trippy

Happy Australia Day!

It froze here yesterday (Sunday...it's technically Monday right now), so the University has a two-hour delay on classes. My first class isn't until 3 hours after school normally starts, so it doesn't affect me. I didn't really want school to be cancelled, though, so while I'm sad that it "was", I'm happy that it doesn't affect me at all.

<update>
School was actually all cancelled today. My roommate told me right after I got off the phone with Nathalie, so I just went back to sleep. As much as I don't like it, It's still really pretty outside. I'm going out now to take some pictures, so maybe I'll try to post some later.
</update>

I have to explicate the following poem by John Keats by Thursday. We were given a choice of a few poems, and I picked this because it's called "Ode to Melancholy" ("[...]." ?). It can't be a bad poem with a title like that, right? I haven't really read it yet, but it should be fun. Plus, three pages double-spaced can't be that hard.

"Ode to Melancholy" by John Keats

1.

NO, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

2.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

3.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.