21 June 2011

Happy Solstice!

The sun is out!  The sun is out, it's warm and I'm stuck in a downtown high-rise. *sob*  I want to run and play and dance in the streets.  I want to have bonfire and fling flowers at people.  I want to sing rediculous songs with throngs of pgagns.  It's like spring fever hitting late.  How can I possibly concentrate on work on Solstice? 

To Summer, by William Blake

O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven: beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are famed who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

Here's a link to a great article on the Solstice from Slacktiverse.

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