By Edmund Spenser
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay,
A mortal thing so to immortalize;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise."
"Not so," (quod I) "let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."
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I'm just going to keep things short this week because I am very boring. I talked to Daniel twice about things I can't talk about in public (good things, just complicating his life), I did a bunch of computer work while watching squirrels fight over birdseed on the deck, I went to the park because it was nice out.
We finally saw this week's Doctor Who, which delighted me (I know there has been screaming about whether it violates canon but I didn't know why and frankly I don't care)! And we saw The New Pope, which is, well, completely insane. From the National Gallery's Alonso Berruguete: First Sculptor of Renaissance Spain:
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