Just read a fic wherein the Sorting Hat has, er, hatlings. Apparently the father is Godric Gryffindor's sword.
*snickers self to death*
Have been flipping through my Edna St. Vincent Millay anthology, the one that my AP English teacher gave me, tonight. It always gives me lots and lots of deathfic plotbunnies, especially "Song of a Second April" and "When the Year Grows Old," and the last two lines of "Lament." "Ebb" and "Thursday" always give me angsty, missed-chance, not-in-love-anymore plotbunnies (hmmmm...hey, Natalie, you might get that McGonagall/Dumbledore piece after all...). The woman is almost always depressing, but I do so love her poetry. I remember I had "For rain it hath a friendly sound / To one who's six feet underground; / And scarce the friendly voice or face: / A grave is such a quiet place" (from "Renasance") as my .sig for a loooong time a few years ago.
Oh, and I think I've found my poem to read when winter in Ohio starts really sucking (Kluge calls late January/early February "cold and isolated enough to make everyone wnat to slit their wrists," or something like that).
( 'Woods in Winter' - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow )
I've never really paid much attention to Longfellow--obviously, I've heard of him and read "Song of Hiawatha" and a few other things in English classes, but never really formed much of an opinion on the fellow--but I quite like that. Will have to investigate more from him.
In the meantime, trying to finish this weirdfic I've got goin' on...
*snickers self to death*
Have been flipping through my Edna St. Vincent Millay anthology, the one that my AP English teacher gave me, tonight. It always gives me lots and lots of deathfic plotbunnies, especially "Song of a Second April" and "When the Year Grows Old," and the last two lines of "Lament." "Ebb" and "Thursday" always give me angsty, missed-chance, not-in-love-anymore plotbunnies (hmmmm...hey, Natalie, you might get that McGonagall/Dumbledore piece after all...). The woman is almost always depressing, but I do so love her poetry. I remember I had "For rain it hath a friendly sound / To one who's six feet underground; / And scarce the friendly voice or face: / A grave is such a quiet place" (from "Renasance") as my .sig for a loooong time a few years ago.
Oh, and I think I've found my poem to read when winter in Ohio starts really sucking (Kluge calls late January/early February "cold and isolated enough to make everyone wnat to slit their wrists," or something like that).
( 'Woods in Winter' - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow )
I've never really paid much attention to Longfellow--obviously, I've heard of him and read "Song of Hiawatha" and a few other things in English classes, but never really formed much of an opinion on the fellow--but I quite like that. Will have to investigate more from him.
In the meantime, trying to finish this weirdfic I've got goin' on...