A special day in Spring.

[hans1976]

Some weeks ago, it was early spring and a hesitant sun warmed the faces of the Homins on Atys. The Kitin calmed as well in the warming sun after another winter of wrecking havoc on the innocent and guilty alike.

In Fount some were digging and many were slightly bored. It was still before the Atys was formed and as we know it now, it was before our presumed longlost fellows joined us. Simply put, life was slow, silent and boring. This went mostly for diggers in Fount or Enchanted Isle. Any fellow digging in the Fount would babble to himself all over the region in the hope of an answer.

On this wonderfull springmorning, a homin requested poetry from an outlander called John Keats. Kiliane it was, if my memory does not fail me, replied with the first four lines of a poem proved to be a masterpiece in four lines alone.

Weeks and weeks libraries were searched in secret, clerics bribed and sometimes psycological and plain physical force was used to obtain these 18 lines of the masterpiece Kiliane, or the Homin I am mistaking her with, started on that perfect day.

I can't deny my goosebumps, can't push back my tears and will stare in a far distance everytime I hear this recited. Ask a friend to read it to you and read it to the friend. Listen and let the words sink in...




Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at Heaven; pity these have not
Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance.
But bare of laurel they live, dream, and die;
For Poesy alone can tell her dreams,
With the fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say,
"Thou art no Poet- may'st not tell thy dreams?"
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
Whether the dream now purpos'd to rehearse
Be poet's or fanatic's will be known
When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.



---------------------------------
OOC:

1819
THE FALL OF HYPERION: A DREAM
by John Keats -

full version at http://www.4literature.net/John_Keats/F ... n_A_Dream/

[thomdal]

Aye a special day that was my dear... and yes, it was I trying to meet your requirements, for after all you were the one asking for entertainment... glad to see you liked the poem as much as I did


Kiliane