Sep. 22nd, 2005
Started by oursin, apparently.
*edited from yesterday for more complete version of quote*
Therefore the winds, speaking to us in vain,
Have sucked up from the sea contagious fogs, which ,falling in the land
Hath every pelting river made so proud that they have overborne their continents,
The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat and the green corn,
Hath rotted ere his youth hath gained a beard.
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock.
The nine men's morris is filled up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
For lack of tread are indistinguishable.
The human mortals want their winter cheer
No night is now with hymn or carol blessed.
Therefore the moon, governess of floods,
Pale in her anger washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound,
The seasons alter; hoary-headed frosts fall in the lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiem's thin and icy crown an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds,
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter change their wonted liveries, and the mazed world by their increase now knows not which is which.
And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate, our dissension,
we are their parents and original.
*edited from yesterday for more complete version of quote*
Therefore the winds, speaking to us in vain,
Have sucked up from the sea contagious fogs, which ,falling in the land
Hath every pelting river made so proud that they have overborne their continents,
The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat and the green corn,
Hath rotted ere his youth hath gained a beard.
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock.
The nine men's morris is filled up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
For lack of tread are indistinguishable.
The human mortals want their winter cheer
No night is now with hymn or carol blessed.
Therefore the moon, governess of floods,
Pale in her anger washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound,
The seasons alter; hoary-headed frosts fall in the lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiem's thin and icy crown an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds,
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter change their wonted liveries, and the mazed world by their increase now knows not which is which.
And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate, our dissension,
we are their parents and original.