Author: TRADESOFT (212.98.161.---)
Date: 01-16-06 04:49
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It's true hard work never killed anybody, but I figure, why take the
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
The most important thing for poets to do is to write as little as possible.
T. S. EliotSometimes a scream is better than a thesis. --Ralph Waldo Emerson