(no subject)

[lollardfish]

309 For this was on seynt Valentynes day,
310 Whan every foul cometh ther to chese his make,
311 Of every kinde, that men thenke may;
312 And that so huge a noyse gan they make,
313 That erthe and see, and tree, and every lake
314 So ful was, that unnethe was ther space
315 For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.

Comments

[mia-mcdavid.livejournal.com]

(Sigh) Yeah, but it's Spring in England . . .

[neogrammarian.livejournal.com]

you know, I worry that I'm turning into a Chaucerian narrator.

[lollardfish.livejournal.com]

I was kinda thinking Beowulf for you earlier.

The part where he takes the sword and ... (in the quickest online translation I could find).

"reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one's flesh: to floor she sank."

I could go find the Old English, but I shall leave that an exercise for the reader.

[neogrammarian.livejournal.com]

lol, you know, the line everyone seems to have missed in that post was the last. Chaucer's narrators get mad, too, but it's impotent rage.

[lollardfish.livejournal.com]

I didn't miss it. I just refuse to acknowledge your rage as impotent.

[neogrammarian.livejournal.com]

lol tell that to all the nothing that it empowers me to do.

[lollardfish.livejournal.com]

I shall kick that nothing in the shins!

[lollardfish.livejournal.com]

As a note, you are the one doing the smoting (sic!)