søndag

eg har ei gammal gammal bok som eg har fått av morfar. pitteliten, og rød. i den står det mange mange dikt av ein gammal gammal engelsk poet som heiter Shelley. i den fann eg dette, og fekk gåsehud. kan ikkje heilt forklare koffor.
...det var berre så herlig dystert.

Sonnet

Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life ; though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread. Behind lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies, who ever weave
Their shadows o'er the chasm sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it - he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
The world contains in which he could approve.
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher, found it not.

Percy B. Shelley