This treasury was inspired by a video I chanced upon. See shop /2nd spot
This potter is AMAZING–she donates her hard work to soup kitchens, and hides mugs in the wilderness for adventurers to find!! RAD!!!
Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won’t believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider’s enmity.
He who torments the chafer’s sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer’s song
Poison gets from Slander’s tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy’s foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist’s jealousy.
The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags
Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.
A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar’s rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant’s faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.
He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour’s iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket’s cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation’s fate.
The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave old England’s winding sheet.
The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
I love the desert when I’m there, but I soon enough miss the mountains. When I’m in the mountains, I soon miss the desert, and so repeats my life of travel and on and on I go, back and forth across the country, up and down elevation, always a pulling at my heart to keep moving. Run away, long to return, run away. This is why I chose the name Lost.
This treasury features a photo of mine from Animas Forks, Colorado. An abandoned cabin in a mining town at 11,000 feet in the rocky mountains. It’s only accessible part of the year but always beautiful. The high elevation gives way to beautiful alpine wildflowers and pine trees.
The Forest Fire photo featured in this treasury is from the Kaibab National Forest north of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. a good amount of the forest on the way to the Grand Canyon has been scorched and/or burned by forest fires, often due to lightening strike. We stopped at a forest service lookout tower and spoke with the man on duty who told us this particular fire happened in 1996. Leaving the landscape surreal and barren. The sunset that evening highlighted the damage with an orange fire of its own, making the scene come alive, as if the forest was trying to tell us its story.
Featured Print: Fire Trees Print
“The Badlands” is an awesome and dramatic term used for just about any hilly, constantly evolving, harsh desert area and I’ve loved every one I’ve been to. Of course the South Dakota Badlands are the most well known, but there are actually tons of badlands areas all over the country, even if not so named.
Most recently we went to The Petrified Forest National Park. A ranger there said it should have been named “Arizona Badlands Petrified Logjam National Park” and we agreed. As far as “forest”, it’s all lying on the ground, and there’s little mention of the vast badlands at all, even though much more of the park is badlands than petrified logs. Either way, it was an awesome and I’m glad I finally got to go, after passing by or being too far so many times before.
Petrified Forest National Park
My photo Cabin Print, Colorado was featured in this treasury on just such a place.