Week Fifteen: Goals AND Poetry Month Days 8 and 9 (sorry again -_-)

I AM SO SORRY. Yesterday was Easter, and in addition to a house full of annoying relatives and siblings’ dates, there were a lot of issues going on at the same time. So I apologize for not having the time to post yesterday or earlier today. I am glad to say that I am back on campus and chugging away at my books. Without further ado, my goals:

This week I will:

1. Read The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Stieg Larsson

2. Read Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

3. Read A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf (I keep pushing it off!!!)

I’ve already started the first book (I finished the prequel, The Girl Who Played With Fire, at 4:30 this morning since I couldn’t sleep at all) and I’m addicted. This series is absolutely fantastic. It’s not a series that you can pick up any of the books to read–everything builds up in order–so I suggest reading the first book. If you’ve followed me for a while, you’d know that I’ve read the entire series (this being the last in the series) and that I am crazy about them. I highly suggest these books to everyone. Anyway, the book I am currently reading is a continuation of the first two books, and to tell you anything would be to give spoilers away. So my lips are sealed on this matter. However, if you have read these books and wanna talk Dragon Tattoo with me, check my Goodreads!

Mockingjay is also the third in a series! This is the threequel to the ever-popular The Hunger Games. Similarly, telling anything about this book would be to spoil the first two, so my suggestion is to check out the first book in the series. The writing style is a bit amateur, but the storyline is great. While it does resemble Battle Royale almost to the dot, it takes it further to a whole new realm of awesome. (If you don’t know about Battle Royale, check that out too.)

I’ve talked about A Room of One’s Own for a couple weeks now. It’s only a hundred or so pages, so I don’t know why I haven’t finished it yet. I’m thinking it’s because it’s not an actual story…it’s a speech Virginia Woolf gave about feminism. Which is totally awesome, don’t get me wrong. I love that. I just don’t get caught up in the characters or adrenaline because there ARE NO CHARACTERS OR ADRENALINE. -__- Anyway…

Those are my goals for this week. According to Goodreads, I am still 3 books behind schedule. Ugh.

National Poetry Month! Woo! This poem, which is posted in celebration of Day 8, is one of my favorite Wordsworth poems–and I love Wordsworth. I first heard it as a bedtime story from my father. Romantic poetry has always struck home with me because I do feel close to nature. This poem is dreamy and wonderful, and it brings me to another world full of perpetual sunshine and flowers.

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud, by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

This next poem is also a favorite of mine. I’ve mentioned before that my father would read Poe to me as bedtime stories. He would also read Poe’s poetry. This particular poem was a fan favorite. I asked him to repeat it over and over until the beauty would lull me to sleep, which took quite a while.

A Dream Within A Dream, by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


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