Wednesday poetry.

One Day
Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

Today I have been happy. All the day
I held the memory of you, and wove
Its laughter with the dancing light o’ the spray,
And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love,
And sent you following the white waves of sea,
And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth,
Stray buds from that old dust of misery,
Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth.

So lightly I played with those dark memories,
Just as a child, beneath the summer skies,
Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone,
For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old,
And love has been betrayed, and murder done,
And great kings turned to a little bitter mould.

Books.

So, as many people know, I shelved books this weekend. But first I put LoC numbers on them, so that they will always be in order (assuming they get put away properly, but the LoC numbers are to facilitate that). I had forgotten how happy I am just sitting surrounded by books. I love books (although I have no wish to become involved at all in the publishing industry). My first job was in a library.

After the bookshelf purchases of the past week (and had I known they were going to go on sale, I would have waited. Eh. C'est la vie.), the shelf behind the door has only the Oracle and some photography books, everything else is on the new shelves. The shelves in the opposite corner are going away. The drafting table is going away. The C&I supplies are going to get consolidated, as I have a lot of extra stuff I really don't need--I rather obsessively hoard art supplies sometimes. A bunch of the magazines can probably go away. The cookbooks can go behind the door, and those shelves can go away as well.

Organization. Wheeee!!!