Not much on the agenda for today: brunch, gym, shopping, Japanese studying. Maybe a movie or some poetry later. A quiet day.
Here is some John Donne in recognition of the season:
HOLY SONNETS.
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste ;
I run to death, and Death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
I dare not move my dim eyes any way ;
Despair behind, and Death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
Only Thou art above, and when towards Thee
By Thy leave I can look, I rise again ;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour myself I can sustain.
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.
2 comments:
A fitting poem to select! Donne is right for Easter.
Thanks!
I am a big fan of Donne...
I just wish reading him were more fun. His grammar makes my head ache.
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