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| <!--Generated by Site-Server v6.0.0-25295-25295 (http://www.squarespace.com) on Thu, 13 Aug 2020 03:57:54 GMT | |
| --><rss xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/" xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:media="http://www.rssboard.org/media-rss" version="2.0"><channel><title>Epigraphy</title><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/</link><lastBuildDate>Fri, 07 Feb 2020 06:21:10 +0000</lastBuildDate><language>en-GB</language><generator>Site-Server v6.0.0-25295-25295 (http://www.squarespace.com)</generator><itunes:author>That's Not Canon Productions</itunes:author><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:owner><itunes:name>That's Not Canon Productions</itunes:name><itunes:email>[email protected]</itunes:email></itunes:owner><itunes:category text="Fiction"><itunes:category text="Drama"/></itunes:category><itunes:category text="Arts"><itunes:category text="Books"/></itunes:category><itunes:category text="Arts"><itunes:category text="Performing Arts"/></itunes:category><copyright>Copyright 2020, That's Not Canon Productions</copyright><itunes:type>episodic</itunes:type><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581055360330-ZPZDQB1ZDBN7BL764899/Epigraphy+LOGO.png?format=1500w&content-type=image%2Fpng"/><description><![CDATA[<p>epigraphy /ɪˈpɪɡrəfi,ɛˈpɪɡrəfi/ </p> | |
| <p>noun - the study and interpretation of ancient inscriptions.</p> | |
| <p>Epigraphy is a podcast for poetry appreciation and exploration. </p> | |
| <p>Submit your poetry for inclusion!</p>]]></description><item><title>Change Brought On Doves' Wings by Jason Geller</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 11 Aug 2020 19:47:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode63</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f0452d36572221cdd3e1f9a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Change Brought On Doves' Wings by Jason Geller</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Change Brought On Doves' Wings by Jason Geller</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:07</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>63</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Change Brought On Doves' Wings by Jason Geller</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0452e7c676342008a76e0a/1594118912380/Epigraphy+63+Change+Brought+On+Doves_+Wings+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="2215413" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0452e7c676342008a76e0a/1594118912380/Epigraphy+63+Change+Brought+On+Doves_+Wings+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="2215413" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Change Brought On Doves' Wings by Jason Geller</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Dead Dream by Madison Julius Cawein read by Paula Araujo</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 08 Aug 2020 19:45:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode62</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f04524c8deac107399e8b27</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>The Dead Dream</strong><br><strong> By </strong><a href="https://www.public-domain-poetry.com/madison-julius-cawein"><strong>Madison Julius Cawein</strong></a></p><p class="">Between the darkness and the day<br>As, lost in doubt, I went my way,<br>I met a shape, as faint as fair,<br>With star-like blossoms in its hair:<br>Its body, which the moon shone through,<br>Was partly cloud and partly dew:<br>Its eyes were bright as if with tears,<br>And held the look of long-gone years;<br>Its mouth was piteous, sweet yet dread,<br>As if with kisses of the dead:<br>And in its hand it bore a flower,<br>In memory of some haunted hour.<br>I knew it for the Dream I'd had<br>In days when life was young and glad.<br>Why had it come with love and woe<br>Out of the happy Long-Ago?<br>Upon my brow I felt its breath,<br>Heard ancient. words of faith and death,<br>Sweet with the immortality<br>Of many a fragrant memory:<br>And to my heart again I took<br>Its joy and sorrow in a look,<br>And kissed its eyes and held it fast,<br>And bore it home from out the past<br>My Dream of Beauty and of Truth,<br>I dreamed had perished with my Youth.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Dead Dream By Madison Julius Cawein | |
| Between the darkness and the dayAs, lost in doubt, I went my way,I met a shape, as faint as fair,With star-like blossoms in its hair:</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:17</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>62</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Dead Dream by Madison Julius Cawein read by Paula Araujo</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0452768e53972d047a3d8c/1594118821668/Epigraphy+62+The+Dead+Dream+by+Madison+Julius+Cawein+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="3529259" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0452768e53972d047a3d8c/1594118821668/Epigraphy+62+The+Dead+Dream+by+Madison+Julius+Cawein+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="3529259" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Dead Dream by Madison Julius Cawein read by Paula Araujo</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Boots by Rudyard Kipling read by Matthew James French</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 05 Aug 2020 19:42:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode61</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f04519c7c99c06744a2702a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Boots</p><p class="">We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa -- Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa -- (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-twenty mile to-day -- Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before -- (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you. (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again); Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em, An' there's no discharge in the war! Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different -- Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers. If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again) -- There's no discharge in the war! We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness, But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em -- Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war! 'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company, But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again. There's no discharge in the war! I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything, But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Boots | |
| We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa -- Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa -- (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up and down again!) There's no discharge in the war! </itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:17</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>61</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Boots by Rudyard Kipling read by Matthew James French</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0451d8f638f1548b650e29/1594118663334/Epigraphy+61+Boots+by+Rudyard+Kipling+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="4224964" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0451d8f638f1548b650e29/1594118663334/Epigraphy+61+Boots+by+Rudyard+Kipling+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="4224964" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Boots by Rudyard Kipling read by Matthew James French</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Ozymandias by Horace Smith read by Luke O'Hagan</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 02 Aug 2020 19:40:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode60</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f045137f638f1548b65019a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Ozymandias.</strong></p><p class="">IN Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,<br>Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws<br>The only shadow that the Desart knows:—<br>"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,<br>"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows<br>"The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,—<br>Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose<br>The site of this forgotten Babylon.</p><p class="">We wonder,—and some Hunter may express<br>Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness<br>Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,<br>He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess<br>What powerful but unrecorded race<br>Once dwelt in that annihilated place.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Ozymandias. | |
| IN Egypt's sandy silence, all alone, Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws The only shadow that the Desart knows:— "I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone, "The King of Kings; this mighty City shows "The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,— Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose The site of this forgotten Babylon. | |
| We wonder,—and some Hunter may express Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace, He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess What powerful but unrecorded race Once dwelt in that annihilated place.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:31</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>60</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Ozymandias by Horace Smith read by Luke O'Hagan</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f04515ab7e1fd56c3925afe/1594118512997/Epigraphy+60+Ozymandias+by+Horace+Smith+read+by+Luke+O_Hagan.mp3" length="2264110" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f04515ab7e1fd56c3925afe/1594118512997/Epigraphy+60+Ozymandias+by+Horace+Smith+read+by+Luke+O_Hagan.mp3" length="2264110" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Ozymandias by Horace Smith read by Luke O'Hagan</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Messenger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 30 Jul 2020 19:37:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode59</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f04507da3e5fe628ce01e5a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>The Messenger<br>By H. P. Lovecraft</strong><br><br>The thing, he said, would come that night at three<br>From the old churchyard on the hill below;<br>But crouching by an oak fire’s wholesome glow,<br>I tried to tell myself it could not be.<br>Surely, I mused, it was a pleasantry<br>Devised by one who did not truly know<br>The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,<br>That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.<br><br>He had not meant it—no—but still I lit<br>Another lamp as starry Leo climbed<br>Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed<br>Three—and the firelight faded, bit by bit.<br>Then at the door that cautious rattling came—<br>And the mad truth devoured me like a flame!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The MessengerBy H. P. LovecraftThe thing, he said, would come that night at threeFrom the old churchyard on the hill below;But crouching by an oak fire’s wholesome glow,I tried to tell myself it could not be.Surely, I mused, it was a pleasantryDevised by one who did not truly knowThe Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:45</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>59</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Messenger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0450afe9c21e382164ae41/1594118345818/Epigraphy+59+The+Messenger+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2647249" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f0450afe9c21e382164ae41/1594118345818/Epigraphy+59+The+Messenger+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2647249" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Messenger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Invictus by William Ernest Henley read by Jack Rigg</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 27 Jul 2020 19:35:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode58</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044ffa7c99c06744a25198</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Invictus </strong></p><p class="">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/william-ernest-henley">WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY</a></p><p class="">Out of the night that covers me,</p><p class="">Black as the pit from pole to pole,</p><p class="">I thank whatever gods may be</p><p class="">For my unconquerable soul.</p><p class="">In the fell clutch of circumstance</p><p class="">I have not winced nor cried aloud.</p><p class="">Under the bludgeonings of chance</p><p class="">My head is bloody, but unbowed.</p><p class="">Beyond this place of wrath and tears</p><p class="">Looms but the Horror of the shade,</p><p class="">And yet the menace of the years</p><p class="">Finds and shall find me unafraid.</p><p class="">It matters not how strait the gate,</p><p class="">How charged with punishments the scroll,</p><p class="">I am the master of my fate,</p><p class="">I am the captain of my soul.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Invictus | |
| BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY | |
| Out of the night that covers me, | |
| Black as the pit from pole to pole, | |
| I thank whatever gods may be | |
| For my unconquerable soul.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:39</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>58</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Invictus by William Ernest Henley read by Jack Rigg</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f045028534f58054e982d16/1594118208354/Epigraphy+58+Invictus+by+William+Ernest+Henley+read+by+Jack+Rigg.mp3" length="2551106" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f045028534f58054e982d16/1594118208354/Epigraphy+58+Invictus+by+William+Ernest+Henley+read+by+Jack+Rigg.mp3" length="2551106" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Invictus by William Ernest Henley read by Jack Rigg</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Politifact Part 2 by Jason Geller</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 24 Jul 2020 19:33:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode57</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044f87b7e1fd56c3923213</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Politifact Part 2 by Jason Geller</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Politifact Part 2 by Jason Geller</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:34</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>57</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Politifact Part 2 by Jason Geller</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044f9fe6defd42d716a37b/1594118101284/Epigraphy+57+Politifact+Part+2+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="5632640" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044f9fe6defd42d716a37b/1594118101284/Epigraphy+57+Politifact+Part+2+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="5632640" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Politifact Part 2 by Jason Geller</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Politifact Part 1 by Jason Geller</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 21 Jul 2020 19:31:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode56</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044f0ff3633a029ceb1317</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Politifact Part 1 by Jason Geller</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Politifact Part 1 by Jason Geller</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:18</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>56</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Politifact Part 1 by Jason Geller</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044f2178b4a5563ae8faef/1594117971880/Epigraphy+56+Politifact+Part+1+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="5353472" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044f2178b4a5563ae8faef/1594117971880/Epigraphy+56+Politifact+Part+1+by+Jason+Geller.mp3" length="5353472" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Politifact Part 1 by Jason Geller</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>If… by Rudyard Kipling read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 18 Jul 2020 19:29:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode55</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044e81c676342008a7053a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>If…</strong></p><p class="">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/rudyard-kipling">RUDYARD KIPLING</a></p><p class=""></p><p class="">If you can keep your head when all about you</p><p class="">Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,</p><p class="">If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,</p><p class="">But make allowance for their doubting too;</p><p class="">If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,</p><p class="">Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,</p><p class="">Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,</p><p class="">And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:</p><p class="">If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;</p><p class="">If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;</p><p class="">If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster</p><p class="">And treat those two impostors just the same;</p><p class="">If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken</p><p class="">Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,</p><p class="">Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,</p><p class="">And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:</p><p class="">If you can make one heap of all your winnings</p><p class="">And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,</p><p class="">And lose, and start again at your beginnings</p><p class="">And never breathe a word about your loss;</p><p class="">If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew</p><p class="">To serve your turn long after they are gone,</p><p class="">And so hold on when there is nothing in you</p><p class="">Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’</p><p class="">If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,</p><p class="">Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,</p><p class="">If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,</p><p class="">If all men count with you, but none too much;</p><p class="">If you can fill the unforgiving minute</p><p class="">With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,</p><p class="">Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,</p><p class="">And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>If… | |
| BY RUDYARD KIPLING | |
| If you can keep your head when all about you | |
| Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, | |
| If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, | |
| But make allowance for their doubting too;</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:42</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>55</itunes:episode><itunes:title>If… by Rudyard Kipling read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044ec4ea466f0eecbc6bb2/1594117865701/Epigraphy+55+If%E2%80%A6+by+Rudyard+Kipling+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3905967" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044ec4ea466f0eecbc6bb2/1594117865701/Epigraphy+55+If%E2%80%A6+by+Rudyard+Kipling+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3905967" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">If… by Rudyard Kipling read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>We Have Not long to Love by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 15 Jul 2020 19:27:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode54</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044e057c99c06744a22707</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>We Have Not Long to Love</strong></p><p class="">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/tennessee-williams">TENNESSEE WILLIAMS</a></p><p class="">We have not long to love.</p><p class="">Light does not stay.</p><p class="">The tender things are those</p><p class="">we fold away.</p><p class="">Coarse fabrics are the ones</p><p class="">for common wear.</p><p class="">In silence I have watched you</p><p class="">comb your hair.</p><p class="">Intimate the silence,</p><p class="">dim and warm.</p><p class="">I could but did not, reach</p><p class="">to touch your arm.</p><p class="">I could, but do not, break</p><p class="">that which is still.</p><p class="">(Almost the faintest whisper</p><p class="">would be shrill.)</p><p class="">So moments pass as though</p><p class="">they wished to stay.</p><p class="">We have not long to love.</p><p class="">A night. A day....</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>We Have Not Long to Love | |
| BY TENNESSEE WILLIAMS | |
| We have not long to love. | |
| Light does not stay. | |
| The tender things are those | |
| we fold away.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:27</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>54</itunes:episode><itunes:title>We Have Not long to Love by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044e362de84c3af0dc5952/1594117710729/Epigraphy+54+We+Have+Not+long+to+Love+by+Tennessee+Williams+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="2381972" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044e362de84c3af0dc5952/1594117710729/Epigraphy+54+We+Have+Not+long+to+Love+by+Tennessee+Williams+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="2381972" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">We Have Not long to Love by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Dying Lover by John Wilmot read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 14 Jul 2020 19:49:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode64</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f045336c676342008a774af</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/The-Dying-Lover">The Dying Lover</a></p><p class="">I cannot change, as others do,<br>Though you unjustly scorn;<br>Since that poor swain that sighs for you,<br>For you alone was born.<br>No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move<br>A surer way I'll try:<br>And to revenge my slighted love,<br>Will still love on, will still love on, and die.<br><br>When, killed with grief, Amintas lies<br>And you to mind shall call,<br>The sighs that now unpitied rise,<br>The tears that vainly fall,<br>That welcome hour that ends this smart<br>Will then begin your pain;<br>For such a faithful tender heart<br>Can never break, can never break in vain.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Dying Lover | |
| I cannot change, as others do,Though you unjustly scorn;Since that poor swain that sighs for you,For you alone was born.No, Phyllis, no, your heart to moveA surer way I'll try:And to revenge my slighted love,Will still love on, will still love on, and die.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:57</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>64</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Dying Lover by John Wilmot read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f04536f2de84c3af0dcd063/1594119056137/Epigraphy+64+The+Dying+Lover+by+John+Wilmot+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4077698" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f04536f2de84c3af0dcd063/1594119056137/Epigraphy+64+The+Dying+Lover+by+John+Wilmot+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4077698" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Dying Lover by John Wilmot read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title> I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger read by Matthew James French</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 12 Jul 2020 19:24:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode53</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044d7af98ae25fc6e0be8d</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>I Have a Rendezvous with Death</strong></p><p class="">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/alan-seeger">ALAN SEEGER</a></p><p class="">I have a rendezvous with Death</p><p class="">At some disputed barricade,</p><p class="">When Spring comes back with rustling shade</p><p class="">And apple-blossoms fill the air—</p><p class="">I have a rendezvous with Death</p><p class="">When Spring brings back blue days and fair.</p><p class="">It may be he shall take my hand</p><p class="">And lead me into his dark land</p><p class="">And close my eyes and quench my breath—</p><p class="">It may be I shall pass him still.</p><p class="">I have a rendezvous with Death</p><p class="">On some scarred slope of battered hill,</p><p class="">When Spring comes round again this year</p><p class="">And the first meadow-flowers appear.</p><p class="">God knows 'twere better to be deep</p><p class="">Pillowed in silk and scented down,</p><p class="">Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,</p><p class="">Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,</p><p class="">Where hushed awakenings are dear ...</p><p class="">But I've a rendezvous with Death</p><p class="">At midnight in some flaming town,</p><p class="">When Spring trips north again this year,</p><p class="">And I to my pledged word am true,</p><p class="">I shall not fail that rendezvous.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>I Have a Rendezvous with Death | |
| BY ALAN SEEGER | |
| I have a rendezvous with Death | |
| At some disputed barricade, | |
| When Spring comes back with rustling shade | |
| And apple-blossoms fill the air—</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:38</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>53</itunes:episode><itunes:title>I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger read by Matthew James French</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044da74226ca4a0e1a6776/1594117580112/Epigraphy+53+I+Have+a+Rendezvous+with+Death+by+Alan+Seeger+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="3468025" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044da74226ca4a0e1a6776/1594117580112/Epigraphy+53+I+Have+a+Rendezvous+with+Death+by+Alan+Seeger+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="3468025" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger read by Matthew James French</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Young Love by Sara Teasdale read by Paula Araujo</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 09 Jul 2020 19:22:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode52</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044cc903bbfa0f1ccd99e5</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">I<br><br>I cannot heed the words they say,<br>The lights grow far away and dim,<br>Amid the laughing men and maids<br>My eyes unbidden seek for him.<br><br>I hope that when he smiles at me<br>He does not guess my joy and pain,<br>For if he did, he is too kind<br>To ever look my way again.<br><br>II<br><br>I have a secret in my heart<br>No ears have ever heard,<br>And still it sings there day by day<br>Most like a caged bird.<br><br>And when it beats against the bars,<br>I do not set it free,<br>For I am happier to know<br>It only sings for me.<br><br>III<br><br>I wrote his name along the beach,<br>I love the letters so.<br>Far up it seemed and out of reach,<br>For still the tide was low.<br><br>But oh, the sea came creeping up,<br>And washed the name away,<br>And on the sand where it had been<br>A bit of sea-grass lay.<br><br>A bit of sea-grass on the sand,<br>Dropped from a mermaid's hair --<br>Ah, had she come to kiss his name<br>And leave a token there?<br><br>IV<br><br>What am I that he should love me,<br>He who stands so far above me,<br>What am I?<br>I am like a cowslip turning<br>Toward the sky,<br>Where a planet's golden burning<br>Breaks the cowslip's heart with yearning,<br>What am I that he should love me,<br>What am I?<br><br>V<br><br>O dreams that flock about my sleep,<br>I pray you bring my love to me,<br>And let me think I hear his voice<br>Again ring free.<br><br>And if you care to please me well,<br>And live to-morrow in my mind,<br>Let him who was so cold before,<br>To-night seem kind.<br><br>VI<br><br>I plucked a daisy in the fields,<br>And there beneath the sun<br>I let its silver petals fall<br>One after one.<br><br>I said, "He loves me, loves me not,"<br>And oh, my heart beat fast,<br>The flower was kind, it let me say<br>"He loves me," last.<br><br>I kissed the little leafless stem,<br>But oh, my poor heart knew<br>The words the flower had said to me,<br>They were not true.<br><br>VII<br><br>I sent my love a letter,<br>And if he loves me not,<br>He shall not find my love for him<br>In any line or dot.<br><br>But if he loves me truly,<br>He'll find it hidden deep,<br>As dawn gleams red thro' chilly clouds<br>To eyes awaked from sleep.<br><br>VIII<br><br>The world is cold and gray and wet,<br>And I am heavy-hearted, yet<br>When I am home and look to see<br>The place my letters wait for me,<br>If I should find one letter there,<br>I think I should not greatly care<br>If it were rainy or were fair,<br>For all the world would suddenly<br>Seem like a festival to me.<br><br>IX<br><br>I hid three words within my heart,<br>That longed to fly to him,<br>At dawn they woke me with a start,<br>They sang till day was dim.<br><br>And now at last I let them fly,<br>As little birds should do,<br>And he will know the first is "I",<br>The others "Love" and "You".<br><br>X<br><br>Across the twilight's violet<br>His curtained window glimmers gold;<br>Oh happy light that round my love<br>Can fold.<br><br>Oh happy book within his hand,<br>Oh happy page he glorifies,<br>Oh happy little word beneath<br>His eyes.<br><br>But oh, thrice happy, happy I<br>Who love him more than songs can tell,<br>For in the heaven of his heart<br>I dwell.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>I cannot heed the words they say,The lights grow far away and dim,Amid the laughing men and maidsMy eyes unbidden seek for him.I hope that when he smiles at meHe does not guess my joy and pain,For if he did, he is too kindTo ever look my way again.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:25</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>52</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Young Love by Sara Teasdale read by Paula Araujo</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044d04e6defd42d7167519/1594117439203/Epigraphy+52+Young+Love+by+Sara+Teasdale+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="5477807" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044d04e6defd42d7167519/1594117439203/Epigraphy+52+Young+Love+by+Sara+Teasdale+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="5477807" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Young Love by Sara Teasdale read by Paula Araujo</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>United Front Song by Berthold Brecht read by Matthew James French</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 07 Jul 2020 10:20:54 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode51</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5f044beaf3633a029ceac91a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/United-Front-Song">United Front Song</a></p><p class="">And because a man is human<br>He'll want to eat, and thanks a lot<br>But talk can't take the place of meat<br>or fill an empty pot.<br><br>So left, two, three!<br>So left, two, three!<br>Comrade, there's a place for you.<br>Take your stand in the workers united front<br>For you are a worker too.<br><br>And because a man is human<br>he won't care for a kick in the face.<br>He doesn't want slaves under him<br>Or above him a ruling class.<br><br>So left, two, three!<br>So left, two, three!<br>Comrade, there's a place for you.<br>Take your stand in the workers united front<br>For you are a worker too.<br><br>And because a worker's a worker<br>No one else will bring him liberty.<br>It's nobody's work but the worker' own<br>To set the worker free.<br><br>So left, two, three!<br>So left, two, three!<br>Comrade, there's a place for you.<br>Take your stand in the workers united front<br>For you are a worker too.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>United Front Song | |
| And because a man is humanHe'll want to eat, and thanks a lotBut talk can't take the place of meator fill an empty pot.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:23</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>51</itunes:episode><itunes:title>United Front Song by Berthold Brecht read by Matthew James French</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044c3578b4a5563ae8b9b8/1594117216743/Epigraphy+51+United+Front+Song+by+Berthold+Brecht+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="3730384" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5f044c3578b4a5563ae8b9b8/1594117216743/Epigraphy+51+United+Front+Song+by+Berthold+Brecht+read+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="3730384" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">United Front Song by Berthold Brecht read by Matthew James French</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Yule Horror by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 03 Jul 2020 18:51:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode50</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb0f048086495ce4720770</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://hellopoetry.com/poem/69346/yule-horror/">Yule Horror</a></p><p class="">There is snow on the ground,<br>And the valleys are cold,<br>And a midnight profound<br>Blackly squats o'er the wold;<br>But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.<br><br>There is death in the clouds,<br>There is fear in the night,<br>For the dead in their shrouds<br>Hail the sin's turning flight.<br>And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.<br><br>To no gale of Earth's kind<br>Sways the forest of oak,<br>Where the sick boughs entwined<br>By mad mistletoes choke,<br>For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Yule Horror | |
| There is snow on the ground, | |
| And the valleys are cold, | |
| And a midnight profound | |
| Blackly squats o'er the wold; | |
| But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:45</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>50</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Yule Horror by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0f37f8f44f43b25fe76b/1592463209540/Epigraphy+50+Yule+Horror+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4562543" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0f37f8f44f43b25fe76b/1592463209540/Epigraphy+50+Yule+Horror+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4562543" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Yule Horror by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Young Jenny by John Clare read by Paula Araujo</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 30 Jun 2020 18:48:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode49</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb0e4564206d5d01511d06</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Young Jenny</strong></p><p class="">The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane<br>Where the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine,<br>And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again<br>Round the side of the tavern close by the sign.<br>The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,<br>In curtains the richest that ever were seen.<br><br>The dew falls on flowers in a mist of small rain,<br>And, beating the hedges, low fly the barn owls;<br>The <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/moon/">moon</a> with her horns is just peeping again,<br>And deep in the forest the <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/dog/">dog</a>-badger howls;<br>In best bib and tucker then wanders my Jane<br>By the side of the woodbines which grow in the lane.<br><br>On a sweet eventide I <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/walk/">walk</a> by her side;<br>In green hoods the daisies have shut up their eyes.<br>Young Jenny is handsome without any <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/pride/">pride</a>;<br>Her eyes (O how bright!) have the hue of the skies.<br>O 'tis pleasant to walk by the side of my Jane<br>At the close of the day, down the mossy green lane.<br><br>We stand by the brook, by the gate, and the stile,<br>While the even <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/star/">star</a> hangs out his lamp in the <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/sky/">sky</a>;<br>And on her calm face dwells a sweet sunny <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/smile/">smile</a>,<br>While her soul fondly speaks through the <a href="https://internetpoem.com/poems/light/">light</a> of her eye.<br>Sweet are the moments while waiting for Jane;<br>'T is her footsteps I hear coming down the green lane.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Young Jenny | |
| The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted laneWhere the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine,And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles againRound the side of the tavern close by the sign.The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,In curtains the richest that ever were seen.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:53</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>49</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Young Jenny by John Clare read by Paula Araujo</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0e982927c8618153a829/1592463039233/Epigraphy+49+Young+Jenny+by+John+Clare+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="3594957" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0e982927c8618153a829/1592463039233/Epigraphy+49+Young+Jenny+by+John+Clare+read+by+Paula+Araujo.mp3" length="3594957" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Young Jenny by John Clare read by Paula Araujo</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 27 Jun 2020 18:38:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode48</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb0be70026c6559d807eb2</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley</p><p class="">1.</p><p class="">As I lay asleep in Italy</p><p class="">There came a voice from over the Sea,</p><p class="">And with great power it forth led me</p><p class="">To walk in the visions of Poesy.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">2.</p><p class="">I met Murder on the way -</p><p class="">He had a mask like Castlereagh -</p><p class="">Very smooth he looked, yet grim;</p><p class="">Seven blood-hounds followed him:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">3.</p><p class="">All were fat; and well they might</p><p class="">Be in admirable plight,</p><p class="">For one by one, and two by two,</p><p class="">He tossed them human hearts to chew</p><p class="">Which from his wide cloak he drew.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">4.</p><p class="">Next came Fraud, and he had on,</p><p class="">Like Eldon, an ermined gown;</p><p class="">His big tears, for he wept well,</p><p class="">Turned to mill-stones as they fell.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">5.</p><p class="">And the little children, who</p><p class="">Round his feet played to and fro,</p><p class="">Thinking every tear a gem,</p><p class="">Had their brains knocked out by them.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">6.</p><p class="">Clothed with the Bible, as with light,</p><p class="">And the shadows of the night,</p><p class="">Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy</p><p class="">On a crocodile rode by.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">7.</p><p class="">And many more Destructions played</p><p class="">In this ghastly masquerade,</p><p class="">All disguised, even to the eyes,</p><p class="">Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">8.</p><p class="">Last came Anarchy: he rode</p><p class="">On a white horse, splashed with blood;</p><p class="">He was pale even to the lips,</p><p class="">Like Death in the Apocalypse.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">9.</p><p class="">And he wore a kingly crown;</p><p class="">And in his grasp a sceptre shone;</p><p class="">On his brow this mark I saw -</p><p class="">'I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!'</p><p class=""></p><p class="">10.</p><p class="">With a pace stately and fast,</p><p class="">Over English land he passed,</p><p class="">Trampling to a mire of blood</p><p class="">The adoring multitude.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">11.</p><p class="">And a mighty troop around,</p><p class="">With their trampling shook the ground,</p><p class="">Waving each a bloody sword,</p><p class="">For the service of their Lord.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">12.</p><p class="">And with glorious triumph, they</p><p class="">Rode through England proud and gay,</p><p class="">Drunk as with intoxication</p><p class="">Of the wine of desolation.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">13.</p><p class="">O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,</p><p class="">Passed the Pageant swift and free,</p><p class="">Tearing up, and trampling down;</p><p class="">Till they came to London town.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">14.</p><p class="">And each dweller, panic-stricken,</p><p class="">Felt his heart with terror sicken</p><p class="">Hearing the tempestuous cry</p><p class="">Of the triumph of Anarchy.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">15.</p><p class="">For with pomp to meet him came,</p><p class="">Clothed in arms like blood and flame,</p><p class="">The hired murderers, who did sing</p><p class="">'Thou art God, and Law, and King.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">16.</p><p class="">'We have waited, weak and lone</p><p class="">For thy coming, Mighty One!</p><p class="">Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,</p><p class="">Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'</p><p class=""></p><p class="">17.</p><p class="">Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,</p><p class="">To the earth their pale brows bowed;</p><p class="">Like a bad prayer not over loud,</p><p class="">Whispering - 'Thou art Law and God.' -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">18.</p><p class="">Then all cried with one accord,</p><p class="">'Thou art King, and God, and Lord;</p><p class="">Anarchy, to thee we bow,</p><p class="">Be thy name made holy now!'</p><p class=""></p><p class="">19.</p><p class="">And Anarchy, the Skeleton,</p><p class="">Bowed and grinned to every one,</p><p class="">As well as if his education</p><p class="">Had cost ten millions to the nation.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">20.</p><p class="">For he knew the Palaces</p><p class="">Of our Kings were rightly his;</p><p class="">His the sceptre, crown, and globe,</p><p class="">And the gold-inwoven robe.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">21.</p><p class="">So he sent his slaves before</p><p class="">To seize upon the Bank and Tower,</p><p class="">And was proceeding with intent</p><p class="">To meet his pensioned Parliament</p><p class=""></p><p class="">22.</p><p class="">When one fled past, a maniac maid,</p><p class="">And her name was Hope, she said:</p><p class="">But she looked more like Despair,</p><p class="">And she cried out in the air:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">23.</p><p class="">'My father Time is weak and gray</p><p class="">With waiting for a better day;</p><p class="">See how idiot-like he stands,</p><p class="">Fumbling with his palsied hands!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">24.</p><p class="">'He has had child after child,</p><p class="">And the dust of death is piled</p><p class="">Over every one but me -</p><p class="">Misery, oh, Misery!'</p><p class=""></p><p class="">25.</p><p class="">Then she lay down in the street,</p><p class="">Right before the horses' feet,</p><p class="">Expecting, with a patient eye,</p><p class="">Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">26.</p><p class="">When between her and her foes</p><p class="">A mist, a light, an image rose,</p><p class="">Small at first, and weak, and frail</p><p class="">Like the vapour of a vale:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">27.</p><p class="">Till as clouds grow on the blast,</p><p class="">Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,</p><p class="">And glare with lightnings as they fly,</p><p class="">And speak in thunder to the sky,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">28.</p><p class="">It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail</p><p class="">Brighter than the viper's scale,</p><p class="">And upborne on wings whose grain</p><p class="">Was as the light of sunny rain.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">29.</p><p class="">On its helm, seen far away,</p><p class="">A planet, like the Morning's, lay;</p><p class="">And those plumes its light rained through</p><p class="">Like a shower of crimson dew.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">30.</p><p class="">With step as soft as wind it passed</p><p class="">O'er the heads of men - so fast</p><p class="">That they knew the presence there,</p><p class="">And looked, - but all was empty air.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">31.</p><p class="">As flowers beneath May's footstep waken,</p><p class="">As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken,</p><p class="">As waves arise when loud winds call,</p><p class="">Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">32.</p><p class="">And the prostrate multitude</p><p class="">Looked - and ankle-deep in blood,</p><p class="">Hope, that maiden most serene,</p><p class="">Was walking with a quiet mien:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">33.</p><p class="">And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,</p><p class="">Lay dead earth upon the earth;</p><p class="">The Horse of Death tameless as wind</p><p class="">Fled, and with his hoofs did grind</p><p class="">To dust the murderers thronged behind.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">34.</p><p class="">A rushing light of clouds and splendour,</p><p class="">A sense awakening and yet tender</p><p class="">Was heard and felt - and at its close</p><p class="">These words of joy and fear arose</p><p class=""></p><p class="">35.</p><p class="">As if their own indignant Earth</p><p class="">Which gave the sons of England birth</p><p class="">Had felt their blood upon her brow,</p><p class="">And shuddering with a mother's throe</p><p class=""></p><p class="">36.</p><p class="">Had turned every drop of blood</p><p class="">By which her face had been bedewed</p><p class="">To an accent unwithstood, -</p><p class="">As if her heart had cried aloud:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">37.</p><p class="">'Men of England, heirs of Glory,</p><p class="">Heroes of unwritten story,</p><p class="">Nurslings of one mighty Mother,</p><p class="">Hopes of her, and one another;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">38.</p><p class="">'Rise like Lions after slumber</p><p class="">In unvanquishable number,</p><p class="">Shake your chains to earth like dew</p><p class="">Which in sleep had fallen on you -</p><p class="">Ye are many - they are few.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">39.</p><p class="">'What is Freedom? - ye can tell</p><p class="">That which slavery is, too well -</p><p class="">For its very name has grown</p><p class="">To an echo of your own.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">40.</p><p class="">''Tis to work and have such pay</p><p class="">As just keeps life from day to day</p><p class="">In your limbs, as in a cell</p><p class="">For the tyrants' use to dwell,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">41.</p><p class="">'So that ye for them are made</p><p class="">Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,</p><p class="">With or without your own will bent</p><p class="">To their defence and nourishment.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">42.</p><p class="">''Tis to see your children weak</p><p class="">With their mothers pine and peak,</p><p class="">When the winter winds are bleak, -</p><p class="">They are dying whilst I speak.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">43.</p><p class="">''Tis to hunger for such diet</p><p class="">As the rich man in his riot</p><p class="">Casts to the fat dogs that lie</p><p class="">Surfeiting beneath his eye;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">44.</p><p class="">''Tis to let the Ghost of Gold</p><p class="">Take from Toil a thousandfold</p><p class="">More than e'er its substance could</p><p class="">In the tyrannies of old.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">45.</p><p class="">'Paper coin - that forgery</p><p class="">Of the title-deeds, which ye</p><p class="">Hold to something of the worth</p><p class="">Of the inheritance of Earth.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">46.</p><p class="">''Tis to be a slave in soul</p><p class="">And to hold no strong control</p><p class="">Over your own wills, but be</p><p class="">All that others make of ye.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">47.</p><p class="">'And at length when ye complain</p><p class="">With a murmur weak and vain</p><p class="">'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew</p><p class="">Ride over your wives and you</p><p class="">Blood is on the grass like dew.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">48.</p><p class="">'Then it is to feel revenge</p><p class="">Fiercely thirsting to exchange</p><p class="">Blood for blood - and wrong for wrong -</p><p class="">Do not thus when ye are strong.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">49.</p><p class="">'Birds find rest, in narrow nest</p><p class="">When weary of their winged quest;</p><p class="">Beasts find fare, in woody lair</p><p class="">When storm and snow are in the air.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">50.</p><p class="">'Asses, swine, have litter spread</p><p class="">And with fitting food are fed;</p><p class="">All things have a home but one -</p><p class="">Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">51.</p><p class="">'This is Slavery - savage men,</p><p class="">Or wild beasts within a den</p><p class="">Would endure not as ye do -</p><p class="">But such ills they never knew.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">52.</p><p class="">'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves</p><p class="">Answer from their living graves</p><p class="">This demand - tyrants would flee</p><p class="">Like a dream's dim imagery:</p><p class=""></p><p class="">53.</p><p class="">'Thou art not, as impostors say,</p><p class="">A shadow soon to pass away,</p><p class="">A superstition, and a name</p><p class="">Echoing from the cave of Fame.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">54.</p><p class="">'For the labourer thou art bread,</p><p class="">And a comely table spread</p><p class="">From his daily labour come</p><p class="">In a neat and happy home.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">55.</p><p class="">Thou art clothes, and fire, and food</p><p class="">For the trampled multitude -</p><p class="">No - in countries that are free</p><p class="">Such starvation cannot be</p><p class="">As in England now we see.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">56.</p><p class="">'To the rich thou art a check,</p><p class="">When his foot is on the neck</p><p class="">Of his victim, thou dost make</p><p class="">That he treads upon a snake.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">57.</p><p class="">Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold</p><p class="">May thy righteous laws be sold</p><p class="">As laws are in England - thou</p><p class="">Shield'st alike the high and low.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">58.</p><p class="">'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never</p><p class="">Dream that God will damn for ever</p><p class="">All who think those things untrue</p><p class="">Of which Priests make such ado.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">59.</p><p class="">'Thou art Peace - never by thee</p><p class="">Would blood and treasure wasted be</p><p class="">As tyrants wasted them, when all</p><p class="">Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">60.</p><p class="">'What if English toil and blood</p><p class="">Was poured forth, even as a flood?</p><p class="">It availed, Oh, Liberty,</p><p class="">To dim, but not extinguish thee.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">61.</p><p class="">'Thou art Love - the rich have kissed</p><p class="">Thy feet, and like him following Christ,</p><p class="">Give their substance to the free</p><p class="">And through the rough world follow thee,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">62.</p><p class="">'Or turn their wealth to arms, and make</p><p class="">War for thy beloved sake</p><p class="">On wealth, and war, and fraud - whence they</p><p class="">Drew the power which is their prey.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">63.</p><p class="">'Science, Poetry, and Thought</p><p class="">Are thy lamps; they make the lot</p><p class="">Of the dwellers in a cot</p><p class="">So serene, they curse it not.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">64.</p><p class="">'Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,</p><p class="">All that can adorn and bless</p><p class="">Art thou - let deeds, not words, express</p><p class="">Thine exceeding loveliness.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">65.</p><p class="">'Let a great Assembly be</p><p class="">Of the fearless and the free</p><p class="">On some spot of English ground</p><p class="">Where the plains stretch wide around.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">66.</p><p class="">'Let the blue sky overhead,</p><p class="">The green earth on which ye tread,</p><p class="">All that must eternal be</p><p class="">Witness the solemnity.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">67.</p><p class="">'From the corners uttermost</p><p class="">Of the bounds of English coast;</p><p class="">From every hut, village, and town</p><p class="">Where those who live and suffer moan</p><p class="">For others' misery or their own,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">68.</p><p class="">'From the workhouse and the prison</p><p class="">Where pale as corpses newly risen,</p><p class="">Women, children, young and old</p><p class="">Groan for pain, and weep for cold -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">69.</p><p class="">'From the haunts of daily life</p><p class="">Where is waged the daily strife</p><p class="">With common wants and common cares</p><p class="">Which sows the human heart with tares -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">70.</p><p class="">'Lastly from the palaces</p><p class="">Where the murmur of distress</p><p class="">Echoes, like the distant sound</p><p class="">Of a wind alive around</p><p class=""></p><p class="">71.</p><p class="">'Those prison halls of wealth and fashion,</p><p class="">Where some few feel such compassion</p><p class="">For those who groan, and toil, and wail</p><p class="">As must make their brethren pale -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">72.</p><p class="">'Ye who suffer woes untold,</p><p class="">Or to feel, or to behold</p><p class="">Your lost country bought and sold</p><p class="">With a price of blood and gold -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">73.</p><p class="">'Let a vast assembly be,</p><p class="">And with great solemnity</p><p class="">Declare with measured words that ye</p><p class="">Are, as God has made ye, free -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">74.</p><p class="">'Be your strong and simple words</p><p class="">Keen to wound as sharpened swords,</p><p class="">And wide as targes let them be,</p><p class="">With their shade to cover ye.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">75.</p><p class="">'Let the tyrants pour around</p><p class="">With a quick and startling sound,</p><p class="">Like the loosening of a sea,</p><p class="">Troops of armed emblazonry.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">76.</p><p class="">'Let the charged artillery drive</p><p class="">Till the dead air seems alive</p><p class="">With the clash of clanging wheels,</p><p class="">And the tramp of horses' heels.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">77.</p><p class="">'Let the fixed bayonet</p><p class="">Gleam with sharp desire to wet</p><p class="">Its bright point in English blood</p><p class="">Looking keen as one for food.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">78.</p><p class="">Let the horsemen's scimitars</p><p class="">Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars</p><p class="">Thirsting to eclipse their burning</p><p class="">In a sea of death and mourning.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">79.</p><p class="">'Stand ye calm and resolute,</p><p class="">Like a forest close and mute,</p><p class="">With folded arms and looks which are</p><p class="">Weapons of unvanquished war,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">80.</p><p class="">'And let Panic, who outspeeds</p><p class="">The career of armed steeds</p><p class="">Pass, a disregarded shade</p><p class="">Through your phalanx undismayed.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">81.</p><p class="">'Let the laws of your own land,</p><p class="">Good or ill, between ye stand</p><p class="">Hand to hand, and foot to foot,</p><p class="">Arbiters of the dispute,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">82.</p><p class="">'The old laws of England - they</p><p class="">Whose reverend heads with age are gray,</p><p class="">Children of a wiser day;</p><p class="">And whose solemn voice must be</p><p class="">Thine own echo - Liberty!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">83.</p><p class="">'On those who first should violate</p><p class="">Such sacred heralds in their state</p><p class="">Rest the blood that must ensue,</p><p class="">And it will not rest on you.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">84.</p><p class="">'And if then the tyrants dare</p><p class="">Let them ride among you there,</p><p class="">Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, -</p><p class="">What they like, that let them do.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">85.</p><p class="">'With folded arms and steady eyes,</p><p class="">And little fear, and less surprise,</p><p class="">Look upon them as they slay</p><p class="">Till their rage has died away.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">86.</p><p class="">Then they will return with shame</p><p class="">To the place from which they came,</p><p class="">And the blood thus shed will speak</p><p class="">In hot blushes on their cheek.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">87.</p><p class="">'Every woman in the land</p><p class="">Will point at them as they stand -</p><p class="">They will hardly dare to greet</p><p class="">Their acquaintance in the street.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">88.</p><p class="">'And the bold, true warriors</p><p class="">Who have hugged Danger in wars</p><p class="">Will turn to those who would be free,</p><p class="">Ashamed of such base company.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">89.</p><p class="">'And that slaughter to the Nation</p><p class="">Shall steam up like inspiration,</p><p class="">Eloquent, oracular;</p><p class="">A volcano heard afar.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">90.</p><p class="">'And these words shall then become</p><p class="">Like Oppression's thundered doom</p><p class="">Ringing through each heart and brain,</p><p class="">Heard again - again - again -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">91.</p><p class="">'Rise like Lions after slumber</p><p class="">In unvanquishable number -</p><p class="">Shake your chains to earth like dew</p><p class="">Which in sleep had fallen on you -</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Ye are many - they are few.'</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |
| 1. | |
| As I lay asleep in Italy | |
| There came a voice from over the Sea, | |
| And with great power it forth led me | |
| To walk in the visions of Poesy.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>48</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0cec0026c6559d8091df/1592462811456/Epigraphy+48+The+Mask+Of+Anarchy+by+Percy+Bysshe+Shelley+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="21821847" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0cec0026c6559d8091df/1592462811456/Epigraphy+48+The+Mask+Of+Anarchy+by+Percy+Bysshe+Shelley+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="21821847" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Mask Of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Sonnet 87 by William Shakespeare read by Tammy Linde</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 24 Jun 2020 18:33:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode47</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb0ac771f11733047f4e33</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Sonnet LXXXVII</p><p class=""><em>Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,</em><br><em>And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,</em><br><em>The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;</em><br><em>My bonds in thee are all determinate.</em><br><em>For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?</em><br><em>And for that riches where is my deserving?</em><br><em>The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,</em><br><em>And so my patent back again is swerving.</em><br><em>Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,</em><br><em>Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;</em><br><em>So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,</em><br><em>Comes home again, on better judgement making.</em><br><em>Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,</em><br><em>In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.</em></p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Sonnet LXXXVII | |
| Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;My bonds in thee are all determinate.For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?And for that riches where is my deserving?The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,And so my patent back again is swerving.Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,Comes home again, on better judgement making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:28</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>47</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Sonnet 87 by William Shakespeare read by Tammy Linde</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0b1d8086495ce471ba04/1592462134732/Epigraphy+47+Sonnet+87+by+William+Shakespeare+read+by+Tammy+Linde.mp3" length="2176011" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb0b1d8086495ce471ba04/1592462134732/Epigraphy+47+Sonnet+87+by+William+Shakespeare+read+by+Tammy+Linde.mp3" length="2176011" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Sonnet 87 by William Shakespeare read by Tammy Linde</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 21 Jun 2020 18:26:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode46</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb091471f11733047f30ad</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French</p><p class="">Website: <a href="http://www.matthewjamesfrench.com">www.matthewjamesfrench.com</a></p><p class="">Instagram: @matthewjamesfrench / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/matthewjamesfrench/">https://www.instagram.com/matthewjamesfrench/</a></p><p class="">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/matthewjamesfrenchofficial/">https://www.facebook.com/matthewjamesfrenchofficial/</a></p><p class="">BandCamp (Music): <a href="https://matthewjamesfrench.bandcamp.com/">https://matthewjamesfrench.bandcamp.com/</a></p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>6:05</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>46</itunes:episode><itunes:title>F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb098d0bb3c8196040c891/1592461909568/Epigraphy+46+Fcking+gnarly+animal+that+speak+pretty+fcking+words+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="6466780" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb098d0bb3c8196040c891/1592461909568/Epigraphy+46+Fcking+gnarly+animal+that+speak+pretty+fcking+words+by+Matthew+James+French.mp3" length="6466780" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Protest by Ella Wheeler Wilcox read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 18 Jun 2020 19:22:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode45</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5eeb084071f11733047f2326</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Protest by </strong><a href="https://poets.org/poet/ella-wheeler-wilcox" target="_self"><strong>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</strong></a><strong> - 1850-1919</strong></p><p class="">To sin by silence, when we should protest,<br>Makes cowards out of men. The human race<br>Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised<br>Against injustice, ignorance, and lust,<br>The inquisition yet would serve the law,<br>And guillotines decide our least disputes.<br>The few who dare, must speak and speak again<br>To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,<br>No vested power in this great day and land<br>Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry<br>Loud disapproval of existing ills;<br>May criticise oppression and condemn<br>The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws<br>That let the children and childbearers toil<br>To purchase ease for idle millionaires.</p><p class="">Therefore I do protest against the boast<br>Of independence in this mighty land.<br>Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link.<br>Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave.<br>Until the manacled slim wrists of babes<br>Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,<br>Until the mother bears no burden, save<br>The precious one beneath her heart, until<br>God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed<br>And given back to labor, let no man<br>Call this the land of freedom.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Protest by Ella Wheeler Wilcox - 1850-1919 | |
| To sin by silence, when we should protest,Makes cowards out of men. The human raceHas climbed on protest. Had no voice been raisedAgainst injustice, ignorance, and lust,The inquisition yet would serve the law,And guillotines decide our least disputes.The few who dare, must speak and speak againTo right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,No vested power in this great day and landCan gag or throttle. Press and voice may cryLoud disapproval of existing ills;May criticise oppression and condemnThe lawlessness of wealth-protecting lawsThat let the children and childbearers toilTo purchase ease for idle millionaires.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:30</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>45</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Protest by Ella Wheeler Wilcox read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb08962a7db1305c77bfff/1592461533292/Epigraphy+45+Protest+by+Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox+read+by+Matthew+Hannibal+Butler.mp3" length="3959605" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5eeb08962a7db1305c77bfff/1592461533292/Epigraphy+45+Protest+by+Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox+read+by+Matthew+Hannibal+Butler.mp3" length="3959605" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Protest by Ella Wheeler Wilcox read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Origins by Akeem Chandler-Prescod</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 16 Jun 2020 08:26:50 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode44</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ee8812b3f0f151c5c504455</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Akeem Chandler-Prescod also known as StonedwithCupid is a spoken word artist, songwriter, audio engineer, rapper, theatre practitioner and creative director from the island of Barbados. He has amassed several awards such as 3 Silver Medals at the National Independence Festival for Creative Arts, performed at numerous notable Barbadian events, won numerous competitions and has even performed in South Africa at the Vrystaat Festival. In addition he has been nominated for Poet of The Year at the GineOn People’s Choice Awards as well as Music Video of the Year with a spoken word video, making it the first poetry video to be nominated for that award.</p><p class="">His work is a combination of spoken poetry, rapping, chanting and unorthodox use of environmental sounds to create musical beds which he then lays his witty, thought provoking lyricism to create a niche poetic product. The pieces echo his inspirations which include Outkast, Sade, Erykah Badu, J Cole and Damien Marley.</p><p class=""></p><p class=""><strong>Background </strong></p><p class="">At the youthful age of 25 his artistic experience spans over 7 years with the first spark of his creativity being ignited at The Combermere School when he was 16 years old. This introduction into the creative sector came through the discipline of theatre arts where he learnt the basics of acting, stage craft and performance which would eventually form the skeleton of his performance art in the years to come. Throughout his time at The Combermere School he appeared in many school productions as an actor as well as working backstage as a stage hand. This theatre journey found its next phase within the Youth Achieving Results Program which was organised by the National Cultural Foundation and was an attempt at that organisation to develop artistic development in Barbadian youth. This program provided vocal and performance training which allowed Akeem to find his voice in music.</p><p class="">At the age of 17 he embarked on the frequently travelled path of being a rapper and writing Hip-Hop songs. He began recording these songs on his computer with the built in equipment and a free DAW which introduced him to the basics of mixing and mastering vocals. Many of these tracks were performed at school pageants, competitions and talent showcases for a few years as he continued to enhance his craft before exploring poetry.</p><p class="">He wrote his first poem at the age of 22 and since then have written, recorded and produced over 30 poetic pieces. His poetry arose from a need to be able to express all his disciplines under one umbrella in a cost effective manner where he can not only do everything he is good at it but also create something new that can give him a competitive advantage and bring value to the artistic market. The first few poems were reinventions of rap songs which then matured into fusions of poetry with hip-hop influences. Having self-taught himself to write, rap, produce, mix and master as well as direct his creative performances, his creations are not reminiscent or reflections of any existing genre or artist and can only be defined as his own genre.</p><p class=""></p><p class=""><strong>The Art </strong></p><p class="">At current his poetry is packaged in a digital format in the form of audio/visual recordings and distributed online. These recordings often consist of stripped instrumentals utilizing very few instruments with many being replaced with a vocal bed or vocal loop. Ambient environmental sounds are used such as heartbeats, gasps, claps, winds and waves to create a soundscape which the vocals exist within. The lyrical delivery meanders between a slower poetic execution and a fast paced rapping style which occasionally is accompanied with melodic backing vocals. The style of mixing, which consist of heavy reverberation often found in neo soul productions and pitched vocals more often seen in hip-hop give the production a distinct sound and feel. The usage of his Barbadian accent with sprinkles of a standardized accent plant the seeds of a new sub-genre within poetry.</p><p class="">https://www.instagram.com/stonedwithcupid/</p><p class="">https://www.facebook.com/Stonedwithcupid/</p><p class="">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHg2zRw1xu6Jf0HFsnJCyyQ</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Akeem Chandler-Prescod also known as StonedwithCupid is a spoken word artist, songwriter, audio engineer, rapper, theatre practitioner and creative director from the island of Barbados. He has amassed several awards such as 3 Silver Medals at the National Independence Festival for Creative Arts, performed at numerous notable Barbadian events, won numerous competitions and has even performed in South Africa at the Vrystaat Festival. In addition he has been nominated for Poet of The Year at the GineOn People’s Choice Awards as well as Music Video of the Year with a spoken word video, making it the first poetry video to be nominated for that award. | |
| His work is a combination of spoken poetry, rapping, chanting and unorthodox use of environmental sounds to create musical beds which he then lays his witty, thought provoking lyricism to create a niche poetic product. The pieces echo his inspirations which include Outkast, Sade, Erykah Badu, J Cole and Damien Marley.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:23</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>44</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Origins by Akeem Chandler-Prescod</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ee881c00756620a14b60970/1592295935742/Epigraphy+44+Origins+by+Akeem+Chandler-Prescod.mp3" length="6142689" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ee881c00756620a14b60970/1592295935742/Epigraphy+44+Origins+by+Akeem+Chandler-Prescod.mp3" length="6142689" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Origins by Akeem Chandler-Prescod</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Funeral Blues by WH Auden read By Geena Schwartz</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 12 Jun 2020 19:24:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode42</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5edf9b7f317b1d7ba6a61cd0</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/Funeral-Blues">Funeral Blues</a></p><p class="">Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,<br>Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,<br>Silence the pianos and with muffled drum<br>Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.<br><br>Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead<br>Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.<br>Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,<br>Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.<br><br>He was my North, my South, my East and West,<br>My working week and my Sunday rest,<br>My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;<br>I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.<br><br>The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,<br>Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,<br>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;<br>For nothing now can ever come to any good.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Funeral Blues | |
| Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, | |
| Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, | |
| Silence the pianos and with muffled drum | |
| Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:56</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>42</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Funeral Blues by WH Auden read By Geena Schwartz</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5edf9bcfcd76e36d7967fc23/1591712752421/Epigraphy+42+Funeral+Blues+by+WH+Auden+read+By+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3008265" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5edf9bcfcd76e36d7967fc23/1591712752421/Epigraphy+42+Funeral+Blues+by+WH+Auden+read+By+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3008265" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Funeral Blues by WH Auden read By Geena Schwartz</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Garden by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 09 Jun 2020 19:20:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode41</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5edf9ac5ee63b1040b59f482</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/poem/8556765-The-Garden-by-Howard-Phillips-Lovecraft">The Garden</a></p><p class="">There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams, <br>Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams; <br>Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey, <br>And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday. <br>There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,<br>And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool: <br>In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare, <br>Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air. <br>There is not a living creature in the lonely space arouna, <br>And the hedge~encompass'd d quiet never echoes to a sound. <br>As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find <br>When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind; <br>I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more, <br>As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before. <br>Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start - <br>For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Garden | |
| There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams, Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams; Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey, And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday. </itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:45</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>41</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Garden by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5edf9b0a4c9c1f2e0265b340/1591712574537/Epigraphy+41+The+Garden+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4870678" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5edf9b0a4c9c1f2e0265b340/1591712574537/Epigraphy+41+The+Garden+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4870678" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Garden by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>I Carry Your Heart With Me by EE Cummings read by Geena Schwartz</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 06 Jun 2020 19:28:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode40</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ecd19634cd7db0c76cda6fe</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>I Carry Your Heart With Me</strong></p><p class="">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/e-e-cummings">E. E. CUMMINGS</a></p><p class="">I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)</p><p class="">I am never without it(anywhere</p><p class="">I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done</p><p class="">by only me is your doing, my darling</p><p class="">I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want</p><p class="">No world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)</p><p class="">and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant</p><p class="">and whatever a sun will always sing is you</p><p class="">here is the deepest secret nobody knows</p><p class="">(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud</p><p class="">and the sky of a tree called life; which grows</p><p class="">higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)</p><p class="">and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart</p><p class="">I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>I Carry Your Heart With Me | |
| BY E. E. CUMMINGS | |
| I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) | |
| I am never without it(anywhere | |
| I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done | |
| by only me is your doing, my darling</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:44</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>40</itunes:episode><itunes:title>I Carry Your Heart With Me by EE Cummings read by Geena Schwartz</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd1a125e861630ff1ecc88/1590499896962/Epigraphy+40+I+Carry+Your+Heart+With+Me+by+EE+Cummings+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3912879" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd1a125e861630ff1ecc88/1590499896962/Epigraphy+40+I+Carry+Your+Heart+With+Me+by+EE+Cummings+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3912879" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">I Carry Your Heart With Me by EE Cummings read by Geena Schwartz</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Things We Dare Not Tell by Henry Lawson</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 03 Jun 2020 19:25:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode39</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ecd18b495a4d74aea77fe6e</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/The-Things-We-Dare-Not-Tell">The Things We Dare Not Tell</a></p><p class="">The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,<br>But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;<br>Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,<br>But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.<br><br>There's the old love wronged ere the new was won, there's the light of long ago;<br>There's the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know.<br>So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we're doing fairly well,<br>While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell.<br><br>We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there;<br>Oh, the world would be such a kindly world if all men's hearts lay bare!<br>We live and share the living lie, we are doing very well,<br>While they eat our hearts as the years go by, do the things we dare not tell.<br><br>We bow us down to a dusty shrine, or a temple in the East,<br>Or we stand and drink to the world-old creed, with the coffins at the feast;<br>We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,<br>But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Things We Dare Not Tell | |
| The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:28</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>39</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Things We Dare Not Tell by Henry Lawson</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd18e44cd7db0c76cd943d/1590499614395/Epigraphy+39+The+Things+We+Dare+Not+Tell+by+Henry+Lawson.mp3" length="4975842" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd18e44cd7db0c76cd943d/1590499614395/Epigraphy+39+The+Things+We+Dare+Not+Tell+by+Henry+Lawson.mp3" length="4975842" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Things We Dare Not Tell by Henry Lawson</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Little Tiger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2020 19:22:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode38</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ecd18278e07a301b06a6f96</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://hellopoetry.com/poem/69354/little-tiger/">Little Tiger</a></p><p class="">Little Tiger, burning bright<br>With a subtle Blakeish light,<br>Tell what visions have their home<br>In those eyes of flame and chrome!<br>Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay -<br>Holding when thou wouldst away:<br>What dark lore is that which thou,<br>Spitting, mixest with thy meow? </p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Little Tiger | |
| Little Tiger, burning bright | |
| With a subtle Blakeish light, | |
| Tell what visions have their home | |
| In those eyes of flame and chrome! | |
| Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay - | |
| Holding when thou wouldst away: | |
| What dark lore is that which thou, | |
| Spitting, mixest with thy meow? </itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:20</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>38</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Little Tiger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd1856642dba7bdd595001/1590499454656/Epigraphy+38+Little+Tiger+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3708432" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd1856642dba7bdd595001/1590499454656/Epigraphy+38+Little+Tiger+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3708432" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Little Tiger by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Blue Song by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 28 May 2020 19:19:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode37</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ecd1745250a6a0b1ad3e80b</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><a href="https://allpoetry.com/Blue-Song"><strong>Blue Song</strong></a></p><p class="">I am tired.<br>I am tired of speech and of action.<br>If you should meet me upon the<br>street do not question me for<br>I can tell you only my name<br>and the name of the town I was<br>born in–but that is enough.<br>It does not matter whether tomorrow<br>arrives anymore. If there is<br>only this night and after it is<br>morning it will not matter now.<br>I am tired. I am tired of speech<br>and of action. In the heart of me<br>you will find a tiny handful of<br>dust. Take it and blow it out<br>upon the wind. Let the wind have<br>it and it will find its way home.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Blue Song | |
| I am tired. | |
| I am tired of speech and of action. | |
| If you should meet me upon the | |
| street do not question me for</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:title>Blue Song by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</itunes:title><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd177c9259ee3d45fb8d45/1590499233352/Epigraphy+37+Blue+Song+by+Tennessee+Williams+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3894917" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd177c9259ee3d45fb8d45/1590499233352/Epigraphy+37+Blue+Song+by+Tennessee+Williams+read+by+Geena+Schwartz.mp3" length="3894917" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Blue Song by Tennessee Williams read by Geena Schwartz</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Fact and Fancy by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 26 May 2020 13:18:21 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode36</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5ecd169b9259ee3d45fb6dcf</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Fact and Fancy<br>By H. P. Lovecraft</strong><br>How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind<br>Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind;<br>Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude,<br>And wreck the solace of the poet’s mood!<br>Young Zeno, practic’d in the Stoic’s art,<br>Rejects the language of the glowing heart;<br>Dissolves sweet Nature to a mess of laws;<br>Condemns th’ effect whilst looking for the cause;<br>Freezes poor Ovid in an ic’d review,<br>And sneers because his fables are untrue!<br>In search of Truth the hopeful zealot goes,<br>But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!<br>Stay! vandal sophist, whose deep lore would blast<br>The graceful legends of the story’d past;<br>Whose tongue in censure flays th’ embellish’d page,<br>And scolds the comforts of a dreary age:<br>Would’st strip the foliage from the vital bough<br>Till all men grow as wisely dull as thou?<br>Happy the man whose fresh, untainted eye<br>Discerns a Pantheon in the spangled sky;<br>Finds Sylphs and Dryads in the waving trees,<br>And spies soft Notus in the southern breeze;<br>For whom the stream a cheering carol sings,<br>While reedy music by the fountain rings;<br>To whom the waves a Nereid tale confide<br>Till friendly presence fills the rising tide.<br>Happy is he, who void of learning’s woes,<br>Th’ ethereal life of body’d Nature knows:<br>I scorn the sage that tells me it but seems,<br>And flout his gravity in sunlit dreams!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Fact and Fancy | |
| By H. P. Lovecraft | |
| How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind | |
| Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind; | |
| Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude, | |
| And wreck the solace of the poet’s mood!</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:24</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>36</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Fact and Fancy by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd16d640423e17ef09329d/1590499074306/Epigraphy+36+Fact+and+Fancy+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4650458" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5ecd16d640423e17ef09329d/1590499074306/Epigraphy+36+Fact+and+Fancy+by+HP+Lovecraft+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4650458" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Fact and Fancy by HP Lovecraft read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Death Be Not Proud by John Donne read by Jem</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 22 May 2020 19:08:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode35</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e9312dd84e1fa3b45a4d012</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>Death, be not proud </strong>BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-donne">JOHN DONNE</a></p><p class="">Death, be not proud, though some have called thee</p><p class="">Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;</p><p class="">For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow</p><p class="">Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.</p><p class="">From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,</p><p class="">Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,</p><p class="">And soonest our best men with thee do go,</p><p class="">Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.</p><p class="">Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,</p><p class="">And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,</p><p class="">And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well</p><p class="">And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?</p><p class="">One short sleep past, we wake eternally</p><p class="">And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Death, be not proud BY JOHN DONNE | |
| Death, be not proud, though some have called thee | |
| Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; | |
| For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow | |
| Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>1:57</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>35</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Death Be Not Proud by John Donne read by Jem</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e931328da5a5d186bc4b4bf/1586697060770/Epigraphy+35+Death+Be+Not+Proud+by+John+Donne+read+by+Jem.mp3" length="1856882" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e931328da5a5d186bc4b4bf/1586697060770/Epigraphy+35+Death+Be+Not+Proud+by+John+Donne+read+by+Jem.mp3" length="1856882" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Death Be Not Proud by John Donne read by Jem</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>I felt a Funeral, in my Brain by Emily Dickinson, read by Joshua Grigg</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 19 May 2020 19:04:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode34</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e9311d8badd4454b35edd0b</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, </strong>BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/emily-dickinson">EMILY DICKINSON</a></p><p class="">I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,</p><p class="">And Mourners to and fro</p><p class="">Kept treading - treading - till it seemed</p><p class="">That Sense was breaking through -</p><p class="">And when they all were seated,</p><p class="">A Service, like a Drum -</p><p class="">Kept beating - beating - till I thought</p><p class="">My mind was going numb -</p><p class="">And then I heard them lift a Box</p><p class="">And creak across my Soul</p><p class="">With those same Boots of Lead, again,</p><p class="">Then Space - began to toll,</p><p class="">As all the Heavens were a Bell,</p><p class="">And Being, but an Ear,</p><p class="">And I, and Silence, some strange Race,</p><p class="">Wrecked, solitary, here -</p><p class="">And then a Plank in Reason, broke,</p><p class="">And I dropped down, and down -</p><p class="">And hit a World, at every plunge,</p><p class="">And Finished knowing - then -</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, BY EMILY DICKINSON | |
| I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, | |
| And Mourners to and fro | |
| Kept treading - treading - till it seemed | |
| That Sense was breaking through -</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:22</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>34</itunes:episode><itunes:title>I felt a Funeral, in my Brain by Emily Dickinson, read by Joshua Grigg</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e93121114b45c6b9b899e61/1586696803697/Epigraphy+34+I+felt+a+Funeral%2C+in+my+Brain+by+Emily+Dickinson%2C+read+by+Joshua+Grigg.mp3" length="3219488" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e93121114b45c6b9b899e61/1586696803697/Epigraphy+34+I+felt+a+Funeral%2C+in+my+Brain+by+Emily+Dickinson%2C+read+by+Joshua+Grigg.mp3" length="3219488" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">I felt a Funeral, in my Brain by Emily Dickinson, read by Joshua Grigg</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Sun Rising by John Donne read by Jem</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 16 May 2020 19:00:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode33</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e9310debe74603c92e2724a</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>The Sun Rising </strong>BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-donne">JOHN DONNE</a></p><p class="">Busy old fool, unruly sun,</p><p class="">Why dost thou thus,</p><p class="">Through windows, and through curtains call on us?</p><p class="">Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?</p><p class="">Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide</p><p class="">Late school boys and sour prentices,</p><p class="">Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,</p><p class="">Call country ants to harvest offices,</p><p class="">Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,</p><p class="">Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.</p><p class="">Thy beams, so reverend and strong</p><p class="">Why shouldst thou think?</p><p class="">I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,</p><p class="">But that I would not lose her sight so long;</p><p class="">If her eyes have not blinded thine,</p><p class="">Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,</p><p class="">Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine</p><p class="">Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.</p><p class="">Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,</p><p class="">And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.</p><p class="">She's all states, and all princes, I,</p><p class="">Nothing else is.</p><p class="">Princes do but play us; compared to this,</p><p class="">All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy.</p><p class="">Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,</p><p class="">In that the world's contracted thus.</p><p class="">Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be</p><p class="">To warm the world, that's done in warming us.</p><p class="">Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;</p><p class="">This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Sun Rising BY JOHN DONNE | |
| Busy old fool, unruly sun, | |
| Why dost thou thus, | |
| Through windows, and through curtains call on us? | |
| Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:54</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>33</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Sun Rising by John Donne read by Jem</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e9311296017a85e2ed125ae/1586696578510/Epigraphy+33+The+Sun+Rising+by+John+Donne+read+by+Jem.mp3" length="3507290" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e9311296017a85e2ed125ae/1586696578510/Epigraphy+33+The+Sun+Rising+by+John+Donne+read+by+Jem.mp3" length="3507290" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Sun Rising by John Donne read by Jem</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Alone by Edgar Allen Poe read by Joshua Grigg</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 10 May 2020 19:55:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode32</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e930fdd5e4b116e09943c5e</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class=""><strong>“Alone” </strong>BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/edgar-allan-poe">EDGAR ALLAN POE</a></p><p class="">From childhood’s hour I have not been</p><p class="">As others were—I have not seen</p><p class="">As others saw—I could not bring</p><p class="">My passions from a common spring—</p><p class="">From the same source I have not taken</p><p class="">My sorrow—I could not awaken</p><p class="">My heart to joy at the same tone—</p><p class="">And all I lov’d—<em>I</em> lov’d alone—</p><p class=""><em>Then</em>—in my childhood—in the dawn</p><p class="">Of a most stormy life—was drawn</p><p class="">From ev’ry depth of good and ill</p><p class="">The mystery which binds me still—</p><p class="">From the torrent, or the fountain—</p><p class="">From the red cliff of the mountain—</p><p class="">From the sun that ’round me roll’d</p><p class="">In its autumn tint of gold—</p><p class="">From the lightning in the sky</p><p class="">As it pass’d me flying by—</p><p class="">From the thunder, and the storm—</p><p class="">And the cloud that took the form</p><p class="">(When the rest of Heaven was blue)</p><p class="">Of a demon in my view—</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>“Alone” BY EDGAR ALLAN POE | |
| From childhood’s hour I have not been | |
| As others were—I have not seen | |
| As others saw—I could not bring | |
| My passions from a common spring—</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:04</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>32</itunes:episode><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e93104dbadd4454b35eb5ce/1586696336222/Epigraphy+32+Alone+by+Edgar+Allen+Poe+read+by+Joshua+Grigg.mp3" length="2476824" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e93104dbadd4454b35eb5ce/1586696336222/Epigraphy+32+Alone+by+Edgar+Allen+Poe+read+by+Joshua+Grigg.mp3" length="2476824" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"/></item><item><title>The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 07 May 2020 19:39:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode31</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cc25e931e6a27c2d45d08</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,</p><p class="">And sorry I could not travel both</p><p class="">And be one traveler, long I stood</p><p class="">And looked down one as far as I could</p><p class="">To where it bent in the undergrowth;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Then took the other, as just as fair</p><p class="">And having perhaps the better claim,</p><p class="">Because it was grassy and wanted wear;</p><p class="">Though as for that, the passing there</p><p class="">Had worn them really about the same,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And both that morning equally lay</p><p class="">In leaves no step had trodden black</p><p class="">Oh, I kept the first for another day!</p><p class="">Yet knowing how way leads on to way,</p><p class="">I doubted if I should ever come back.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I shall be telling this with a sigh</p><p class="">Somewhere ages and ages hence:</p><p class="">Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,</p><p class="">I took the one less traveled by,</p><p class="">And that has made all the difference.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost | |
| Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, | |
| And sorry I could not travel both | |
| And be one traveler, long I stood | |
| And looked down one as far as I could | |
| To where it bent in the undergrowth; | |
| Then took the other, as just as fair | |
| And having perhaps the better claim, | |
| Because it was grassy and wanted wear; | |
| Though as for that, the passing there | |
| Had worn them really about the same, | |
| And both that morning equally lay | |
| In leaves no step had trodden black | |
| Oh, I kept the first for another day! | |
| Yet knowing how way leads on to way, | |
| I doubted if I should ever come back. | |
| I shall be telling this with a sigh | |
| Somewhere ages and ages hence: | |
| Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, | |
| I took the one less traveled by, | |
| And that has made all the difference.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:50</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>31</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc28ca53943154a7f7602/1584186042464/Epigraphy+31+The+Road+Not+Taken+by+Robert+Lee+Frost+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3702147" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc28ca53943154a7f7602/1584186042464/Epigraphy+31+The+Road+Not+Taken+by+Robert+Lee+Frost+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3702147" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 04 May 2020 19:37:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode30</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cc1f38afded74f51147ea</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca</p><p class=""></p><p class="">In the green morning</p><p class="">I wanted to be a heart.</p><p class="">A heart.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And in the ripe evening</p><p class="">I wanted to be a nightingale.</p><p class="">A nightingale.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">(Soul,</p><p class="">turn orange-colored.</p><p class="">Soul,</p><p class="">turn the color of love.)</p><p class=""></p><p class="">In the vivid morning</p><p class="">I wanted to be myself.</p><p class="">A heart.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And at the evening's end</p><p class="">I wanted to be my voice.</p><p class="">A nightingale.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Soul,</p><p class="">turn orange-colored.</p><p class="">Soul,</p><p class="">turn the color of love.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca | |
| In the green morning | |
| I wanted to be a heart. | |
| A heart. | |
| And in the ripe evening | |
| I wanted to be a nightingale. | |
| A nightingale. | |
| (Soul, | |
| turn orange-colored. | |
| Soul, | |
| turn the color of love.) | |
| In the vivid morning | |
| I wanted to be myself. | |
| A heart. | |
| And at the evening's end | |
| I wanted to be my voice. | |
| A nightingale. | |
| Soul, | |
| turn orange-colored. | |
| Soul, | |
| turn the color of love.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:13</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>30</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc21d73af576a4f5bd550/1584185909797/Epigraphy+30+Ditty+Of+First+Desire+by+Federico+Garc%C3%ADa+Lorca+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2076228" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc21d73af576a4f5bd550/1584185909797/Epigraphy+30+Ditty+Of+First+Desire+by+Federico+Garc%C3%ADa+Lorca+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2076228" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Harlem by Langston Hughes read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 01 May 2020 20:34:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode29</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cc1576f379e18587c0dec</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Harlem by Langston Hughes</p><p class=""></p><p class="">What happens to a dream deferred?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Does it dry up</p><p class="">like a raisin in the sun?</p><p class="">Or fester like a sore—</p><p class="">And then run?</p><p class="">Does it stink like rotten meat?</p><p class="">Or crust and sugar over—</p><p class="">like a syrupy sweet?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Maybe it just sags</p><p class="">like a heavy load.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Or does it explode?</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Harlem by Langston Hughes | |
| What happens to a dream deferred? | |
| Does it dry up | |
| like a raisin in the sun? | |
| Or fester like a sore— | |
| And then run? | |
| Does it stink like rotten meat? | |
| Or crust and sugar over— | |
| like a syrupy sweet? | |
| Maybe it just sags | |
| like a heavy load. | |
| Or does it explode?</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:48</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>29</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Harlem by Langston Hughes read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc184186dd45936486b3d/1584185771928/Epigraphy+29+Harlem+by+Langston+Hughes+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2981423" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc184186dd45936486b3d/1584185771928/Epigraphy+29+Harlem+by+Langston+Hughes+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2981423" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Harlem by Langston Hughes read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 28 Apr 2020 19:30:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode28</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cc05850eead5473a51e53</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,</p><p class="">Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,</p><p class="">And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain</p><p class="">Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Is it thy will Love that I love so well</p><p class="">That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot</p><p class="">Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell</p><p class="">The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,</p><p class="">And sell ambition at the common mart,</p><p class="">And let dull failure be my vestiture,</p><p class="">And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Perchance it may be better so at least</p><p class="">I have not made my heart a heart of stone,</p><p class="">Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,</p><p class="">Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Many a man hath done so; sought to fence</p><p class="">In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,</p><p class="">Trodden the dusty road of common sense,</p><p class="">While all the forest sang of liberty,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight</p><p class="">Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,</p><p class="">To where some steep untrodden mountain height</p><p class="">Caught the last tresses of the Sun God's hair.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Or how the little flower he trod upon,</p><p class="">The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,</p><p class="">Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun</p><p class="">Content if once its leaves were aureoled.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">But surely it is something to have been</p><p class="">The best beloved for a little while,</p><p class="">To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen</p><p class="">His purple wings flit once across thy smile.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Ay! though the gorged asp of passion feed</p><p class="">On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars,</p><p class="">Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed</p><p class="">The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde | |
| Is it thy will that I should wax and wane, | |
| Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey, | |
| And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain | |
| Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day? | |
| Is it thy will Love that I love so well | |
| That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot | |
| Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell | |
| The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not? | |
| Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure, | |
| And sell ambition at the common mart, | |
| And let dull failure be my vestiture, | |
| And sorrow dig its grave within my heart. | |
| Perchance it may be better so at least | |
| I have not made my heart a heart of stone, | |
| Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast, | |
| Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown. | |
| Many a man hath done so; sought to fence | |
| In straitened bonds the soul that should be free, | |
| Trodden the dusty road of common sense, | |
| While all the forest sang of liberty, | |
| Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight | |
| Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air, | |
| To where some steep untrodden mountain height | |
| Caught the last tresses of the Sun God's hair. | |
| Or how the little flower he trod upon, | |
| The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold, | |
| Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun | |
| Content if once its leaves were aureoled. | |
| But surely it is something to have been | |
| The best beloved for a little while, | |
| To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen | |
| His purple wings flit once across thy smile. | |
| Ay! though the gorged asp of passion feed | |
| On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars, | |
| Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed | |
| The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:18</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>28</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc082d0babc2b37045f4e/1584185530970/Epigraphy+28+Apologia+by+Oscar+Fingal+O_Flahertie+Wills+Wilde+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4598077" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cc082d0babc2b37045f4e/1584185530970/Epigraphy+28+Apologia+by+Oscar+Fingal+O_Flahertie+Wills+Wilde+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4598077" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 25 Apr 2020 19:25:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode27</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cbf12186dd45936484153</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose</p><p class="">From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;</p><p class="">Softly and still it grows and grows,</p><p class="">Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;</p><p class="">Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks</p><p class="">Its dreamy fetters, one by one,</p><p class="">And love awakes, and labor wakes,--</p><p class="">The morning comes before the sun.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">What is this message from the light</p><p class="">So fairer far than light can be?</p><p class="">Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,</p><p class="">In haste the risen sun to see;</p><p class="">Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart,</p><p class="">Count the charmed moments as they run,</p><p class="">It is life's best and fairest part,</p><p class="">This morning hour before the sun.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">When once thy day shall burst to flower,</p><p class="">When once the sun shall climb the sky,</p><p class="">And busy hour by busy hour,</p><p class="">The urgent noontide draws anigh;</p><p class="">When the long shadows creep abreast,</p><p class="">To dim the happy task half done,</p><p class="">Thou wilt recall this pause of rest,</p><p class="">This morning hush before the sun.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">To each, one dawning and one dew,</p><p class="">One fresh young hour is given by fate,</p><p class="">One rose flush on the early blue.</p><p class="">Be not impatient then, but wait!</p><p class="">Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,</p><p class="">By midnight angels woven and spun;</p><p class="">Better than day its prophecy,--</p><p class="">The morning comes before the sun.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge | |
| Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose | |
| From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; | |
| Softly and still it grows and grows, | |
| Petal by petal, leaf by leaf; | |
| Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks | |
| Its dreamy fetters, one by one, | |
| And love awakes, and labor wakes,-- | |
| The morning comes before the sun. | |
| What is this message from the light | |
| So fairer far than light can be? | |
| Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright, | |
| In haste the risen sun to see; | |
| Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart, | |
| Count the charmed moments as they run, | |
| It is life's best and fairest part, | |
| This morning hour before the sun. | |
| When once thy day shall burst to flower, | |
| When once the sun shall climb the sky, | |
| And busy hour by busy hour, | |
| The urgent noontide draws anigh; | |
| When the long shadows creep abreast, | |
| To dim the happy task half done, | |
| Thou wilt recall this pause of rest, | |
| This morning hush before the sun. | |
| To each, one dawning and one dew, | |
| One fresh young hour is given by fate, | |
| One rose flush on the early blue. | |
| Be not impatient then, but wait! | |
| Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky, | |
| By midnight angels woven and spun; | |
| Better than day its prophecy,-- | |
| The morning comes before the sun.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:06</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>27</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbf480f431516e1674b0e/1584185228161/Epigraphy+27+The+Morning+Comes+Before+The+Sun+by+Susan+Coolidge+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="5348183" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbf480f431516e1674b0e/1584185228161/Epigraphy+27+The+Morning+Comes+Before+The+Sun+by+Susan+Coolidge+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="5348183" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Road That Has No End by Joseph Burrows read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 22 Apr 2020 19:19:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode26</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cbddfea160c0c8284b3db</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Road That Has No End</p><p class="">By Joseph Burrows</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Hast ever tramped along the road</p><p class="">That has no end?</p><p class="">The far brown winding road, your one</p><p class="">Fast friend</p><p class="">A tattered weather-beaten swag,</p><p class="">A silent mate</p><p class="">To send</p><p class="">His dumb warm comfort to the heart,</p><p class="">A fount where dreams ascend.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">There's wondrous freedom on the road</p><p class="">That has no end;</p><p class="">A man's heart glows, his spirit leaps</p><p class="">To blend</p><p class="">Its joy of life with fierce wind's gust</p><p class="">Upon his face:</p><p class="">To lend</p><p class="">Its cry to Nature's tumult, full</p><p class="">And shrill, as twilight shades descend.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">The flowers bloom along the road</p><p class="">That has no end</p><p class="">Cool breezes blow, the gum trees sway</p><p class="">And bend;</p><p class="">The wild doves woo, and softly coo</p><p class="">Their soothing notes,</p><p class="">And mend</p><p class="">Heart's throbbing pain to sweet content,</p><p class="">And peace lights on the mind's sad trend</p><p class=""></p><p class="">There's pain and toil along the road</p><p class="">That has no end;</p><p class="">A sinking heart, and weary feet</p><p class="">That spend</p><p class="">Their strength, and lag and crave respite;</p><p class="">And dim tired eyes</p><p class="">That tend</p><p class="">To close their heavy lids upon</p><p class="">The stinging dusts that upward wend.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">There are sweet still hours along the road</p><p class="">That has no end</p><p class="">'Neath twinkling stars when night's deep shades</p><p class="">O'erpend;</p><p class="">A man's eyes shine with gathered tears,</p><p class="">And memories come</p><p class="">To rend</p><p class="">His straining heart strings, while above</p><p class="">The paling lights his mood commend.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I love the road, the swagman's road</p><p class="">That has no end;</p><p class="">I love its joys, that pains and toils</p><p class="">Transcend;</p><p class="">It is my dreams, the life that fills my heart</p><p class="">And when death comes and would</p><p class="">My peacefulness</p><p class="">Amend,</p><p class="">I pray that God may let my soul depart</p><p class="">With my tattered swag beside me,</p><p class="">'Mid my friends that never chide me,</p><p class="">And my face towards the distant clouded hill,</p><p class="">Where leads the far brown winding road</p><p class="">That has no end.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Road That Has No End | |
| By Joseph Burrows | |
| Hast ever tramped along the road | |
| That has no end? | |
| The far brown winding road, your one | |
| Fast friend | |
| A tattered weather-beaten swag, | |
| A silent mate | |
| To send | |
| His dumb warm comfort to the heart, | |
| A fount where dreams ascend. | |
| There's wondrous freedom on the road | |
| That has no end; | |
| A man's heart glows, his spirit leaps | |
| To blend | |
| Its joy of life with fierce wind's gust | |
| Upon his face: | |
| To lend | |
| Its cry to Nature's tumult, full | |
| And shrill, as twilight shades descend. | |
| The flowers bloom along the road | |
| That has no end | |
| Cool breezes blow, the gum trees sway | |
| And bend; | |
| The wild doves woo, and softly coo | |
| Their soothing notes, | |
| And mend | |
| Heart's throbbing pain to sweet content, | |
| And peace lights on the mind's sad trend | |
| There's pain and toil along the road | |
| That has no end; | |
| A sinking heart, and weary feet | |
| That spend | |
| Their strength, and lag and crave respite; | |
| And dim tired eyes | |
| That tend | |
| To close their heavy lids upon | |
| The stinging dusts that upward wend. | |
| There are sweet still hours along the road | |
| That has no end | |
| 'Neath twinkling stars when night's deep shades | |
| O'erpend; | |
| A man's eyes shine with gathered tears, | |
| And memories come | |
| To rend | |
| His straining heart strings, while above | |
| The paling lights his mood commend. | |
| I love the road, the swagman's road | |
| That has no end; | |
| I love its joys, that pains and toils | |
| Transcend; | |
| It is my dreams, the life that fills my heart | |
| And when death comes and would | |
| My peacefulness | |
| Amend, | |
| I pray that God may let my soul depart | |
| With my tattered swag beside me, | |
| 'Mid my friends that never chide me, | |
| And my face towards the distant clouded hill, | |
| Where leads the far brown winding road | |
| That has no end.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:33</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>26</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Road That Has No End by Joseph Burrows read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbe35d0babc2b37043a3f/1584184929283/Epigraphy+26+The+Road+That+Has+No+End+by+Joseph+Burrows+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3233881" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbe35d0babc2b37043a3f/1584184929283/Epigraphy+26+The+Road+That+Has+No+End+by+Joseph+Burrows+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3233881" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Road That Has No End by Joseph Burrows read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 19 Apr 2020 20:09:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode25</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cbb7cf26ba22b994c7a67</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob</p><p class=""></p><p class="">The willows stand by Fringford brook,</p><p class="">From Fringford up to Hethe,</p><p class="">Sun on their cloudy silver heads,</p><p class="">And shadow underneath.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">They ripple to the silent airs</p><p class="">That stir the lazy day,</p><p class="">Now whitened by their passing hands,</p><p class="">Now turned again to grey.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">The slim marsh-thistle's purple plume</p><p class="">Droops tasselled on the stem,</p><p class="">The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame</p><p class="">The grass that harbours them;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Long drowning tresses of the weeds</p><p class="">Trail where the stream is slow,</p><p class="">The vapoured mauves of water-mint</p><p class="">Melt in the pools below;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Serenely soft September sheds</p><p class="">On earth her slumberous look,</p><p class="">The heartbreak of an anguished world</p><p class="">Throbs not by Fringford brook.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">All peace is here. Beyond our range,</p><p class="">Yet 'neath the selfsame sky,</p><p class="">The boys that knew these fields of home</p><p class="">By Flemish willows lie.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">They waded in the sun-shot flow,</p><p class="">They loitered in the shade,</p><p class="">Who trod the heavy road of death,</p><p class="">Jesting and unafraid.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Peace! What of peace? This glimpse of peace</p><p class="">Lies at the heart of pain,</p><p class="">For respite, ere the spirit's load</p><p class="">We stoop to lift again.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O load of grief, of faith, of wrath,</p><p class="">Of patient, quenchless will,</p><p class="">Till God shall ease us of your weight</p><p class="">We'll bear you higher still!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O ghosts that walk by Fringford brook,</p><p class="">'Tis more than peace you give,</p><p class="">For you, who knew so well to die,</p><p class="">Shall teach us how to live.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob | |
| The willows stand by Fringford brook, | |
| From Fringford up to Hethe, | |
| Sun on their cloudy silver heads, | |
| And shadow underneath. | |
| They ripple to the silent airs | |
| That stir the lazy day, | |
| Now whitened by their passing hands, | |
| Now turned again to grey. | |
| The slim marsh-thistle's purple plume | |
| Droops tasselled on the stem, | |
| The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame | |
| The grass that harbours them; | |
| Long drowning tresses of the weeds | |
| Trail where the stream is slow, | |
| The vapoured mauves of water-mint | |
| Melt in the pools below; | |
| Serenely soft September sheds | |
| On earth her slumberous look, | |
| The heartbreak of an anguished world | |
| Throbs not by Fringford brook. | |
| All peace is here. Beyond our range, | |
| Yet 'neath the selfsame sky, | |
| The boys that knew these fields of home | |
| By Flemish willows lie. | |
| They waded in the sun-shot flow, | |
| They loitered in the shade, | |
| Who trod the heavy road of death, | |
| Jesting and unafraid. | |
| Peace! What of peace? This glimpse of peace | |
| Lies at the heart of pain, | |
| For respite, ere the spirit's load | |
| We stoop to lift again. | |
| O load of grief, of faith, of wrath, | |
| Of patient, quenchless will, | |
| Till God shall ease us of your weight | |
| We'll bear you higher still! | |
| O ghosts that walk by Fringford brook, | |
| 'Tis more than peace you give, | |
| For you, who knew so well to die, | |
| Shall teach us how to live.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:13</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>25</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbbb3f26ba22b994c7fe7/1584184312809/Epigraphy+25+Fringford+Brook+by+Violet+Jacob+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4533370" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cbbb3f26ba22b994c7fe7/1584184312809/Epigraphy+25+Fringford+Brook+by+Violet+Jacob+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4533370" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Adam by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2020 20:02:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode24</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb9e3c3035453bfae2b1f</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Adam by Federico García Lorca</p><p class=""></p><p class="">A tree of blood soaks the morning</p><p class="">where the newborn woman groans.</p><p class="">Her voice leaves glass in the wound</p><p class="">and on the panes, a diagram of bone.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">The coming light establishes and wins</p><p class="">white limits of a fable that forgets</p><p class="">the tumult of veins in flight</p><p class="">toward the dim cool of the apple.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Adam dreams in the fever of the clay</p><p class="">of a child who comes galloping</p><p class="">through the double pulse of his cheek.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">But a dark other Adam is dreaming</p><p class="">a neuter moon of seedless stone</p><p class="">where the child of light will burn.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Adam by Federico García Lorca | |
| A tree of blood soaks the morning | |
| where the newborn woman groans. | |
| Her voice leaves glass in the wound | |
| and on the panes, a diagram of bone. | |
| The coming light establishes and wins | |
| white limits of a fable that forgets | |
| the tumult of veins in flight | |
| toward the dim cool of the apple. | |
| Adam dreams in the fever of the clay | |
| of a child who comes galloping | |
| through the double pulse of his cheek. | |
| But a dark other Adam is dreaming | |
| a neuter moon of seedless stone | |
| where the child of light will burn.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:48</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>24</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Adam by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cba0e6089275b7c42538a/1584183872213/Epigraphy+24+Adam+by+Federico+Garc%C3%ADa+Lorca+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3678183" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cba0e6089275b7c42538a/1584183872213/Epigraphy+24+Adam+by+Federico+Garc%C3%ADa+Lorca+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3678183" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Adam by Federico García Lorca read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Requiescat by Oscar Wilde read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 13 Apr 2020 20:00:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode23</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb9586089275b7c42452d</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Requiescat by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Tread lightly, she is near</p><p class="">Under the snow,</p><p class="">Speak gently, she can hear</p><p class="">The daisies grow.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">All her bright golden hair</p><p class="">Tarnished with rust,</p><p class="">She that was young and fair</p><p class="">Fallen to dust.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Lily-like, white as snow,</p><p class="">She hardly knew</p><p class="">She was a woman, so</p><p class="">Sweetly she grew.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Coffin-board, heavy stone,</p><p class="">Lie on her breast,</p><p class="">I vex my heart alone,</p><p class="">She is at rest.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Peace, Peace, she cannot hear</p><p class="">Lyre or sonnet,</p><p class="">All my life's buried here,</p><p class="">Heap earth upon it.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Requiescat by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde | |
| Tread lightly, she is near | |
| Under the snow, | |
| Speak gently, she can hear | |
| The daisies grow. | |
| All her bright golden hair | |
| Tarnished with rust, | |
| She that was young and fair | |
| Fallen to dust. | |
| Lily-like, white as snow, | |
| She hardly knew | |
| She was a woman, so | |
| Sweetly she grew. | |
| Coffin-board, heavy stone, | |
| Lie on her breast, | |
| I vex my heart alone, | |
| She is at rest. | |
| Peace, Peace, she cannot hear | |
| Lyre or sonnet, | |
| All my life's buried here, | |
| Heap earth upon it.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:37</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>23</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Requiescat by Oscar Wilde read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb991e095af7f34bdf0c6/1584183730876/Epigraphy+23+Requiescat+by+Oscar+Wilde+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2432992" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb991e095af7f34bdf0c6/1584183730876/Epigraphy+23+Requiescat+by+Oscar+Wilde+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2432992" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Requiescat by Oscar Wilde read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Tiger by William Blake read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 10 Apr 2020 19:53:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode22</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb7bb6f379e18587b766e</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Tiger by William Blake</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Tiger Tiger, burning bright,</p><p class="">In the forests of the night;</p><p class="">What immortal hand or eye,</p><p class="">Could frame thy fearful symmetry?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">In what distant deeps or skies.</p><p class="">Burnt the fire of thine eyes?</p><p class="">On what wings dare he aspire?</p><p class="">What the hand, dare seize the fire?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And what shoulder, and what art,</p><p class="">Could twist the sinews of thy heart?</p><p class="">And when thy heart began to beat,</p><p class="">What dread hand? and what dread feet?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">What the hammer? what the chain,</p><p class="">In what furnace was thy brain?</p><p class="">What the anvil? what dread grasp,</p><p class="">Dare its deadly terrors clasp!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">When the stars threw down their spears</p><p class="">And water’d heaven with their tears:</p><p class="">Did he smile his work to see?</p><p class="">Did he who made the Lamb make thee?</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Tiger Tiger burning bright,</p><p class="">In the forests of the night:</p><p class="">What immortal hand or eye,</p><p class="">Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Tiger by William Blake | |
| Tiger Tiger, burning bright, | |
| In the forests of the night; | |
| What immortal hand or eye, | |
| Could frame thy fearful symmetry? | |
| In what distant deeps or skies. | |
| Burnt the fire of thine eyes? | |
| On what wings dare he aspire? | |
| What the hand, dare seize the fire? | |
| And what shoulder, and what art, | |
| Could twist the sinews of thy heart? | |
| And when thy heart began to beat, | |
| What dread hand? and what dread feet? | |
| What the hammer? what the chain, | |
| In what furnace was thy brain? | |
| What the anvil? what dread grasp, | |
| Dare its deadly terrors clasp! | |
| When the stars threw down their spears | |
| And water’d heaven with their tears: | |
| Did he smile his work to see? | |
| Did he who made the Lamb make thee? | |
| Tiger Tiger burning bright, | |
| In the forests of the night: | |
| What immortal hand or eye, | |
| Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:22</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>22</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Tiger by William Blake read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb80b186dd4593647d007/1584183353391/Epigraphy+22+The+Tiger+by+William+Blake+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3249864" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb80b186dd4593647d007/1584183353391/Epigraphy+22+The+Tiger+by+William+Blake+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3249864" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Tiger by William Blake read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Three read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 07 Apr 2020 20:46:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode20</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb6189988a61549a2372e</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Part III</p><p class="">Showing how they met by appointment in a grove, where she obliged him to fight or wed her.</p><p class="">Early on a summer's morning,</p><p class="">When bright Phoebus was adorning</p><p class="">Every bower with his beams,</p><p class="">The fair lady came, it seems.</p><p class="">At the bottom of a mountain,</p><p class="">Near a pleasant crystal fountain,</p><p class="">There she left her gilded coach,</p><p class="">While the grove she did approach.</p><p class="">Covered with her mask, and walking,</p><p class="">There she met her lover talking</p><p class="">With a friend that he had brought;</p><p class="">So she asked him whom he sought.</p><p class="">'I am challenged by a gallant,</p><p class="">Who resolves to try my talent;</p><p class="">Who he is I cannot say,</p><p class="">But I hope to show him play.'</p><p class="">'It is I that did invite you,</p><p class="">You shall wed me, or I'll fight you,</p><p class="">Underneath those spreading trees;</p><p class="">Therefore, choose you which you please.</p><p class="">'You shall find I do not vapour,</p><p class="">I have brought my trusty rapier;</p><p class="">Therefore, take your choice,' said she,</p><p class="">'Either fight or marry me.'</p><p class="">Said he, 'Madam, pray what mean you?</p><p class="">In my life I've never seen you;</p><p class="">Pray unmask, your visage show,</p><p class="">Then I'll tell you aye or no.'</p><p class="">'I will not my face uncover</p><p class="">Till the marriage ties are over;</p><p class="">Therefore, choose you which you will,</p><p class="">Wed me, sir, or try your skill.</p><p class="">'Step within that pleasant bower,</p><p class="">With your friend one single hour;</p><p class="">Strive your thoughts to reconcile,</p><p class="">And I'll wander here the while.'</p><p class="">While this beauteous lady waited,</p><p class="">The young bachelors debated</p><p class="">What was best for to be done:</p><p class="">Quoth his friend, 'The hazard run.</p><p class="">'If my judgment can be trusted,</p><p class="">Wed her first, you can't be worsted;</p><p class="">If she's rich, you'll rise to fame,</p><p class="">If she's poor, why! you're the same.'</p><p class="">He consented to be married;</p><p class="">All three in a coach were carried</p><p class="">To a church without delay,</p><p class="">Where he weds the lady gay.</p><p class="">Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered</p><p class="">Round her eyes, her face was covered</p><p class="">With a mask, - he took her thus,</p><p class="">Just for better or for worse.</p><p class="">With a courteous kind behaviour,</p><p class="">She presents his friend a favour,</p><p class="">And withal dismissed him straight,</p><p class="">That he might no longer wait.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Part III | |
| Showing how they met by appointment in a grove, where she obliged him to fight or wed her. | |
| Early on a summer's morning, | |
| When bright Phoebus was adorning | |
| Every bower with his beams, | |
| The fair lady came, it seems. | |
| At the bottom of a mountain, | |
| Near a pleasant crystal fountain, | |
| There she left her gilded coach, | |
| While the grove she did approach. | |
| Covered with her mask, and walking, | |
| There she met her lover talking | |
| With a friend that he had brought; | |
| So she asked him whom he sought. | |
| 'I am challenged by a gallant, | |
| Who resolves to try my talent; | |
| Who he is I cannot say, | |
| But I hope to show him play.' | |
| 'It is I that did invite you, | |
| You shall wed me, or I'll fight you, | |
| Underneath those spreading trees; | |
| Therefore, choose you which you please. | |
| 'You shall find I do not vapour, | |
| I have brought my trusty rapier; | |
| Therefore, take your choice,' said she, | |
| 'Either fight or marry me.' | |
| Said he, 'Madam, pray what mean you? | |
| In my life I've never seen you; | |
| Pray unmask, your visage show, | |
| Then I'll tell you aye or no.' | |
| 'I will not my face uncover | |
| Till the marriage ties are over; | |
| Therefore, choose you which you will, | |
| Wed me, sir, or try your skill. | |
| 'Step within that pleasant bower, | |
| With your friend one single hour; | |
| Strive your thoughts to reconcile, | |
| And I'll wander here the while.' | |
| While this beauteous lady waited, | |
| The young bachelors debated | |
| What was best for to be done: | |
| Quoth his friend, 'The hazard run. | |
| 'If my judgment can be trusted, | |
| Wed her first, you can't be worsted; | |
| If she's rich, you'll rise to fame, | |
| If she's poor, why! you're the same.' | |
| He consented to be married; | |
| All three in a coach were carried | |
| To a church without delay, | |
| Where he weds the lady gay. | |
| Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered | |
| Round her eyes, her face was covered | |
| With a mask, - he took her thus, | |
| Just for better or for worse. | |
| With a courteous kind behaviour, | |
| She presents his friend a favour, | |
| And withal dismissed him straight, | |
| That he might no longer wait.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:03</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>20</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Three read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb64c77c35d4616e08661/1584182917084/Epigraphy+20+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Three+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4122087" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb64c77c35d4616e08661/1584182917084/Epigraphy+20+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Three+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4122087" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Three read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part Four read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 04 Apr 2020 19:49:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode21</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb6be50eead5473a482f7</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Part IV</p><p class="">Showing how they rode together in her gilded coach to her noble seat, or castle, etc.</p><p class="">As the gilded coach stood ready,</p><p class="">The young lawyer and his lady</p><p class="">Rode together, till they came</p><p class="">To her house of state and fame;</p><p class="">Which appeared like a castle,</p><p class="">Where you might behold a parcel</p><p class="">Of young cedars, tall and straight,</p><p class="">Just before her palace gate.</p><p class="">Hand in hand they walked together,</p><p class="">To a hall, or parlour, rather,</p><p class="">Which was beautiful and fair, -</p><p class="">All alone she left him there.</p><p class="">Two long hours there he waited</p><p class="">Her return; - at length he fretted,</p><p class="">And began to grieve at last,</p><p class="">For he had not broke his fast.</p><p class="">Still he sat like one amazed,</p><p class="">Round a spacious room he gazed,</p><p class="">Which was richly beautified;</p><p class="">But, alas! he lost his bride.</p><p class="">There was peeping, laughing, sneering,</p><p class="">All within the lawyer's hearing;</p><p class="">But his bride he could not see;</p><p class="">'Would I were at home!' thought he.</p><p class="">While his heart was melancholy,</p><p class="">Said the steward, brisk and jolly,</p><p class="">'Tell me, friend, how came you here?</p><p class="">You've some bad design, I fear.'</p><p class="">He replied, 'Dear loving master,</p><p class="">You shall meet with no disaster</p><p class="">Through my means, in any case, -</p><p class="">Madam brought me to this place.'</p><p class="">Then the steward did retire,</p><p class="">Saying, that he would enquire</p><p class="">Whether it was true or no:</p><p class="">Ne'er was lover hampered so.</p><p class="">Now the lady who had filled him</p><p class="">With those fears, full well beheld him</p><p class="">From a window, as she dressed,</p><p class="">Pleased at the merry jest.</p><p class="">When she had herself attired</p><p class="">In rich robes, to be admired,</p><p class="">She appeared in his sight,</p><p class="">Like a moving angel bright.</p><p class="">'Sir! my servants have related,</p><p class="">How some hours you have waited</p><p class="">In my parlour, - tell me who</p><p class="">In my house you ever knew?'</p><p class="">'Madam! if I have offended,</p><p class="">It is more than I intended;</p><p class="">A young lady brought me here:' -</p><p class="">'That is true,' said she, 'my dear.</p><p class="">'I can be no longer cruel</p><p class="">To my joy, and only jewel;</p><p class="">Thou art mine, and I am thine,</p><p class="">Hand and heart I do resign!</p><p class="">'Once I was a wounded lover,</p><p class="">Now these fears are fairly over;</p><p class="">By receiving what I gave,</p><p class="">Thou art lord of what I have.'</p><p class="">Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,</p><p class="">A rich golden stream of pleasure,</p><p class="">With his lady he enjoys;</p><p class="">Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys.</p><p class="">Now he's clothed in rich attire,</p><p class="">Not inferior to a squire;</p><p class="">Beauty, honour, riches' store,</p><p class="">What can man desire more?</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Part IV | |
| Sowing how they rode together in her gilded coach to her noble seat, or castle, etc. | |
| As the gilded coach stood ready, | |
| The young lawyer and his lady | |
| Rode together, till they came | |
| To her house of state and fame; | |
| Which appeared like a castle, | |
| Where you might behold a parcel | |
| Of young cedars, tall and straight, | |
| Just before her palace gate. | |
| Hand in hand they walked together, | |
| To a hall, or parlour, rather, | |
| Which was beautiful and fair, - | |
| All alone she left him there. | |
| Two long hours there he waited | |
| Her return; - at length he fretted, | |
| And began to grieve at last, | |
| For he had not broke his fast. | |
| Still he sat like one amazed, | |
| Round a spacious room he gazed, | |
| Which was richly beautified; | |
| But, alas! he lost his bride. | |
| There was peeping, laughing, sneering, | |
| All within the lawyer's hearing; | |
| But his bride he could not see; | |
| 'Would I were at home!' thought he. | |
| While his heart was melancholy, | |
| Said the steward, brisk and jolly, | |
| 'Tell me, friend, how came you here? | |
| You've some bad design, I fear.' | |
| He replied, 'Dear loving master, | |
| You shall meet with no disaster | |
| Through my means, in any case, - | |
| Madam brought me to this place.' | |
| Then the steward did retire, | |
| Saying, that he would enquire | |
| Whether it was true or no: | |
| Ne'er was lover hampered so. | |
| Now the lady who had filled him | |
| With those fears, full well beheld him | |
| From a window, as she dressed, | |
| Pleased at the merry jest. | |
| When she had herself attired | |
| In rich robes, to be admired, | |
| She appeared in his sight, | |
| Like a moving angel bright. | |
| 'Sir! my servants have related, | |
| How some hours you have waited | |
| In my parlour, - tell me who | |
| In my house you ever knew?' | |
| 'Madam! if I have offended, | |
| It is more than I intended; | |
| A young lady brought me here:' - | |
| 'That is true,' said she, 'my dear. | |
| 'I can be no longer cruel | |
| To my joy, and only jewel; | |
| Thou art mine, and I am thine, | |
| Hand and heart I do resign! | |
| 'Once I was a wounded lover, | |
| Now these fears are fairly over; | |
| By receiving what I gave, | |
| Thou art lord of what I have.' | |
| Beauty, honour, love, and treasure, | |
| A rich golden stream of pleasure, | |
| With his lady he enjoys; | |
| Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys. | |
| Now he's clothed in rich attire, | |
| Not inferior to a squire; | |
| Beauty, honour, riches' store, | |
| What can man desire more?</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:20</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>21</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part Four read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb6f18afded74f5107e05/1584183089875/Epigraphy+21+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Four+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4434805" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb6f18afded74f5107e05/1584183089875/Epigraphy+21+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Four+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4434805" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part Four read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Epigraphy 19 The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Two read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 01 Apr 2020 20:31:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode19</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb270931e6a27c2d348bb</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Part II</p><p class="">Showing the Lady's letter of a challenge to fight him upon his refusing to wed her in a mask, without knowing who she was.</p><p class="">Night and morning, for a season,</p><p class="">In her closet would she reason</p><p class="">With herself, and often said,</p><p class="">'Why has love my heart betrayed?</p><p class="">'I, that have so many slighted,</p><p class="">Am at length so well requited;</p><p class="">For my griefs are not a few!</p><p class="">Now I find what love can do.</p><p class="">'He that has my heart in keeping,</p><p class="">Though I for his sake be weeping,</p><p class="">Little knows what grief I feel;</p><p class="">But I'll try it out with steel.</p><p class="">'For I will a challenge send him,</p><p class="">And appoint where I'll attend him,</p><p class="">In a grove, without delay,</p><p class="">By the dawning of the day.</p><p class="">'He shall not the least discover</p><p class="">That I am a virgin lover,</p><p class="">By the challenge which I send;</p><p class="">But for justice I contend.</p><p class="">'He has caused sad distraction,</p><p class="">And I come for satisfaction,</p><p class="">Which if he denies to give,</p><p class="">One of us shall cease to live.'</p><p class="">Having thus her mind revealed,</p><p class="">She her letter closed and sealed;</p><p class="">Which, when it came to his hand,</p><p class="">The young man was at a stand.</p><p class="">In her letter she conjured him</p><p class="">For to meet, and well assured him,</p><p class="">Recompence he must afford,</p><p class="">Or dispute it with the sword.</p><p class="">Having read this strange relation,</p><p class="">He was in a consternation;</p><p class="">But, advising with his friend,</p><p class="">He persuades him to attend.</p><p class="">'Be of courage, and make ready,</p><p class="">Faint heart never won fair lady;</p><p class="">In regard it must be so,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I along with you must go.'</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Part II | |
| Showing the Lady's letter of a challenge to fight him upon his refusing to wed her in a mask, without knowing who she was. | |
| Night and morning, for a season, | |
| In her closet would she reason | |
| With herself, and often said, | |
| 'Why has love my heart betrayed? | |
| 'I, that have so many slighted, | |
| Am at length so well requited; | |
| For my griefs are not a few! | |
| Now I find what love can do. | |
| 'He that has my heart in keeping, | |
| Though I for his sake be weeping, | |
| Little knows what grief I feel; | |
| But I'll try it out with steel. | |
| 'For I will a challenge send him, | |
| And appoint where I'll attend him, | |
| In a grove, without delay, | |
| By the dawning of the day. | |
| 'He shall not the least discover | |
| That I am a virgin lover, | |
| By the challenge which I send; | |
| But for justice I contend. | |
| 'He has caused sad distraction, | |
| And I come for satisfaction, | |
| Which if he denies to give, | |
| One of us shall cease to live.' | |
| Having thus her mind revealed, | |
| She her letter closed and sealed; | |
| Which, when it came to his hand, | |
| The young man was at a stand. | |
| In her letter she conjured him | |
| For to meet, and well assured him, | |
| Recompence he must afford, | |
| Or dispute it with the sword. | |
| Having read this strange relation, | |
| He was in a consternation; | |
| But, advising with his friend, | |
| He persuades him to attend. | |
| 'Be of courage, and make ready, | |
| Faint heart never won fair lady; | |
| In regard it must be so, | |
| I along with you must go.'</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:45</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>19</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Epigraphy 19 The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Two read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb29d21ba4c5543029e3f/1584181974691/Epigraphy+19+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Two+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3731498" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb29d21ba4c5543029e3f/1584181974691/Epigraphy+19+The+Berkshire+Ladys+Garland+Part+Two+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3731498" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Epigraphy 19 The Berkshire Ladys Garland Part Two read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part One read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 29 Mar 2020 20:28:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode18</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb1b46f379e18587b0851</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Part 1</p><p class="">Showing Cupid's Conquest Over a Coy Lady of Five Thousand a Year.</p><p class="">Bachelors of every station,</p><p class="">Mark this strange and true relation,</p><p class="">Which in brief to you I bring, -</p><p class="">Never was a stranger thing!</p><p class="">You shall find it worth the hearing;</p><p class="">Loyal love is most endearing,</p><p class="">When it takes the deepest root,</p><p class="">Yielding charms and gold to boot.</p><p class="">Some will wed for love of treasure;</p><p class="">But the sweetest joy and pleasure</p><p class="">Is in faithful love, you'll find,</p><p class="">Graced with a noble mind.</p><p class="">Such a noble disposition</p><p class="">Had this lady, with submission,</p><p class="">Of whom I this sonnet write,</p><p class="">Store of wealth, and beauty bright.</p><p class="">She had left, by a good grannum,</p><p class="">Full five thousand pounds per annum,</p><p class="">Which she held without control;</p><p class="">Thus she did in riches roll.</p><p class="">Though she had vast store of riches,</p><p class="">Which some persons much bewitches,</p><p class="">Yet she bore a virtuous mind,</p><p class="">Not the least to pride inclined.</p><p class="">Many noble persons courted</p><p class="">This young lady, 'tis reported;</p><p class="">But their labour proved in vain,</p><p class="">They could not her favour gain.</p><p class="">Though she made a strong resistance,</p><p class="">Yet by Cupid's true assistance,</p><p class="">She was conquered after all;</p><p class="">How it was declare I shall.</p><p class="">Being at a noble wedding,</p><p class="">Near the famous town of Redding,</p><p class="">A young gentleman she saw,</p><p class="">Who belonged to the law.</p><p class="">As she viewed his sweet behaviour,</p><p class="">Every courteous carriage gave her</p><p class="">New addition to her grief;</p><p class="">Forced she was to seek relief.</p><p class="">Privately she then enquired</p><p class="">About him, so much admired;</p><p class="">Both his name, and where he dwelt, -</p><p class="">Such was the hot flame she felt.</p><p class="">Then, at night, this youthful lady</p><p class="">Called her coach, which being ready,</p><p class="">Homewards straight she did return;</p><p class="">But her heart with flames did burn.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Part 1 | |
| Showing Cupid's Conquest Over a Coy Lady of Five Thousand a Year. | |
| Bachelors of every station, | |
| Mark this strange and true relation, | |
| Which in brief to you I bring, - | |
| Never was a stranger thing! | |
| You shall find it worth the hearing; | |
| Loyal love is most endearing, | |
| When it takes the deepest root, | |
| Yielding charms and gold to boot. | |
| Some will wed for love of treasure; | |
| But the sweetest joy and pleasure | |
| Is in faithful love, you'll find, | |
| Graced with a noble mind. | |
| Such a noble disposition | |
| Had this lady, with submission, | |
| Of whom I this sonnet write, | |
| Store of wealth, and beauty bright. | |
| She had left, by a good grannum, | |
| Full five thousand pounds per annum, | |
| Which she held without control; | |
| Thus she did in riches roll. | |
| Though she had vast store of riches, | |
| Which some persons much bewitches, | |
| Yet she bore a virtuous mind, | |
| Not the least to pride inclined. | |
| Many noble persons courted | |
| This young lady, 'tis reported; | |
| But their labour proved in vain, | |
| They could not her favour gain. | |
| Though she made a strong resistance, | |
| Yet by Cupid's true assistance, | |
| She was conquered after all; | |
| How it was declare I shall. | |
| Being at a noble wedding, | |
| Near the famous town of Redding, | |
| A young gentleman she saw, | |
| Who belonged to the law. | |
| As she viewed his sweet behaviour, | |
| Every courteous carriage gave her | |
| New addition to her grief; | |
| Forced she was to seek relief. | |
| Privately she then enquired | |
| About him, so much admired; | |
| Both his name, and where he dwelt, - | |
| Such was the hot flame she felt. | |
| Then, at night, this youthful lady | |
| Called her coach, which being ready, | |
| Homewards straight she did return; | |
| But her heart with flames did burn.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:45</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>18</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part One read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb1ec0f431516e1666ca8/1584181795693/Epigraphy+18+The+Berkshire+Lady_s+Garland+Part+One+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3826328" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb1ec0f431516e1666ca8/1584181795693/Epigraphy+18+The+Berkshire+Lady_s+Garland+Part+One+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3826328" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Berkshire Lady's Garland Part One read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Lotus Eaters by Alfred Lord Tennyson read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 26 Mar 2020 19:21:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode17</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cb01b21ba4c5543027365</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Lotos-eaters</p><p class="">By Alfred, Lord Tennyson</p><p class=""></p><p class="">“Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land,<br>“This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.”<br>In the afternoon they came unto a land<br>In which it seemed always afternoon.<br>All round the coast the languid air did swoon,<br>Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.<br>Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;<br>And like a downward smoke, the slender stream<br>Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.<br><br>A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,<br>Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;<br>And some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke,<br>Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.<br>They saw the gleaming river seaward flow<br>From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,<br>Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,<br>Stood sunset-flush’d: and, dew’d with showery drops,<br>Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.<br><br>The charmed sunset linger’d low adown<br>In the red West: thro’ mountain clefts the dale<br>Was seen far inland, and the yellow down<br>Border’d with palm, and many a winding vale<br>And meadow, set with slender galingale;<br>A land where all things always seem’d the same!<br>And round about the keel with faces pale,<br>Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,<br>The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.<br><br>Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,<br>Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave<br>To each, but whoso did receive of them,<br>And taste, to him the gushing of the wave<br>Far far away did seem to mourn and rave<br>On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,<br>His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;<br>And deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake,<br>And music in his ears his beating heart did make.<br><br>They sat them down upon the yellow sand,<br>Between the sun and moon upon the shore;<br>And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,<br>Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore<br>Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar,<br>Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.<br>Then some one said, “We will return no more”;<br>And all at once they sang, “Our island home<br>Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.”</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Lotos-eaters | |
| By Alfred, Lord Tennyson | |
| “Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land, | |
| “This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.” | |
| In the afternoon they came unto a land | |
| In which it seemed always afternoon. | |
| All round the coast the languid air did swoon, | |
| Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. | |
| Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; | |
| And like a downward smoke, the slender stream | |
| Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. | |
| A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, | |
| Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; | |
| And some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke, | |
| Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. | |
| They saw the gleaming river seaward flow | |
| From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, | |
| Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, | |
| Stood sunset-flush’d: and, dew’d with showery drops, | |
| Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. | |
| The charmed sunset linger’d low adown | |
| In the red West: thro’ mountain clefts the dale | |
| Was seen far inland, and the yellow down | |
| Border’d with palm, and many a winding vale | |
| And meadow, set with slender galingale; | |
| A land where all things always seem’d the same! | |
| And round about the keel with faces pale, | |
| Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, | |
| The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. | |
| Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, | |
| Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave | |
| To each, but whoso did receive of them, | |
| And taste, to him the gushing of the wave | |
| Far far away did seem to mourn and rave | |
| On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, | |
| His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; | |
| And deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake, | |
| And music in his ears his beating heart did make. | |
| They sat them down upon the yellow sand, | |
| Between the sun and moon upon the shore; | |
| And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, | |
| Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore | |
| Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar, | |
| Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. | |
| Then some one said, “We will return no more”; | |
| And all at once they sang, “Our island home | |
| Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.”</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:10</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>17</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Lotus Eaters by Alfred Lord Tennyson read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb0a49988a61549a1d787/1584181476715/Epigraphy+17+The+Lotus+Eaters+by+Alfred+Lord+Tennyson+read+by+Matthew+Hannibal+Butler.mp3" length="4542066" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cb0a49988a61549a1d787/1584181476715/Epigraphy+17+The+Lotus+Eaters+by+Alfred+Lord+Tennyson+read+by+Matthew+Hannibal+Butler.mp3" length="4542066" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Lotus Eaters by Alfred Lord Tennyson read by Matthew Hannibal Butler</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>For Whom the Bell Tolls - John Donne read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 24 Mar 2020 19:10:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode13</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cad8e77c35d4616e002da</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">For Whom the Bell Tolls</p><p class="">by John Donne</p><p class=""></p><p class="">No man is an island,</p><p class="">Entire of itself.</p><p class="">Each is a piece of the continent,</p><p class="">A part of the main.</p><p class="">If a clod be washed away by the sea,</p><p class="">Europe is the less.</p><p class="">As well as if a promontory were.</p><p class="">As well as if a manor of thine own</p><p class="">Or of thine friend's were.</p><p class="">Each man's death diminishes me,</p><p class="">For I am involved in mankind.</p><p class="">Therefore, send not to know</p><p class="">For whom the bell tolls,</p><p class="">It tolls for thee.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>For Whom the Bell Tolls | |
| by John Donne | |
| No man is an island, | |
| Entire of itself. | |
| Each is a piece of the continent, | |
| A part of the main. | |
| If a clod be washed away by the sea, | |
| Europe is the less. | |
| As well as if a promontory were. | |
| As well as if a manor of thine own | |
| Or of thine friend's were. | |
| Each man's death diminishes me, | |
| For I am involved in mankind. | |
| Therefore, send not to know | |
| For whom the bell tolls, | |
| It tolls for thee.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:14</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>13</itunes:episode><itunes:title>For Whom the Bell Tolls - John Donne read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cae0e73af576a4f5a96e3/1584180791672/Epigraphy+13+For+Whom+the+Bell+Tolls+-+John+Donne+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3297969" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cae0e73af576a4f5a96e3/1584180791672/Epigraphy+13+For+Whom+the+Bell+Tolls+-+John+Donne+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3297969" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">For Whom the Bell Tolls - John Donne read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Fire and Ice - Robert Frost read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 23 Mar 2020 19:17:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode16</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6caf4691b9d045dd5d495e</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Fire and Ice</p><p class="">by Robert Frost</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Some say the world will end in fire,</p><p class="">Some say in ice.</p><p class="">From what I've tasted of desire</p><p class="">I hold with those who favour fire.</p><p class="">But if it had to perish twice,</p><p class="">I think I know enough of hate</p><p class="">To say that for destruction ice</p><p class="">Is also great</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And would suffice.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Fire and Ice | |
| by Robert Frost | |
| Some say the world will end in fire, | |
| Some say in ice. | |
| From what I've tasted of desire | |
| I hold with those who favour fire. | |
| But if it had to perish twice, | |
| I think I know enough of hate | |
| To say that for destruction ice | |
| Is also great | |
| And would suffice. | |
| </itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:15</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>16</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Fire and Ice - Robert Frost read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6caf8773af576a4f5aa88e/1584181173618/Epigraphy+16+Fire+and+Ice+-+Robert+Frost+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2968018" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6caf8773af576a4f5aa88e/1584181173618/Epigraphy+16+Fire+and+Ice+-+Robert+Frost+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2968018" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Fire and Ice - Robert Frost read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Faery Songs - John Keats read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 20 Mar 2020 19:14:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episod15</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cae75c3035453bfad5e43</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Faery Songs</p><p class="">By John Keats</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I.</p><p class="">Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!</p><p class="">The flower will bloom another year.</p><p class="">Weep no more! oh, weep no more!</p><p class="">Young buds sleep in the root's white core.</p><p class="">Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes!</p><p class="">For I was taught in Paradise</p><p class="">To ease my breast of melodies,</p><p class="">Shed no tear.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Overhead! look overhead!</p><p class="">'Mong the blossoms white and red</p><p class="">Look up, look up! I flutter now</p><p class="">On this fresh pomegranate bough.</p><p class="">See me! 'tis this silvery bill</p><p class="">Ever cures the good man's ill.</p><p class="">Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!</p><p class="">The flower will bloom another year.</p><p class="">Adieu, adieu, I fly adieu!</p><p class="">I vanish in the heaven�s blue,</p><p class="">Adieu, adieu!</p><p class=""></p><p class="">II.</p><p class="">Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!</p><p class="">That I must chant thy lady's dirge,</p><p class="">And death to this fair haunt of spring,</p><p class="">Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,</p><p class="">Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!</p><p class="">That I must see</p><p class="">These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!</p><p class="">Go, pretty page! and in her ear</p><p class="">Whisper that the hour is near!</p><p class="">Softly tell her not to fear</p><p class="">Such calm favonian burial!</p><p class="">Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,</p><p class="">The blossoms hang by a melting spell,</p><p class="">And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice</p><p class="">Upon her closed eyes,</p><p class="">That now in vain are weeping their last tears,</p><p class="">At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,</p><p class="">Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Alas! poor Queen!</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Faery Songs | |
| By John Keats | |
| I. | |
| Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! | |
| The flower will bloom another year. | |
| Weep no more! oh, weep no more! | |
| Young buds sleep in the root's white core. | |
| Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes! | |
| For I was taught in Paradise | |
| To ease my breast of melodies, | |
| Shed no tear. | |
| Overhead! look overhead! | |
| 'Mong the blossoms white and red | |
| Look up, look up! I flutter now | |
| On this fresh pomegranate bough. | |
| See me! 'tis this silvery bill | |
| Ever cures the good man's ill. | |
| Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! | |
| The flower will bloom another year. | |
| Adieu, adieu, I fly adieu! | |
| I vanish in the heaven�s blue, | |
| Adieu, adieu! | |
| II. | |
| Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing! | |
| That I must chant thy lady's dirge, | |
| And death to this fair haunt of spring, | |
| Of melody, and streams of flowery verge, | |
| Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me! | |
| That I must see | |
| These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall! | |
| Go, pretty page! and in her ear | |
| Whisper that the hour is near! | |
| Softly tell her not to fear | |
| Such calm favonian burial! | |
| Go, pretty page! and soothly tell, | |
| The blossoms hang by a melting spell, | |
| And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice | |
| Upon her closed eyes, | |
| That now in vain are weeping their last tears, | |
| At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green, | |
| Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres, | |
| Alas! poor Queen! | |
| </itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:34</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>15</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Faery Songs - John Keats read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6caebbea160c0c8283cf76/1584180982691/Epigraphy+15+Faery+Songs+-+John+Keats+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3848003" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6caebbea160c0c8283cf76/1584180982691/Epigraphy+15+Faery+Songs+-+John+Keats+read+by+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3848003" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Faery Songs - John Keats read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title> Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell - Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 14 Mar 2020 20:05:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode-8p22f</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e6cac65186dd45936472659</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">When I was young and had no sense</p><p class="">In far-off Mandalay</p><p class="">I lost my heart to a Burmese girl</p><p class="">As lovely as the day.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Her skin was gold, her hair was jet,</p><p class="">Her teeth were ivory;</p><p class="">I said, 'for twenty silver pieces,</p><p class="">Maiden, sleep with me'.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">She looked at me, so pure, so sad,</p><p class="">The loveliest thing alive,</p><p class="">And in her lisping, virgin voice,</p><p class="">Stood out for twenty-five.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary> When I was young and had no sense | |
| In far-off Mandalay | |
| I lost my heart to a Burmese girl | |
| As lovely as the day. | |
| Her skin was gold, her hair was jet, | |
| Her teeth were ivory; | |
| I said, 'for twenty silver pieces, | |
| Maiden, sleep with me'. | |
| She looked at me, so pure, so sad, | |
| The loveliest thing alive, | |
| And in her lisping, virgin voice, | |
| Stood out for twenty-five.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>12</itunes:episode><itunes:title> Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell - Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cacc421ba4c5543023308/1584180446501/Epigraphy+12+Ironic+Poem+About+Prostitution+-+George+Orwell+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="1992027" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e6cacc421ba4c5543023308/1584180446501/Epigraphy+12+Ironic+Poem+About+Prostitution+-+George+Orwell+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="1992027" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain"> Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell - Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Four Ages of Man - William Butler Yeats, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 08 Mar 2020 19:00:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode11</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3fae062ed8a65672374998</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Four Ages Of Man</p><p class="">By William Butler Yeats</p><p class=""><br>He with body waged a fight,</p><p class="">But body won; it walks upright.</p><p class="">Then he struggled with the heart;</p><p class="">Innocence and peace depart.</p><p class="">Then he struggled with the mind;</p><p class="">His proud heart he left behind.</p><p class="">Now his wars on God begin;</p><p class=""></p><p class="">At stroke of midnight God shall win.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Four Ages Of Man | |
| By William Butler Yeats | |
| He with body waged a fight, | |
| But body won; it walks upright. | |
| Then he struggled with the heart; | |
| Innocence and peace depart. | |
| Then he struggled with the mind; | |
| His proud heart he left behind. | |
| Now his wars on God begin; | |
| At stroke of midnight God shall win.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:10</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>11</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Four Ages of Man - William Butler Yeats, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fae48ced26d7c65d99115/1581231711710/Epigraphy+11+The+Four+Ages+of+Man+-+William+Butler+Yeats+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2280622" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fae48ced26d7c65d99115/1581231711710/Epigraphy+11+The+Four+Ages+of+Man+-+William+Butler+Yeats+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2280622" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Four Ages of Man - William Butler Yeats, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Water - Henry Lawson, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 05 Mar 2020 18:57:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode10</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3fad462c3202581328dc98</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Water</p><p class="">By Henry Lawson</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Let others make the songs of love</p><p class="">For our young struggling nation;</p><p class="">But I will sing while e'er I live</p><p class="">The Songs of Irrigation;</p><p class="">For while the white man shall beget</p><p class="">The white man's son and daughter,</p><p class="">The two most precious things for us</p><p class="">Shall still be wheat and water.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">We've been drought-ruined in the West,</p><p class="">And ever in my dreaming</p><p class="">I see wide miles of waving crops</p><p class="">And sheets of water gleaming,</p><p class="">On plains where fortune died of thirst</p><p class="">When my brave father sought her,</p><p class="">I see the painted barges pass</p><p class="">Along the winding water.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And now the glorious scheme's afoot,</p><p class="">Our country to deliver</p><p class="">From drought and death on blazing waste,</p><p class="">By long neglected river.</p><p class="">You'll see the boodlers of the world</p><p class="">Rush in from every quarter:</p><p class="">They want the land,, the gold-reefed sand,</p><p class="">And now they'll want the water.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Bright intellects will plan the dykes,</p><p class="">With little gold to gild them,</p><p class="">Bright intellects will plan the dykes,</p><p class="">The people pay to build them;</p><p class="">And when we've made our long canals,</p><p class="">And lakes in every quarter,</p><p class="">Then ours would be the 'guarantee',</p><p class="">The Trust would own the water.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">They'd hold the bores and aqueducts,</p><p class="">The water-ways and barges,</p><p class="">And we would live, or we would starve</p><p class="">According to their charges;</p><p class="">From all the Edens in the West</p><p class="">They'd bar our sons and daughters,</p><p class="">They'd hold the land, ten leagues or so,</p><p class="">Each side the rippling waters.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">But those who fight to hold their own,</p><p class="">The Lord and time delivers;</p><p class="">As we have held our railway lines,</p><p class="">So we shall hold our rivers.</p><p class="">We'll find the money, as was found</p><p class="">The money spent in slaughter,</p><p class="">To build our dykes and build our dams,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And we shall own the water</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Water | |
| By Henry Lawson | |
| Let others make the songs of love | |
| For our young struggling nation; | |
| But I will sing while e'er I live | |
| The Songs of Irrigation; | |
| For while the white man shall beget | |
| The white man's son and daughter, | |
| The two most precious things for us | |
| Shall still be wheat and water.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:14</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>10</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Water - Henry Lawson, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fad95f875f52b56739121/1581231545174/Epigraphy+10+The+Water+-+Henry+Lawson+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3435717" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fad95f875f52b56739121/1581231545174/Epigraphy+10+The+Water+-+Henry+Lawson+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="3435717" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Water - Henry Lawson, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Reaper and the Flowers - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 02 Mar 2020 18:54:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode9</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3faca4e14ad269a8f53594</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Reaper and the Flowers</p><p class="">by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</p><p class=""></p><p class="">There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,</p><p class="">And, with his sickle keen,</p><p class="">He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,</p><p class="">And the flowers that grow between.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he;</p><p class="">"Have naught but the bearded grain?</p><p class="">Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,</p><p class="">I will give them all back again."</p><p class=""></p><p class="">He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,</p><p class="">He kissed their drooping leaves;</p><p class="">It was for the Lord of Paradise</p><p class="">He bound them in his sheaves.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"</p><p class="">The Reaper said, and smiled;</p><p class="">"Dear tokens of the earth are they,</p><p class="">Where he was once a child.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">"They shall all bloom in fields of light,</p><p class="">Transplanted by my care,</p><p class="">And saints, upon their garments white,</p><p class="">These sacred blossoms wear."</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And the mother gave, in tears and pain,</p><p class="">The flowers she most did love;</p><p class="">She knew she should find them all again</p><p class="">In the fields of light above.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,</p><p class="">The Reaper came that day;</p><p class="">'Twas an angel visited the green earth,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And took the flowers away.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Reaper and the Flowers | |
| by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |
| There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, | |
| And, with his sickle keen, | |
| He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, | |
| And the flowers that grow between.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>3:19</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>9</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Reaper and the Flowers - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3facde2ed8a65672373734/1581231357609/Epigraphy+9+The+Reaper+and+the+Flowers+-+Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2982098" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3facde2ed8a65672373734/1581231357609/Epigraphy+9+The+Reaper+and+the+Flowers+-+Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2982098" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Reaper and the Flowers - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>A Ballad Of John Silver - John Masefield read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 27 Feb 2020 18:48:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode-l7wzz</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3fab582ed8a65672371578</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">A Ballad Of John Silver</p><p class="">By John Masefield</p><p class=""></p><p class="">We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull,</p><p class="">And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones and the skull;</p><p class="">We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,</p><p class="">And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship,</p><p class="">We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip;</p><p class="">It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,</p><p class="">But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains,</p><p class="">And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with other people's brains,</p><p class="">She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank,</p><p class="">And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop)</p><p class="">We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken-coop;</p><p class="">Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little else to do</p><p class="">Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O! the fiddle on the fo'c's'le, and the slapping naked soles,</p><p class="">And the genial "Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!"</p><p class="">With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead,</p><p class="">And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played,</p><p class="">All have since been put a stop-to by the naughty Board of Trade;</p><p class="">The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">A little south the sunset in the Islands of the Blest.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>A Ballad Of John Silver | |
| By John Masefield | |
| We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull, | |
| And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones and the skull; | |
| We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore, | |
| And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:03</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>8</itunes:episode><itunes:title>A Ballad Of John Silver - John Masefield read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fac0ec0b9914844174e03/1581231161534/Epigraphy+8+A+Ballad+Of+John+Silver+-+John+Masefield+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4237014" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fac0ec0b9914844174e03/1581231161534/Epigraphy+8+A+Ballad+Of+John+Silver+-+John+Masefield+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4237014" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">A Ballad Of John Silver - John Masefield read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening - Robert E Frost, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 24 Feb 2020 18:43:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode7</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3faa2a120d25193d5f6367</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening</p><p class="">By Robert Lee Frost</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Whose woods these are I think I know.</p><p class="">His house is in the village, though;</p><p class="">He will not see me stopping here</p><p class="">To watch his woods fill up with snow.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">My little horse must think it's queer</p><p class="">To stop without a farmhouse near</p><p class="">Between the woods and frozen lake</p><p class="">The darkest evening of the year.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">He gives his harness bells a shake</p><p class="">To ask if there's some mistake.</p><p class="">The only other sound's the sweep</p><p class="">Of easy wind and downy flake.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,</p><p class="">But I have promises to keep,</p><p class="">And miles to go before I sleep,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">And miles to go before I sleep.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening | |
| By Robert Lee Frost | |
| Whose woods these are I think I know. | |
| His house is in the village, though; | |
| He will not see me stopping here | |
| To watch his woods fill up with snow.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:47</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>7</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening - Robert E Frost, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3faadcced26d7c65d93d3e/1581230838072/Epigraphy+7+Stopping+By+Woods+On+A+Snowy+Evening+-+Robert+E+Frost+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2453900" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3faadcced26d7c65d93d3e/1581230838072/Epigraphy+7+Stopping+By+Woods+On+A+Snowy+Evening+-+Robert+E+Frost+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="2453900" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening - Robert E Frost, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Ulysses - Alfred Lord Tennyson, read by Matthew Butler</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 21 Feb 2020 18:37:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode6</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3fa8beced26d7c65d9010f</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Ulysses</p><p class="">by Alfred Lord Tennyson</p><p class=""></p><p class="">It little profits that an idle king,</p><p class="">By this still hearth, among these barren crags,</p><p class="">Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole</p><p class="">Unequal laws unto a savage race,</p><p class="">That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.</p><p class="">I cannot rest from travel: I will drink</p><p class="">Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd</p><p class="">Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those</p><p class="">That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when</p><p class="">Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades</p><p class="">Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;</p><p class="">For always roaming with a hungry heart</p><p class="">Much have I seen and known; cities of men</p><p class="">And manners, climates, councils, governments,</p><p class="">Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;</p><p class="">And drunk delight of battle with my peers,</p><p class="">Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.</p><p class="">I am a part of all that I have met;</p><p class="">Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'</p><p class="">Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades</p><p class="">For ever and forever when I move.</p><p class="">How dull it is to pause, to make an end,</p><p class="">To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!</p><p class="">As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life</p><p class="">Were all too little, and of one to me</p><p class="">Little remains: but every hour is saved</p><p class="">From that eternal silence, something more,</p><p class="">A bringer of new things; and vile it were</p><p class="">For some three suns to store and hoard myself,</p><p class="">And this gray spirit yearning in desire</p><p class="">To follow knowledge like a sinking star,</p><p class="">Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">This is my son, mine own Telemachus,</p><p class="">To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—</p><p class="">Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil</p><p class="">This labour, by slow prudence to make mild</p><p class="">A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees</p><p class="">Subdue them to the useful and the good.</p><p class="">Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere</p><p class="">Of common duties, decent not to fail</p><p class="">In offices of tenderness, and pay</p><p class="">Meet adoration to my household gods,</p><p class="">When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:</p><p class="">There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,</p><p class="">Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—</p><p class="">That ever with a frolic welcome took</p><p class="">The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed</p><p class="">Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;</p><p class="">Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;</p><p class="">Death closes all: but something ere the end,</p><p class="">Some work of noble note, may yet be done,</p><p class="">Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.</p><p class="">The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:</p><p class="">The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep</p><p class="">Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,</p><p class="">'T is not too late to seek a newer world.</p><p class="">Push off, and sitting well in order smite</p><p class="">The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds</p><p class="">To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths</p><p class="">Of all the western stars, until I die.</p><p class="">It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:</p><p class="">It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,</p><p class="">And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.</p><p class="">Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'</p><p class="">We are not now that strength which in old days</p><p class="">Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;</p><p class="">One equal temper of heroic hearts,</p><p class="">Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will</p><p class="">To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Ulysses | |
| by Alfred Lord Tennyson | |
| It little profits that an idle king, | |
| By this still hearth, among these barren crags, | |
| Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole | |
| Unequal laws unto a savage race, | |
| That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. | |
| I cannot rest from travel: I will drink | |
| Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd | |
| Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those | |
| That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when | |
| Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades | |
| Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; | |
| For always roaming with a hungry heart</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>6:03</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>6</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Ulysses - Alfred Lord Tennyson, read by Matthew Butler</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fa956ff19c47890088d19/1581230504651/Epigraphy+6+Ulysses+-+Alfred+Lord+Tennyson+-+Matthew+Butler.mp3" length="7945766" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3fa956ff19c47890088d19/1581230504651/Epigraphy+6+Ulysses+-+Alfred+Lord+Tennyson+-+Matthew+Butler.mp3" length="7945766" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Ulysses - Alfred Lord Tennyson, read by Matthew Butler</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Dulce et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen, read by Alex Smith</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 18 Feb 2020 20:44:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode5</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3e209fea5b4947231c7ac0</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Dulce et Decorum Est</p><p class="">by Wilfred Owen</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,</p><p class="">Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,</p><p class="">Till on the haunting flares, we turned our backs,</p><p class="">And towards our distant rest began to trudge.</p><p class="">Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,</p><p class="">But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;</p><p class="">Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots</p><p class="">Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling</p><p class="">Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,</p><p class="">But someone still was yelling out and stumbling</p><p class="">And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—</p><p class="">Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,</p><p class="">As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.</p><p class="">In all my dreams before my helpless sight,</p><p class="">He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.</p><p class="">If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace</p><p class="">Behind the wagon that we flung him in,</p><p class="">And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,</p><p class="">His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;</p><p class="">If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood</p><p class="">Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,</p><p class="">Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud</p><p class="">Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—</p><p class="">My friend, you would not tell with such high zest</p><p class="">To children ardent for some desperate glory,</p><p class="">The old Lie: <em>Dulce et decorum est</em></p><p class=""><em>Pro patria mori.</em></p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Dulce et Decorum Est | |
| by Wilfred Owen | |
| Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, | |
| Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, | |
| Till on the haunting flares, we turned our backs, | |
| And towards our distant rest began to trudge. | |
| Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, | |
| But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; | |
| Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots | |
| Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>5:06</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>5</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Dulce et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen, read by Alex Smith</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3e211d2e50ae04a9668da9/1581130067843/Epigraphy+5+Dulce+et+Decorum+Est+-+Wilfred+Owen+-+Alex+Smith.mp3" length="5263758" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3e211d2e50ae04a9668da9/1581130067843/Epigraphy+5+Dulce+et+Decorum+Est+-+Wilfred+Owen+-+Alex+Smith.mp3" length="5263758" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Dulce et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen, read by Alex Smith</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Clancy of the Overflow - Banjo Patterson, read by Dom Guilfoyle</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 15 Feb 2020 19:32:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode4</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3e1da2ea5b4947231bf625</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Clancy Of The Overflow</p><p class="">By Banjo Paterson</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better<br>Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,<br>He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,<br>Just `on spec', addressed as follows, `Clancy, of The Overflow'.</p><p class="">And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,<br>(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)<br>'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:<br>`Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are.'</p><p class="">In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy<br>Gone a-droving `down the Cooper' where the Western drovers go;<br>As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,<br>For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.</p><p class="">And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him<br>In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,<br>And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,<br>And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.</p><p class="">I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy<br>Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,<br>And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city<br>Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all</p><p class="">And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle<br>Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry down the street,<br>And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,<br>Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.</p><p class="">And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me<br>As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,<br>With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,<br>For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.</p><p class="">And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,<br>Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,<br>While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --<br>But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of `The Overflow'.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Clancy Of The Overflow | |
| By Banjo Paterson | |
| I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better | |
| Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, | |
| He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, | |
| Just `on spec', addressed as follows, `Clancy, of The Overflow'.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:05</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>4</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Clancy of the Overflow - Banjo Patterson, read by Dom Guilfoyle</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3e1f2bced26d7c65a11b72/1581129561286/Epigraphy+4+Clancy+of+the+Overflow+-+Banjo+Patterson+-+Dom+Guilfoyle.mp3" length="4371797" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3e1f2bced26d7c65a11b72/1581129561286/Epigraphy+4+Clancy+of+the+Overflow+-+Banjo+Patterson+-+Dom+Guilfoyle.mp3" length="4371797" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Clancy of the Overflow - Banjo Patterson, read by Dom Guilfoyle</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes, read by Alex Smith</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 12 Feb 2020 20:02:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode3</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3d6deb5749b2699ac42614</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes</p><p class=""></p><p class="">PART ONE</p><p class="">The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.</p><p class="">The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.</p><p class="">The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,</p><p class="">And the highwayman came riding—</p><p class="">Riding—riding—</p><p class="">The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.</p><p class="">He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,</p><p class="">A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.</p><p class="">They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.</p><p class="">And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,</p><p class="">His pistol butts a-twinkle,</p><p class="">His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.</p><p class="">Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.</p><p class="">He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.</p><p class="">He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there</p><p class="">But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,</p><p class="">Bess, the landlord’s daughter,</p><p class="">Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.</p><p class="">And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked</p><p class="">Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.</p><p class="">His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,</p><p class="">But he loved the landlord’s daughter,</p><p class="">The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.</p><p class="">Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—</p><p class="">“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,</p><p class="">But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;</p><p class="">Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,</p><p class="">Then look for me by moonlight,</p><p class="">Watch for me by moonlight,</p><p class="">I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”</p><p class="">He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,</p><p class="">But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand</p><p class="">As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;</p><p class="">And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,</p><p class="">(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)</p><p class="">Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.</p><p class="">PART TWO</p><p class="">He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;</p><p class="">And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,</p><p class="">When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,</p><p class="">A red-coat troop came marching—</p><p class="">Marching—marching—</p><p class="">King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.</p><p class="">They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.</p><p class="">But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.</p><p class="">Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!</p><p class="">There was death at every window;</p><p class="">And hell at one dark window;</p><p class="">For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that <em>he</em> would ride.</p><p class="">They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.</p><p class="">They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!</p><p class="">“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—</p><p class=""><em>Look for me by moonlight;</em></p><p class=""><em>Watch for me by moonlight;</em></p><p class=""><em>I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!</em></p><p class="">She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!</p><p class="">She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!</p><p class="">They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years</p><p class="">Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,</p><p class="">Cold, on the stroke of midnight,</p><p class="">The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!</p><p class="">The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.</p><p class="">Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.</p><p class="">She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;</p><p class="">For the road lay bare in the moonlight;</p><p class="">Blank and bare in the moonlight;</p><p class="">And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.</p><p class=""><em>Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot!</em> Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;</p><p class=""><em>Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot,</em> in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?</p><p class="">Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,</p><p class="">The highwayman came riding—</p><p class="">Riding—riding—</p><p class="">The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.</p><p class=""><em>Tlot-tlot</em>, in the frosty silence! <em>Tlot-tlot</em>, in the echoing night!</p><p class="">Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.</p><p class="">Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,</p><p class="">Then her finger moved in the moonlight,</p><p class="">Her musket shattered the moonlight,</p><p class="">Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.</p><p class="">He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood</p><p class="">Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!</p><p class="">Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear</p><p class="">How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,</p><p class="">The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,</p><p class="">Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.</p><p class="">Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,</p><p class="">With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.</p><p class="">Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;</p><p class="">When they shot him down on the highway,</p><p class="">Down like a dog on the highway,</p><p class="">And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.</p><p class="">. . .</p><p class=""><em>And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,</em></p><p class=""><em>When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,</em></p><p class=""><em>When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,</em></p><p class=""><em>A highwayman comes riding—</em></p><p class=""><em>Riding—riding—</em></p><p class=""><em>A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.</em></p><p class=""><em>Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.</em></p><p class=""><em>He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.</em></p><p class=""><em>He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there</em></p><p class=""><em>But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,</em></p><p class=""><em>Bess, the landlord’s daughter,</em></p><p class=""><em>Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.</em></p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes | |
| PART ONE | |
| The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. | |
| The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. | |
| The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, | |
| And the highwayman came riding—</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>11:11</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>3</itunes:episode><itunes:title>The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes, read by Alex Smith</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d6e53e0249a0c2eb15214/1581084373955/Epigraphy+3+The+Highwayman+-+Alfred+Noyes+-+Alex+Smith.mp3" length="11627575" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d6e53e0249a0c2eb15214/1581084373955/Epigraphy+3+The+Highwayman+-+Alfred+Noyes+-+Alex+Smith.mp3" length="11627575" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes, read by Alex Smith</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 11 Feb 2020 19:03:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode12</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3faeab4b6b8940ee987fcd</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Ironic Poem About Prostitution</p><p class="">By George Orwell (Eric Arthur Blair)</p><p class=""></p><p class="">When I was young and had no sense</p><p class="">In far-off Mandalay</p><p class="">I lost my heart to a Burmese girl</p><p class="">As lovely as the day.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Her skin was gold, her hair was jet,</p><p class="">Her teeth were ivory;</p><p class="">I said, 'for twenty silver pieces,</p><p class="">Maiden, sleep with me'.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">She looked at me, so pure, so sad,</p><p class="">The loveliest thing alive,</p><p class="">And in her lisping, virgin voice,</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Stood out for twenty-five.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Ironic Poem About Prostitution | |
| By George Orwell (Eric Arthur Blair) | |
| When I was young and had no sense | |
| In far-off Mandalay | |
| I lost my heart to a Burmese girl | |
| As lovely as the day.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>1:56</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>12</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3faede4b6b8940ee9886c0/1581231858821/Epigraphy+12+Ironic+Poem+About+Prostitution+-+George+Orwell+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="1992027" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3faede4b6b8940ee9886c0/1581231858821/Epigraphy+12+Ironic+Poem+About+Prostitution+-+George+Orwell+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="1992027" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Ironic Poem About Prostitution - George Orwell, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe Shelley, read by Dom Guilfoyle</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 09 Feb 2020 20:54:00 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode2</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3d6c23b5004465df218f94</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley</p><p class=""></p><p class="">I met a traveler from an antique land,</p><p class="">Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone</p><p class="">Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,</p><p class="">Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,</p><p class="">And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,</p><p class="">Tell that its sculptor well those passions read</p><p class="">Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,</p><p class="">The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;</p><p class="">And on the pedestal, these words appear:</p><p class="">My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;</p><p class="">Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!</p><p class="">Nothing beside remains. Round the decay</p><p class="">Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare</p><p class="">The lone and level sands stretch far away.”</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |
| I met a traveler from an antique land, | |
| Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone | |
| Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, | |
| Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, | |
| And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, | |
| Tell that its sculptor well those passions read</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>2:46</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058436404-1FSDORNQHF1Y6U73FRNB/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>2</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe Shelley, read by Dom Guilfoyle</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d6d11b5004465df21c16b/1581083951019/Epigraphy+2+Ozymandias+-+Percy+Bysshe+Shelley+-+Dom+Guilfoyle.mp3" length="2755996" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d6d11b5004465df21c16b/1581083951019/Epigraphy+2+Ozymandias+-+Percy+Bysshe+Shelley+-+Dom+Guilfoyle.mp3" length="2755996" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe Shelley, read by Dom Guilfoyle</media:title></media:content></item><item><title>Despair - HP Lovecraft, read by Zane C Weber</title><category>Poetry</category><category>Classic</category><dc:creator>Zane C Weber</dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 07 Feb 2020 06:51:06 +0000</pubDate><link>https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphypodcast/episode1</link><guid isPermaLink="false">55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855:5e3cf9575c32ef6815077d55:5e3d074c78d4b559c0530286</guid><description><![CDATA[<p class="">Despair</p><p class="">By H. P. Lovecraft</p><p class=""></p><p class="">O’er the midnight moorlands crying,</p><p class="">Thro’ the cypress forests sighing,</p><p class="">In the night-wind madly flying,</p><p class="">Hellish forms with streaming hair;</p><p class="">In the barren branches creaking,</p><p class="">By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,</p><p class="">Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking;</p><p class="">Damn’d daemons of despair.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Once, I think I half remember,</p><p class="">Ere the grey skies of November</p><p class="">Quench’d my youth’s aspiring ember,</p><p class="">Liv’d there such a thing as bliss;</p><p class="">Skies that now are dark were beaming,</p><p class="">Gold and azure, splendid seeming</p><p class="">Till I learn’d it all was dreaming—</p><p class="">Deadly drowsiness of Dis.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">But the stream of Time, swift flowing,</p><p class="">Brings the torment of half-knowing—</p><p class="">Dimly rushing, blindly going</p><p class="">Past the never-trodden lea;</p><p class="">And the voyager, repining,</p><p class="">Sees the wicked death-fires shining,</p><p class="">Hears the wicked petrel’s whining</p><p class="">As he helpless drifts to sea.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Evil wings in ether beating;</p><p class="">Vultures at the spirit eating;</p><p class="">Things unseen forever fleeting</p><p class="">Black against the leering sky.</p><p class="">Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,</p><p class="">Clawing fiends of future sadness,</p><p class="">Mingle in a cloud of madness</p><p class="">Ever on the soul to lie.</p><p class=""></p><p class="">Thus the living, lone and sobbing,</p><p class="">In the throes of anguish throbbing,</p><p class="">With the loathsome Furies robbing</p><p class="">Night and noon of peace and rest.</p><p class="">But beyond the groans and grating</p><p class="">Of abhorrent Life, is waiting</p><p class="">Sweet Oblivion, culminating</p><p class=""></p><p class="">All the years of fruitless quest.</p><p class=""><a href="https://thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy" target="_blank"><strong>Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy</strong></a></p><p class=""><strong>Subscribe to us on</strong><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/glass-of-whine/id1434970940" target="_blank"><strong> ITUNES</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=229046&refid=stpr" target="_blank"><strong>STITCHER</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/197nZ8UzMc0FM4e5rRYOqG?si=B5W6Moj-QYK1IMoS7c0JOg" target="_blank"><strong>SPOTIFY</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://radiopublic.com/castology-6nB101" target="_blank"><strong>RADIOPUBLIC</strong></a><strong> or your </strong><a href="https://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/castologypodcast?format=rss" target="_blank"><strong>podcatcher of choice</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p><p class=""><strong>Find us on </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>FACEBOOK</strong></a><strong>, </strong><a href="https://twitter.com/castology" target="_blank"><strong>TWITTER </strong></a><strong>or </strong><a href="https://www.instagram.com/castologypodcast" target="_blank"><strong>INSTAGRAM</strong></a><strong>.</strong></p>]]></description><itunes:author>Epigraphy - TNC</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>A Poetry Reading</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary>Despair | |
| By H. P. Lovecraft | |
| O’er the midnight moorlands crying, | |
| Thro’ the cypress forests sighing, | |
| In the night-wind madly flying, | |
| Hellish forms with streaming hair; | |
| In the barren branches creaking, | |
| By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking, | |
| Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking; | |
| Damn’d daemons of despair.</itunes:summary><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:duration>4:04</itunes:duration><itunes:image href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/1581058100479-FL99EQ27J6OCDHONMAXR/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kNiEM88mrzHRsd1mQ3bxVct7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0topjEaZcWjtmMYdCWL4dkGbxs35J-ZjFa9s1e3LsxrX8g4qcOj2k2AL08mW_Htcgg/Epigraphy+LOGO.png"/><itunes:season>1</itunes:season><itunes:episode>1</itunes:episode><itunes:title>Despair - HP Lovecraft, read by Zane C Weber</itunes:title><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType><enclosure url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d086ee62dd45bf38d568e/1581058204388/Epigraphy+1+Despair+-+HP+Lovecraft+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4158211" type="audio/mpeg"/><media:content url="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55ab7c5fe4b069b20edfa855/t/5e3d086ee62dd45bf38d568e/1581058204388/Epigraphy+1+Despair+-+HP+Lovecraft+-+Zane+C+Weber.mp3" length="4158211" type="audio/mpeg" isDefault="true" medium="audio"><media:title type="plain">Despair - HP Lovecraft, read by Zane C Weber</media:title></media:content></item></channel></rss> |
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