alone in the heliosphere
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time
No kidding. It was a beautiful day -- T-shirt weather in March.
Alas, we're dully overcast down here now. How's Cambridge faring?
Two days of t-shirt, and now a light dusting of chilly, jacket loving fog. Typically Cambridge.
Fortunately, the week ahead looks to be fairly warm, if not quite what it has been. Of course the poem has nothing to do with the weather, nor was it so intended.
Here's hoping you get the odd moment here and there to enjoy it :)
mmm, beautiful. you should post poetry more often