Photographique-Noir

Ode to a Nightingale By John Keats, 1817 I. MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. II. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt m

I'm rather obsessed with this song at the moment. I love the lyrics, the distorted & uneasy feel of the tune, the story, a beautifully told tragedy... THE CARNY And no-one saw the carny go And the weeks flew by Until they moved on the show, Leaving his caravan behind. It was parked on the south-east ridge And a the company crossed the bridge With the first rain filling the bone-dry river bed It shone, just so, upon the edge. Dog-boy, Atlas, Mandrake, The Geeks, the hired hands, There was not one among them that did not cast an eye behind In the hope that the carny would return to his own kind. And the carny had a horse, all skin