~ahhh rest~

*~*take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop*~*
Ovid

i have finally finished my 'hair tearing' essay on religion and the wars of the three kingdoms and it has been submitted. i knew if i didn't then i would just keep going over and over it, changing little bits here, little bits there.

so its, gone and i have just sorted out my study timetable for the following four weeks~my work on the slave trade is due in on the 10th june and as we are going camping for a week in order to meet up with friends, i need to be really organized.

so now i have resolved to take note of the quote above and take the rest of today and all of tomorrow away from my studies~to let all the information slide from my mind, leaving me open for all the new information.

*what luxury*

~'perfick'~

rough winds do shake the darling buds of may,
and summer's lease hath all too short a date;
sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

i adore this and thinking of it yesterday before the migraine hit prompted me to get this, well read book from one of my many, many bookshelves...



it just seems to be the most 'perfick' book to read, while sitting in an english country garden, where the birds are singing, the skies are blue and you are faced with the prospect of gorgeous ripe strawberries for tea!

*~*which takes me to this*~*

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops - at the bent spray's edge -
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
- Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning (1812-1889)