Sunday, 8 March 2009

Tennyson: The Eagle

Far too tired to put much of a post up this evening after a eventful, emotional, and overall excellent weekend. So I will let a master's words speak for me instead:

The Eagle (1851) by Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.


Indyeah said...

Aren:))I hopped over as soon as I read of that excellent weekend:)
more wishes for you my friend:)
and may you have many more of such excellent weekends:)

Kraxpelax said...

Err... I don't quite get it. What's the man's problem?

Aren O. Týr said...

Me? *lol*