Shiloh - a clock from the clutter? Girl-on-swing pendulum?

Do you have better pictures of this clock? I have no info - just curious.

 

I think a number of companies made them.
Here is one from Sessions . . .
http://www.liveauctioneers.com/item/6752098

Here is another (scroll way down) by Mastercrafters . . .
http://www.roger-russell.com/mastrpg/mastrpg.htm

 

The original was by Farcot, a French Maker, mid 19th C, and the swing moved back and forth to act as the pendulum.

Here is an alabaster on in the corner of my clutter.




The little pot beside it I made in pottery class, over 50 years ago. It's still pretty crummy.

Just read the Mastercrafters link and they mantion the Farcot clock.

 

It's a clever idea.

Af: that is a Farcot mechanical clock you have there? It looks the same as the one shown in the Mastercrafters link.

 

Yes, the original Farcot. They were noted for rather unusual clocks.

 

It's nice.

 

Thanks Messi for the links
Yes Bob, its a common ole Mastercrafters.

Afs clocks are so wonderful they blow all mine into the weeds.

 

Af's clocks are so wonderful they blow all mine into the weeds

Sorry about that, I really don't try to do clock one-up-manship

 

Af,I LOVE your clock pics PLEASE share more. What is so funny is I LOVE clocks,timepieces,etc. yet I am ALWAYS late.

 

I have in my bookcase a special shelf full of old poetry books. I know most men shudder at the thought of reading poems...but....its mostly men who write them Anyway, this one poem I have just got to me the first time I read it...I love the "first person point of view"

Said the Rose
I am weary of the Garden,
Said the Rose;
For the winter winds are sighing,
All my playmates round me dying,
And my leaves will soon be lying
'Neath the snows.

But I hear my Mistress coming,
Said the Rose;
She will take me to her chamber,
Where the honeysuckles clamber,
And I'll bloom there all December
Spite the snows.

Sweeter fell her lily finger
Than the bee!
Ah, how feebly I resisted,
Smoothed my thorns, and e'en assisted
As all blushing I was twisted
Off my tree.

And she fixed me in her bosom
Like a star;
And I flashed there all the morning,
Jasmin, honeysuckle scorning
Parasites forever fawning
That they are.

And when evening came she set me
In a vase
All of rare and radiant metal,
And I felt her red lips settle
On my leaves til each proud petal
Touched her face.

And I shone about her slumbers
Like a light
And, I said, instead of weeping,
In the garden vigil keeping,
Here I'll watch my Mistress sleeping
Every night.

But when morning with its sunbeams
Softly shone,
In the mirror where she braided
Her brown hair I saw how jaded,
Old and colorless and faded,
I had grown.

Not a drop of dew was on me,
Never one;
From my leaves no odors started,
All my perfume had departed,
I lay pale and broken-hearted
In the sun.

Still I said, her smile is better
Than the rain;
Though my fragrance may forsake me,
To her bosom she will take me,
And with crimson kisses make me
Young again.

So she took me . . . gazed a second . . .
Half a sigh . . .
Then, alas, can hearts so harden?
Without ever asking pardon,
Threw me back into the garden,
There to die.

How the jealous garden gloried
In my fall!
How the honeysuckle chid me,
How the sneering jasmins bid me
Light the long gray grass that hid me
Like a pall.

There I lay beneath her window
In a swoon,
Till the earthworm o'er me trailing
Woke me just at twilight's failing,
As the whip-poor-will was wailing
To the moon

But I hear the storm-winds stirring
In their lair;
And I know they soon will lift me
In their giant arms and sift me
Into ashes as they drift me
Through the air.

So I pray them in their mercy
Just to take
From my heart of hearts, or near it,
The last living leaf, and bear it
To her feet, and bid her wear it
For my sake.
--George H. Miles

 

One of my favorite poems is a bit 'rougher' than that.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

Here is another one

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

 

OK,last poem,another fave.

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

 

I started a poem thread to see if anyone else has favourites they wish to share.

 

you read my mind Cool.

 

For Shiloh - can't resist a poem we used to say in Jr. High.

I sneezed a sneeze into the air
Where it fell, I know not where
But looks were hard and cold from those
In whose vicinity in which I snooze

 

Bev

 

Juvenile humor. We thought it was hysterical in 7th grade.

 

"In Flanders Fields" always seemed to me to be a very moving and evocative poem. So much so, that many many years after I first learned it, I saw a picture of the real thing and recognized it instantly.
Having had rather a surfeit of poetry in college, I have come to be rather cavalier about the genre. One of my favorite experiences was when Robert Frost came to speak -- and the first thing he said was to us English majors. "You know my poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening?"

We all nodded vigorously (having analysed it to death -- in my case, in TWO different classes in the SAME semester).

"You know what it's about?" he said.

Oh God! Is he going to ASK us??

"It's about stopping in the woods on a snowy evening. And that's all."

DEAR Man!

So I offer up some of my faves:

Would you like to sin with Elinor Glyn on a lion skin?
Or would you prefer
To err with her
On some other fur?

Or, one I try often to use:

When called by a panther,
Don't anther.

And,

The other day upon the stair,
I saw a man who wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today.
I wish that man would go away.