Tell me not here, it needs not saying
By A.E. Housman
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.
Possess, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.
For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger’s feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.
My day mixed chores and fun -- dropped niece off at a store and stopped to meet friends on the way home, did a bunch of computer work and went to take a walk in the park, had lunch at Lebanese Taverna and did a Suicune raid at the gym nearby, ran into Rose on my way home and fed and snuggled the cats with her. Anyone need leftover Halloween candy?
After dinner, we watched the Penny Johnson-focused new episode of The Orville, which we're very happy will return for a second season, and caught up on Last Week Tonight whose bit on the Australian same sex marriage vote is very funny. Some photos from Seattle's Olympic Sculpture Park, including one from the cruise on Elliott Bay: