02.07.01 - 12:16:39

You could go see why I was grumpy this morning, by reading the ten reasons i'm bitchy today if you're a real masochist.

Or you could read this bit of Endymion by Keats.

from "Endymion," by John Keats.

A 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 of our searching; yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

because Sir Thomas Moore was born today, and beheaded by King Henry. And Charles Dickens, too. And because, when I read that, above, I smiled, and remembered my resolution. and because the sky is weaving away from me, and in the distance the river is a flat, brown-blue, and the hills are gray blue, misty-ed, and the sun slants across our winter town with some promise of warmth.

and there are green things growing upon my ledge, and a heart full of silver in my breast.