eviltigerlily

It is not a good idea to read Oliver Twist and The Merchant of Venice at the same time.

Seven novels are rather a lot for one course. Also Dickens writes rather long novels.

Religious poetry is seriously screwed up. Very beautiful poetentially, but screwed up.

The easiet text I have to read is in Latin.

And now it's raining. On the plus side - new Gallifrey!

So the first thing they did on the course is give us an exam. I don't think I did very well on the mathematics section. I only answered 11 questions out of 25. The annoying thing is I'm good with math, but in order to answer questions I need to actually think about the solution, and with 25 minutes for 25 questions there just isn't time. Still, I'm not too worried. They will teach us how to solve mathematical problems without thinking too much. I am the only one who thinks that's daft? Anyway, it's just for one test.

And now for something completly different....
Here's a lovely expert:

For our high Gods have sick and wearied grown
Of all our endless sins, our vain endeavour
For wasted days of youth to make atone
By pain or prayer or priest, and never, never,
Hearken they now to either good or ill,
But send their rain upon the just and the unjust at will.

They sit at ease, our Gods they sit at ease,
Strewing with leaves of rose their scented wine,
They sleep, they sleep, beneath the rocking trees
Where asphodel and yellow lotus twine,
Mourning the old glad days before they knew
What evil things the heart of man could dream, and dreaming do.

The poem is called "Panthea" ( frying-panthesit anyone?) and can be found here

"Kubla Khan" is one of my favourite poems. Normally I'm not a big fan of Coleridge, but I just love this poem. The imagery is beautiful, but it's the musicality of the poem that appeals to me most, praticulary this part:

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.