Literature
Seas Left Unswum
What closet poets are we,
who in moments more sober of thought show a stony face,
but lying alone at night hearing the rain's mourning fancy ourselves martyrs for love,
and epic heroes of romance.
"My lady!
Leander am I, and would take the strait in stroke to be with you!
Orpheus am I, and would venture into Hades to bring you back!"
But count us amateur Leanders as unlikely to swim the sea as the sea is to dry for us.
And perhaps this is best-
for Leander drowned,
and Orpheus lost Eurydice again in the end,
and how much worse should the fate of us imposters be?
Instead let me be the realist romantic,
one who can admit that the s
for 
