A Sonnet a Day

I've been reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnets in British Lit, and they've renewed in me a love for sonnets. I think it's so cool that something as expressive as poetry can fit into such a strict mold (fourteen lines in iambic pentameter, with one of two different rhyme schemes, Shakespearean or Petrarchan.). Wordsworth wrote the following sonnet on the subject of sonnets:

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at this loom,
Sit blithe and happy;bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

Just got back from going out to lunch with Karena and the kids. We went to the Burwash Tea Room. It's on a farmish sort of place and was very nice. Very clean, very homey, and very good food. Lexie ate her chicken and french fries while Karena and I ate the best quiche I've ever had and Arthur slept.

On the way home, we passed a street sign that said "Beware of Cyclists." Hahahaha.... :-)