No Frugal Shopper Am I
Back when I was young(er), buying things off the internet meant the postman turned up with books and CDs from this fancy new company called Amazon, life-size cardboard cut outs of Aragorn from eBay, and tea-flavoured boiled sweets from Japan (which were alas, yuk. Like sustained stamp-licking.)
Now he brings me light bulbs for the cooker, an elastic band thingy that broke on the hoover, and other totems of boredom, and sure, it’s more convenient than finding a shop that sells these things, but it’s no fun. And get me started on how nowadays Amazon has infiltrated everything and even supplied toilet roll and soap powder. And that, is my long winded justification for ordering something I can’t really afford this month, just because I wanted it.
I saw the mug on Miss Quickly’s blog and had to have it. Emily has always been my favourite Brontë, and I miss living near enough to the Parsonage to make regular visits. The poem quoted was a favourite of teen me, who had a thing for bad calligraphy (often done by candlelight), and who thought perma-inky fingers made her look like a romantic-Mary-Shelleyish-badass. I had the poem written out on my wall (on heavy paper I stained with tea to make it look old *sigh, simpler times* It was read at Emily Dickinson’s funeral, and was also been a Guardian Poem of The Week.
No Coward Soul Is Mine
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from Fear.
O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life – that in me hast rest,
As I – Undying Life – have power in Thee!
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears
Though Earth and moon were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every Existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou – Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
I not only got the mug, but as it’s a personal law for me, a nice notebook, too. It came the day after I ordered it, which shows the Brontë Shop people are doing a grand job at carrying out the hard-working and efficient ethos of their long-deceased bosses. Go buy yourself something nice!