La Belle Dame sans Merci

La Belle Dame sans Merci by John William Waterhouse, 1893

La Belle Dame sans Merci by John William Waterhouse (1893)

La Belle Dame sans Merci
by John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful – a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

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The Old Astronomer

the starry night

It is a beautiful privilege to be someone’s confidant.

Many people may share in our joys, but only a few know the depths of our grief. This is as it should be, for only a few can be trusted with the secrets we’ve held under lock and key.

Over the years, some of the dearest people have come to me with their joys and heartaches. When you are considered trustworthy, you learn so much about yourself and those around you.

Every one of us is fragile. We fight desperately for hope, but we can break so easily.

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About Time

A little over two weeks ago, I was sitting across the table from one of my dearest friends. It had been ages since I’d seen him last. For half an hour, we talked about anything and everything. Catching up on details. After a while it struck me, something rare had happened.

Never once did my friend’s attention stray from our conversation. There were no interruptions. He made his usual jokes, and then sat and listened patiently to really hear how I was doing.

It’s hard to describe the immense comfort of realizing, in that moment, there was no one else he would rather be talking to. Nothing in the world can make you feel so important.

Isn’t this how every conversation between friends should be?

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