The Nature of Electricity

‘The dead, the gentle dead – who knows? –

In tungsten filaments abide,

And on my bedside table glows

Another man’s departed bride.

And maybe Shakespeare floods a whole

Town with innumerable lights,

And Shelley’s incandescent soul

Lures the pale moths of starless nights.

Streetlamps are numbered, and maybe

Number nine-hundred-ninety-nine

(So brightly beaming through a tree

So green) is an old friend of mine.

And when above the livid plain

Forked lightning plays, therein may dwell

The torments of a Tamerlane,

The roar of tyrants torn in hell.’

Pale Fire, Vladimir Nabokov,

Pale Fire Cover

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “The Nature of Electricity

  1. Pingback: Books Read in 2013 | The cat that walks by herself

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s