Philosophy and Sympathy

So. I have spent many, many hours doing History of Philosophy this week, and attempting to write my English paper. And I still have both left to do. I still have to cut 499 words from my outline, and write three more pages about how Vergil defines a Roman hero and a good leader within the first two or three books of The Aeneid. But other than that, I'm good.

It's Thursday morning. Soon. Very soon. And I didn't get to go to the store, which stinks, because I had a great idea. You have no idea. It would have been amazing, trust me. And if you don't want Philosophy and sympathy, how about some tea and sympathy? Chai? Anytime.


And with that note, a remembrance to what this auspicious day is about; a poem by John Keats:

You Say You Love


I.

You say you love; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth -
O love me truly!


II.

You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!


III.

You say you love - but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses.
More than coral in the sea -
They never pout for kisses -
O love me truly!


IV.

You say you love; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is like a statue's dead -
While mine to passion burneth -
O love me truly!


V.

O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn be,
Squeeze as lovers should - O kiss
And in thy heart inurn me!
O love me truly!

Yep. That about sums up this day. Perhaps, there are social conventions masking it, for propriety's sake, but in the end, in the end, you know. Ah, the sun is rising. I must be off.