Whan that August
Whan that August with its shores soote
The drought of summer hath perced to the roote
And bathed every mind in academic woos
Of which education engendered is the fluer...
My version of Chaucer's prologue. I am reading the Wife of Bath's Tale for Brit Lit I and, as August draws to a close, I am grateful for a bit of Middle English beauty to cool my parched mind. Being sick and gearing up into school at the same time: eh. It's not my idea of fun, but then, it is God's idea of teaching me dependence, and I'm grateful for this piece of education too.
On every front, my Lord showers his blessings--so much so that I am hard-pressed to keep pace with turning them all back to praise. And though my breath may be labored with coughing, still I exhale prayers of thanksgiving, for on all sides I am continually gifted. Relationships restored, new ones forming, excellent quiet times, success in school (hard won, but no worse for that), and the general respect of my peers: all undeserved; all precious.
I would write more, but history and Brit Lit reading presses. All my love to my dear ones, and may your shadows never grow bulkier!
The drought of summer hath perced to the roote
And bathed every mind in academic woos
Of which education engendered is the fluer...
My version of Chaucer's prologue. I am reading the Wife of Bath's Tale for Brit Lit I and, as August draws to a close, I am grateful for a bit of Middle English beauty to cool my parched mind. Being sick and gearing up into school at the same time: eh. It's not my idea of fun, but then, it is God's idea of teaching me dependence, and I'm grateful for this piece of education too.
On every front, my Lord showers his blessings--so much so that I am hard-pressed to keep pace with turning them all back to praise. And though my breath may be labored with coughing, still I exhale prayers of thanksgiving, for on all sides I am continually gifted. Relationships restored, new ones forming, excellent quiet times, success in school (hard won, but no worse for that), and the general respect of my peers: all undeserved; all precious.
I would write more, but history and Brit Lit reading presses. All my love to my dear ones, and may your shadows never grow bulkier!
posted by Praelucor at 6:55 PM
3 Comments:
The LANGUAGE is beautiful. The tale itself...eh.
I'm with you there, girl. That language is beautiful. Isn't it a wonderful aspect of lit-majoring that if we must work long hours, at least we're immersed in some of the most beautiful stuff there is?
(Clarifying note: these comments apply to Chaucer's style in general and to only some of his content. :-) )
Glad you're feeling better, baby. Love Chaucer, but I would have picked the beautiful Pertelote over the Wife of Bath for public praise. But then, I always was a little bit chicken.
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