Mary Cassatt - Tea, Chopin - Variations on a German Theme, William Wordworth - A Night Piece

I am contemplating spending more time on each artist, musician and poet - perhaps 12 weeks, changing them all at once and recommending books for biographical research throughout.  It seems we are just getting used to one when it is time to change and I don't feel that my children are really getting in touch with them, just having a passing taste.  I'm hoping to do a little more with reading biographies of some of them aloud together.  Any other suggestions for improving this blog would be welcome at this time.  I liked a reader's helpful suggestion that we switch with the seasons as this would work with a variety of school schedules. 

Tea by Mary Cassatt

 As we have noted before - Mary Cassatt treated people in a somewhat irreverent manner - here she puts the cup in front of this lady's face - hiding all but her eyes.  The subject is an intimate one - close friends together over tea, but she handles it with a notable personal disinterest or disconnection.  Neither of the people looks at us or at each other - in fact we're not sure who or what they are looking at. Perhaps she just wants to leave us guessing  It is a relaxed moment - perhaps they have another friend across the table or maybe they are just deep in thought?  What do you think?

Another fine piano piece by Frederic Chopin - Variations on a German Theme.  
This piece is much happier than last week's sad piece....
Here is a link to a couple of paragraphs describing the writing of this piece of music.  Chopin was young - only 16 when he wrote it.  Variations on a theme take a basic melody and write it up with different flavors or styles.  See if you can trace the basic melody through it's various themes.  Which part do you like best?

Another beautiful poem by William Wordsworth - I love his vivid portrayals of nature and rich vocabulary.

                   A Night-Piece
The sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground--from rock, plant, tree, or tower.
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards, he looks up--the clouds are split
Asunder,--and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!--the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent,--still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.