugène Trutat, via the Bibliothèque de Toulouse Commons on flickr.
As from the house your mother seesYou playing round the garden trees,So you may see, if you will lookThrough the windows of this book,Another child, far, far away,And in another garden, play.But do not think you can at all,By knocking on the window, callThat child to hear you. He intentIs all on his play-business bent.He does not hear; he will not look,Nor yet be lured out of this book.For, long ago, the truth to say,He has grown up and gone away,And it is but a child of airThat lingers in the garden there.— Robert Louis Stevenson, “To Any Reader”
i love this photo too, so charming!
The little gate and fence are wonderful.
and the poem speaks to me, another child of the air, waving.
Despite the bleariness, the picture is very immediate.