Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!
Sorry about that. I was laughing at my previous post. Man it's funny!!
*patting myself on the back*
:)
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Wait I'm still laughing at the previous post... Kya karen yaar i tend to be nostalgic!!
Ok anyway...
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Guess what??
Nope I'm not laughing at the previous post anymore you moron... I'm laughing at you, because you've read this far hoping to read something productive... and there's nothing productive in this post!! :)
Wait I’m kidding!!
Read on… Here’s a poem by Robert Browning. It’s actually a Dramatic Monologue (if you don’t know what that means, who cares? I can’t help it if you don’t have an Additional B.A in English Literature like I do *showing off* ;)
Ok now concentrate on reading.
Porphyria's Lover
by Robert Browning
The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her.
No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!
Great na? Yeah I know… the best part is it can be interpreted in several ways… For instance Fuzz thinks Porphyria’s lover died… I don’t think so.
There are several interpretations online, it's very interesting.
Which reminds me, did you know that Hercule Poirot believes everyone is capable of murder? Frightening, na?
Well that was trivia combined with an insight into the poem.. Go figure, if you will, or close the damn window!! :)
