Ode on Melancholy NO, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist   Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist   By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries,          5   Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be     Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner … More Keats

Look at it. Arnaud Daniel, and there is a translation. Pus Raimons e Truc Malecx chapten n’Enan e sos decx, e ieu serai vielhs e senecx ans que m’acort in aital precx don puesca venir tan grans pecx: al cornar l’agra mestiers becx ab que traisses del corn lo grecx; e pueis pogra leu venir … More Was this the inspiration for Mallarmé’s sonnet in -x?

‘Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s, Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays; The world’s whole sap is sunk; The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the bed’s feet, life is shrunk, Dead … More A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day

Invierte el sufrimiento posiciones, da función en que el humor acuoso es vertical al pavimento, el ojo es visto y esta oreja oída So, unfortunately pain grows in the world at all times, it grows at thirty minutes per second, step by step, and the nature of pain is twice the pain, and the condition … More The nine monsters

I am staying up all night in the office, grading and moving things around. Suddenly I see it is December, morte saison, time to recite the Archpriest of Hita and François Villon, because I associate them with winter — the regal and best season, starting in only twenty more days. Here is part of a … More It’s December!