" All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die."
Thinking of my beloved Jane Eyre.
How this novel pierces my heart,
lifts my soul to such expansive heights
my imagination wandering among the misty moors.
At the turning of November's calendar,
we will once again re-unite
into the world of such sublime poetic majesty