If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
Shakespeare'sQuill.co.uk
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Book: 'The Seven Against Thebes' - Aeschylus.
Sounds: Synaulia.
TV: Up the Women.
Subject: Russian (Unit 4).
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Wiki: Ancient Rome.
Project: Sequin Studio.
Dailies: Arkadina | Pepys | Chaucer | Bronte | MedievalSoc.
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Jolyon Forsyte:No, you're right Irene. It's more than satire. These young people are tired of us, our Gods and our ideals. Smash down our idols; off with our heads. Let's get back to nothing.
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