Against the Dearth of Monday Poems

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loviliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondance, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o`er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, inspite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

"Lines from Endymion"
By John Keats

Would Selene have moved Endymion
to Schloss Hof instead of letting
that poor boy sleep in a cave?
I would. ;-)

*

Photographed by Merisi
in the gardens of
Prince Eugene of Savoy's
Summer Palace
Schloss Hof
July 2009