I was reading the famous poem Hyperion by John Keats today and loves these lines:
"The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
I cannot see - but darkness, death and darkness.
Even here, into my centre of repose,
The shady visions come to domineer,
Insult, and blind..."
Indeed life has all its grandeur: it has blaze, the times of flashy happiness, it has splendor, the ability to enthrall us with the most unexpected and symmetry, the fact that history repeats itself.
How often, however, are we lost in darkness? Why does it happen? Why do we get lost in the terrains of "darkness, death, darkness"?
Somehow, sometime, all of us retire to a repose. A state where we wish to seek peace, a place to recuperate ourselves. Life is probably the hunt for that state of repose. But as Keats says, the shady visions still domineer, insult and blind him. When does our quest for the repose end then? What are we really running after?
"The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
I cannot see - but darkness, death and darkness.
Even here, into my centre of repose,
The shady visions come to domineer,
Insult, and blind..."
Indeed life has all its grandeur: it has blaze, the times of flashy happiness, it has splendor, the ability to enthrall us with the most unexpected and symmetry, the fact that history repeats itself.
How often, however, are we lost in darkness? Why does it happen? Why do we get lost in the terrains of "darkness, death, darkness"?
Somehow, sometime, all of us retire to a repose. A state where we wish to seek peace, a place to recuperate ourselves. Life is probably the hunt for that state of repose. But as Keats says, the shady visions still domineer, insult and blind him. When does our quest for the repose end then? What are we really running after?
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