185 minutes and 8 hours
Percy Shelley was born today in 1792, at Field Place, near Horsham in Sussex. I heard this poem this morning as recited by one of my favorite modern literary enthusiasts, cowboy poet laureate, and heroes of entertainment... Garrison Keillor. I thought I would share.
One Word is Too Often Profaned - Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) One word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother; And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love; But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the heavens reject not, - The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?I slept miserably last night. I remember waking multiple times before the light and a few more before the banshee wail of my alarm clock. My unrest triggered Henry's unrest which reminded him he was hungry for breakfast and thus prompted his badgering me to get up and provide. Sean's plane lands in eight hours. It'll be so good to have him back in the land of big chickens. He may even get down and kiss the dirt. I'll let you know. My morning was consumed by a big 'ole meeting that left a headache and a grumbling tummy. I am off to lunch just after I find some OTC meds to numb this...
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