Poems for Comfort

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made;
Nine beanrows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade. (W.B. Yeats, The Lake Isle of Innisfree)
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the banks of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky,

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me! (Wordsworth, a Lucy poem)

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...She turned away, and with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours,
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers;
And I wonder how they would have been together!
I should have lost a gesture or a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose. (T.S. Eliot, La figlia che piange)
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Jed came over Saturday and left Sunday. In between, he installed a new computer, but left my old setup until I get used to the new one.
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On Friday, the Lowe's man and the Pella windows man came and measured all our windows. I only want to replace the big window unit in the living room, but the estimate was free, so I let them wander through the house measuring all the windows.
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Saturday afternoon, while Jed was working on the computers, I went to the thrift store with Sister Ramey. She found two pretty T-shirts for me, and I found a beautiful antique bowl for myself. I know--coals to Newcastle, etc. But aside from my collection of yellow ware, I don't have enough serving bowls. Or didn't.