By William Collins
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a-while repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!
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Distracted because I'm watching Colin Firth on The Tonight Show (he sounds very tired, they must be sending him to an awful lot of promotions for The Railway Man; also, he was loads better looking with laugh lines around his eyes rather than whatever he's had done to erase them). I spent the day celebrating Russell Crowe's 50th birthday -- a man who looks awesome for his age in every way, though Cheryl and I were watching his work from many years ago since we already saw Noah, including The Crossing in which Russell is practically a baby and The Insider which is superbly acted by everyone involved and just as relevant as ever in terms of its analysis of news organizations.
We also went out so Cheryl could give some Star Wars standees to a local friend and to pick up Indian food for lunch, which we ate, along with chocolate pie, after a few episodes of Shoujo Cosette, which despite the puppies and butterflies is rapidly becoming one of my favorite adaptations of Les Miserables. After we caught up on the episode of Once Upon a Time we missed on Sunday, she had to go home, so I had dinner, watched this week's Dallas (oh, Bobby, give Sue Ellen a break!), and saw UConn win the NCAA tournament, which pleases my in-laws greatly. Here are some more photos from the Downton Abbey costume exhibit at Winterthur, including Lady Edith's wedding dress and Sybil's harem pants:
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