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eldritchhobbitI'm off to MidSouthCon 24! I'll be back on Sunday.
Also, I want to give a shout-out to Hypericon 2, which is gearing up for a great time in June.
I am in love with books.google.com.
Last, there is a new article in The Toronto Star about the Lord of the Rings musical (and I am quoted): "Fans on Pins and Needles: Putting revered tale to music sparks trepidation as clan plans to gather in Toronto this July."
My quote for the day:
Written in Early Spring
William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,—
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man?
Also, I want to give a shout-out to Hypericon 2, which is gearing up for a great time in June.
I am in love with books.google.com.
Last, there is a new article in The Toronto Star about the Lord of the Rings musical (and I am quoted): "Fans on Pins and Needles: Putting revered tale to music sparks trepidation as clan plans to gather in Toronto this July."
My quote for the day:
Written in Early Spring
William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,—
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man?