dull would he be of soul

dull would he be of soul who could pass by
a sight so touching in its majesty -
the City now doth wear, like a garment,
the beauty of the morni-

well, sorry, Wordsworth, it was evening, actually.  We did go up in the Eye at sunset and the views were pretty spectacular, although the spectacle of the tourist trap was uninspiring.  but hey!  the views!  you'd have to be dull of soul indeed to complain about a tourist trap with a sight like that!

Before that lovely sight, we also went to the Tower - yep, we're touristing it up, before we quite run out of time (and before the finals crunch starts!)  It was extra fun because I'm reading Wolf Hall - which is AMAZING and I don't even LIKE historical novels much these days, but SERIOUSLY ya'll tackle it over winter break or something.  Cromwell is the action star of the 15th century and Hilary Mantel is talking to his ghost, I swear.  Anyway, I'm reading Wolf Hall so right now Anne Boleyn and Crazy Henry VIII and all their friends and victims feel like my bffs.  And I went and hung out at one of their favorite spots to get beheaded!  It was cold!


In other news, Wordsworth reminded me of something.   As I think I mentioned a few weeks ago, I've been memorizing poetry lately - a few apps on my ipod, a few emails-to-self, and I've got a portable library that I've been transplanting into my brain.  I learn a new, short one every day, and I'm working, stanza by stanza, through The Raven - quite appropriate, and not just because of the Tower's ravens:

Ah, distinctly I remember!  It was in the bleak december/
when each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor

And it is about to be a bleak december here, too - except we have radiators now, of course, which are less ghostlike although they, too, tend to die.

So the question is, why now?  why here?  I've thought about memorizing poetry before - Emily and I had a little contest for a while (by the by, i'm now kicking your butt so hard, you wouldn't believe...).  But I've never before tackled it with nearly this much vigor.  Is it the timing, or is it the place?  Is there something about London that has turned my mind to literature in a way it's never turned before?

Hmm.  I'll tackle that more later.