I have finished the delightful story of Havelock the Dane, in which many things are smitten and there is a happy ending where everyone gets married. (The bad end unhappily.) It would be fun to retell, though.
The added books to my bookshelf are delightful; a Latin dictionary, a book of Latin verbs, and a copy of the Vulgate Bible. In Latin. I think I will try to make it my church Bible--the versification is different, I think, but that isn't too much of a change, and I think that somewhere in my mountains of photocopies I have a guide to tell me where the differences lie.
Meanwhile I have been busy not reading fiction or writing poetry but actually studying Latin and Old English and deciding whether to try and second-guess my professors in regards to what, exactly, we are going to read next.
I do enjoy the abstract classes we have. This week's was on the concepts of Body & Soul in Dante's Commedia. He is contradictory (I suspected as much) and awfully odd about the whole thing. I am not sure I even like the idea of a vegetable soul. Next week's will be on the Ideas of a Nation, I think, and another lecture on Love & Free Will in Paradiso.
These are very interesting classes, except that one of the professors has a very soothing voice and references Wordsworth, both of which make me sleepy. It is a great nuisance to have to talk in class in order to remain awake.
It is not a nuisance to sit in my window-seat with a comfy pillow and a cup of tea and a book and my feet against my hot water bottle, though.
The centre of my soul, still axis of my self,
the immortal spark within me carries much
that longs, that yearns within me to breathe free.
Love is bound by infinite restrictions
of, perhaps, societal or kindly obligation
but not as much as love's held captive by