Ode to a Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

Crocker Art Museum.

Went to the Crocker Art Museum today. First time I've been since the expansion. I really enjoyed it. It was also the first time I've attended their "Art Mix" which is every 3rd Thursday of the month. They are open till 9pm and have live music with cocktails available.

cant sleep.

I've been lying in bed for the last 3 hours trying to fall asleep. failed.

_______________________________________

Tell me what you want
Tell me why I'm here
Tell me why I can't speak when you're near

Tell me what you need
Tell me what to say
Tell me that you've always wanted me to stay

Tell me that I'm
The only girl you want
Tell me that you can't imagine a day apart

Tell me you dream of
The last night we had
Tell me something, anything, because I wish could tell you everything.

Pulp Fashion

I drove down to the city this weekend to check out the Pulp Fashion: The Art of Isabelle de Borchgrave exhibit.

Chicago 2011.

Decided to go experience Chicago during the winter. After going 3 times during Summer and Fall, I wanted to test if I could survive a couple cold weeks in the Midwest. We visited The Field Museum, Navy Pier, The Art Institute of Chicago & Millennium Park.


Chicago.

2010.

When i woke up this morning, i decided that i would not leave my house until i cleaned out my closet, read at least 4 chapters from my econ book or found my safebox keys. Well, I ended up just cleaning out my entire room in hopes that i would kill 2 birds with one stone and find my keys. Well, i didnt and I probably should have read from my econ book first, but oh well.
Anyways, i found a christmas card i receive last year from a girl that i use to consider my best friend. (And yes, i call everyone my best friend, but i honestly thought that she would be one of the friends that would be with me till the very end.)

life.