By William Lisle Bowles
After a tempestuous voyage.
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past,
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast,
Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide
That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam
Of evening smiles on the gray battlement,
And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:--
The lifted oar far off with transient gleam
Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep!
Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast
A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest;
While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep,
Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre,
Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire!
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Apart from the endless unpacking, my Wednesday was pretty normal, albeit shifted three hours from the previous three years. Everything that isn't books is out of boxes in the living room, though most of the items are on random shelves and I haven't managed to set up my desktop computer because I have to set up all the tchotchkes on the desk first. I talked to my high school friends after lunch, and a couple of hours later I watched some Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power with my usual pair of friends.
We ate leftover food from Siam Nine for dinner before this week's The Masked Singer (Ozzfest in honor of Ozzy with Kelly Osbourne as a guest judge, looking like a ghoul with fake lips). Now we're watching Young Sherlock, which is kind of uneven -- decently interesting mystery, good acting, lots of nice shots of Oxford, some weird character dynamics. From the Worcester Art Museum, the Chapter House, purchased and moved stone-by-stone from Poitiers, the first medieval structure rebuilt in an American museum:
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