By Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,
And drag me at your chariot till I die, —
Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts! —
Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie
Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,
Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,
Who still am free, unto no querulous care
A fool, and in no temple worshiper!
I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire,
Lifted my face into its puny rain,
Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire
As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!
(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,
Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
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Another quickie, this time because I was online for far too long tonight chatting with a retailer who shall remain nameless who has for the third time this year lost a package without giving me any clue what happened to it between its posted shipment and when it was supposed to arrive at my house. My day was full of retail failure as I also bought a big plastic poster frame at Michael's only to get home, take off the wrapping, and discover that the plastic was completely warped, requiring me to go back and get a different one.
Otherwise my day was fine, and given the number of people I know in Florida who still don't have power, I really shouldn't complain. Adam is back from Seattle. I did a quick and successful Tyranitar raid at lunchtime, got my hair colored again because even though they promised it would last eight weeks last time, they lied, and had various chore and shopping disasters that prevented various other chores from being finished. Plus we shall not discuss the Nationals or Orioles games! Here are some calming pics from Boonesborough Days:
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