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fandomhigh2010-08-05 11:24 am
death-of-hope.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2010-08-05 11:24 am
Entry tags:
Library, Thursday
Something felt...off. Like at home, only-not. It itched at the back of Anemone's brain, like a memory of a forgotten dream, like she knew what was going on, if she could just fall back asleep.
Which is why today was Yeats, as she prowled the rows of books, glaring at Special Collections as if this was all its fault.
"My way/Lies through your spacious Empire up to light,/Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek/What readiest path leads where your gloomie bounds/Confine with Heav'n; or if som other place/From your Dominion won, th' Ethereal King/Possesses lately, thither to arrive."
Which is why today was Yeats, as she prowled the rows of books, glaring at Special Collections as if this was all its fault.
"My way/Lies through your spacious Empire up to light,/Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek/What readiest path leads where your gloomie bounds/Confine with Heav'n; or if som other place/From your Dominion won, th' Ethereal King/Possesses lately, thither to arrive."