| Poem for Monday |
[Feb. 9th, 2004|11:49 am] |
Ask Me No More
By Thomas Carew
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me nor more where those stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixéd become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
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How in hell did it get to be almost noon, when I have accomplished exactly nothing this morning, not even getting caught up on the things I was supposed to have accomplished over the weekend? Not even reading stuff for fun? Not even gossipping? I haven't even had AIM turned on! |
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