Thursday, July 12, 2007


Hyperion Book 1st

Deep in the shady sadness of a Vale,
Far sunken from the healthy breath of Morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and Eve's one star,
Sat grey hair'd Saturn quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his Lair.
Forest on forest hung above his head,
Like Cloud on Cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not at all the dandelion's fleece:
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.


*ItkUpiLLi* said...

I love Keats, John Keats.... Shaken, not Stirred...

And so live ever—or else swoon to death...:)

Rob said...

LOL, shaken , not stirred. GOOD1.
i lerve martinis, love is not a good enough word to describe it, i LERVE IT.