I Had A Dove

We had Chai S’Mores tonight. This is a chai base with marshmallow and several other sweet things woven in.

It’s another good example of how to brew a sweet teat that won’t choke anyone on the all-consuming taste of jam. The spice inherent in chai keeps it from cloying. But the presence of marshmallow adds a touch of extra sweetness.

It’s one of those teas that might work well with milk. We didn’t try it that way because it was an exceptionally long evening, and candidly we didn’t have the energy to experiment with tea.

We poured this out after a whack of guests left and the tidy-up was done. It was the first spare moment we got all day.

Not quite true. There was a half-hour earlier where we were reading Less Than Angels. Somewhere in there, Deirdre Swan reads a poem by Christina Rosetti. Our cunning plan was to crib the poem from Pym for you. Can we remember it? Can we never. And can we be bothered sifting through the last 30 pages of Less Than Angles? Ask us again tomorrow, yeah?

Until then, enjoy Keats. He also crops up in Pym, as the pet subject of an American Academic named Ned.

The Sweet Dove Died
John Keats

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving.
O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied,
With a silken thread of my own hand’s weaving;

Sweet little red feet! why should you die –
Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why?
You lived alone in the forest-tree,
Why, pretty thing, could you not live with me?
I kissed you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

There’s a whole essay to be had on the aptness of this epigram for the Pym novel of the same title. But not tonight. It’s late and the weekend isn’t nearly over. But watch this space. We have plans re Pym.

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