falling

It is such a wonderful, tender moment, when you fall in love. The duration of the falling itself is inexplicable. Sometimes it is a torturous tumbling of years, other times it is a fleeting moment of two pairs of eyes meeting on the street. But the feeling itself, once you have fallen lasts forever in your mind.

I remember the summer that I fell in love with John Keats. And today I remember him with more affliction than most days.

No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<But when the melancholy fit shall fall
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty -- Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips;
Ay, in the very temple of delight
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous
tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

-Ode On Melancholy by John Keats