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This is where my thoughts pool as a reservoir of miscellany and peculiarity. It's actually not my brain that's dripping -- it's my soul that's leaking. It's really no big deal.
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Volume of Looking (poems)
Endymion (John Keats)
ReplyDeleteA thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
I'm not sure why, but this was the poem that kept popping into my head today while thinking of your writing.
PS Lovely piece of music. Wishing you healing, and am sympathetic in regards to all of the shocks your body must be recovering from.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
ReplyDeleteWhat a scary passage Tim. No clue how I ended up here.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to hear from you, Wrexie.
ReplyDeleteTim!
ReplyDeleteWishing you a speedy and complete recovery!
Hey, Matt. Thank you very much!
Delete