Friday

Friday, what of thee? I am making a git of myself, as per usual and as sometimes happens thereafter, I have played with my google and it has thrown up at me this:

Sonnet 13 - And wilt thou have me fashion into speech by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each?
—I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend my woman-love to thy belief,
—Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief

Nice, ey?

Being an airhead is such a drain. Do you suppose it is because my hair is the wrong colour? I tried to dye it blonde once, but fried it by accident. I should let a hairdresser do it next time.