Sixty-three.
Is it so wrong that these words are true? That there is nothing spectacular about being a mortal? How something so spectacular to us would be a low point for someone greater. Isn't that true of things in general, though?
This is the price for having to analyze Poe poetry in American Literature. My brain is overworking itself.
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of they perfecet bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he were I,
He might not sing so widely well
A mortal Melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
-Israfel, by Edgar Allan Poe
...There is no such thing as a day where Deidara and I do not get into at least one fight, I have finally come to terms with that.
This is the price for having to analyze Poe poetry in American Literature. My brain is overworking itself.
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of they perfecet bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he were I,
He might not sing so widely well
A mortal Melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
-Israfel, by Edgar Allan Poe
...There is no such thing as a day where Deidara and I do not get into at least one fight, I have finally come to terms with that.