By Robert Graves
Gloomy and bare the organ-loft,
Bent-backed and blind the organist.
From rafters looming shadowy,
From the pipes’ tuneful company,
Drifted together drowsily,
Innumerable, formless, dim,
The ghosts of long-dead melodies,
Of anthems, stately, thunderous,
Of Kyries shrill and tremulous:
In melancholy drowsy-sweet
They huddled there in harmony.
Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.
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It rained on and off on Saturday, so we planned around the weather -- watched some football (UW-IU, then UMD-UMN), walked to the park when it was only drizzling, and when it started to rain in earnest, went to Bellevue Square mall to look for wedding clothes and to see the Halloween decorations. We didn't know that today was the day for kids to trick-or-treat in the mall, so that plus the weather meant that the mall was very crowded, but we got to see the festivities and I found a bolero jacket at Macy's on sale for $4.96.
We came home for dinner (cheeseburgers on the couch) and the World Series, which like last night was delightful since the Dodgers won, though again it was close enough to be an interesting game. Now we're watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets because we haven't seen it in half a decade and I'm tired of apologizing for the wizarding world being my comfort food when I have to see Ice Cube in Dodgers Stadium on my television. Call me when Kanye and Mel Gibson and Roger Waters and Elon Musk are actually canceled.
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