I love poetry. Did I ever tell you that? Not really.
I also enjoy world-building, philosophy, travelling to new places, but I never write about any of my experiences. I don’t write about myself much.
Twenty years later, when I’ll ask myself if I lived the life I dreamed for, I will need a definitive answer. The best way to do so would be to document all the interested things happen to me.
I’ll start with poetry. This week I’ll post some of my favorite poems. The first one would be Song of the Indian Maid by John Keats.
It’s a long poem like many of other Keats’s poems. The lines I like the most are the following:
I bade good morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind:
I would deceive her
And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
And also the following:
I’ve been a ranger
In search of pleasure throughout every clime;
Alas! ’tis not for me!
Bewitch’d I sure must be,
To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.
Come then, Sorrow,
Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
I thought to leave thee,
And deceive thee,
But now of all the world I love thee best.