By Gerard Manley Hopkins
When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.
For some reason I haven't been able to keep my eyes open for the past hour, even though I didn't get up particularly early and I didn't sleep particularly badly, so forgive me if this is short and rambly. I'm trying to think whether there's anything worth reporting on besides stuff I may or may not have mentioned on LiveJournal before or maybe just on Facebook, like the new Gambit trailer and the first look at the Les Miserables film.
Adam had club night at school in the evening, so Maddy came over for dinner and I drove them over since they are both having bike problems. I took a walk on the woods trail later than usual and startled several deer on their excursions into people's gardens, plus a couple of bunnies. Now Bill Clinton is kicking butt on The Daily Show. Here are some photos from Brookside Gardens the day we went to see the butterflies: