Word Magic

There is pleasure in the pathless woods


There is pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar,
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal,
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel,
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

-Lord Byron

(Thanks Aj for forwarding me this)


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Ironic

An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery and died the next day
It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
Isn't it ironic... don't you think


It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought... it figures


Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face

-Alanis Morissette

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My childhood fav-



Daffodils

	  I wandered lonely as a cloud

      That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

      When all at once I saw a crowd,

      A host, of golden daffodils;

      Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

      Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.



      Continuous as the stars that shine

      And twinkle on the milky way,

      They stretched in never-ending line

      Along the margin of a bay:                             

      Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

      Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.



      The waves beside them danced; but they

      Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

      A poet could not but be gay,



      In such a jocund company:

      I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

      What wealth the show to me had brought:



      For oft, when on my couch I lie

      In vacant or in pensive mood,                         

      They flash upon that inward eye

      Which is the bliss of solitude;

      And then my heart with pleasure fills,

      And dances with the daffodils.

-William Wordsworth


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