Poet's corner No. 22

O what can ail thee, knight at arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

O What can ail thee, knight at arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful, a fairy's child;

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

A fairy's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said—

I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd—Ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death pale were they all;

They cried—"La belle dame sans merci

Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here

On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

John Keats

La Belle Dame Sans Merci 

Happy Birthday John.

Poet's corner No.16

"Physician Nature! let my spirit blood! 

O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; 

Throw me upon thy tripod, till the flood 

Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.

A theme! a theme! Great Nature! give a theme;

Let me begin my dream. 

I come—I see thee, as thou standest there, 

Beckon me out into the wintry air. 

Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears

And hopes and joys and panting miseries,— 

To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears

A smile of such delight, As brilliant and as bright, 

As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes, 

Lost in a soft amaze, I gaze, I gaze! 

Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?

What stare outfaces now my silver moon! 

Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least; 

Let, let the amorous burn—

 But, prithee, do not turn

 The current of your heart from me so soon: 

O save, in charity, 

The quickest pulse for me. 

Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe 

Voluptuous visions into the warm air, 

Though swimming through the dance’s dangerous wreath, 

Be like an April day,

 Smiling and cold and gay,

 A temperate lily, temperate as fair; 

Then, heaven! there will be 

A warmer June for me. 

Why this, you’ll say—my Fanny!—is not true;

 Put your soft hand upon your snowy side, 

Where the heart beats: confess—'tis nothing new - 

Must not a woman be

A feather on the sea, 

Swayed to and fro by every wind and tide? 

Of as uncertain speed As blow-ball from the mead?

I know it—and to know it is despair

To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny, 

Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where,

Nor when away you roam,

Dare keep its wretched home: 

Love, love alone, has pains severe and many; 

Then, loveliest! keep me free 

From torturing jealousy. 

Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above 

The poor, the fading, brief pride of an hour:

 Let none profane my Holy See of Love, 

Or with a rude hand break 

The sacramental cake: 

Let none else touch the just new-budded flower;

 If not—may my eyes close, 

Love, on their last repose!"

John Keats

To Fanny

Klondike

Educare attraverso l'intrattenimento, staccare personaggi realmente esistiti dalla loro cornice polverosa e riscoprirne il potenziale drammatico: dopo il successo che History Channel ha registrato grazie alla miniserie Hatfields & McCoys e alla serie tv Vikings, Discovery Channel deve aver pensato che fosse il momento di scommettere sul suo primo prodotto di fiction con Klondike, miniserie in 6 episodi diretta da Simon Cellan Jones( Boardwalk Empire, The Borgias, The Politician's Husband) e prodotta da Ridley Scott.

The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of The Unicorn

"We can't go back, not now!... Not now." (Tintin)

Il grande cinema d'avventura rivive ancora con "Tintin: il segreto dell'Unicorno", piccolo gioiello d'animazione sognato e desiderato per più di vent'anni da Steven Spielberg e finalmente realizzato grazie una straordinaria e affollata collaborazione: il regista di E.T. e Peter Jackson(qui in veste di produttore e se andrà tutto bene dirigerà il prossimo capitolo) si uniscono così a Joe Cornish, Steven Moffat ed Edgar Wright, brillanti sceneggiatori inglesi che mettono a segno una scrittura spassosa e intelligente, impeccabile nell' incastrare una trovata dopo l'altra senza mai perdere di vista l'equilibrio generale(proprio Wright aveva lavorato in modo magistrale nel costruire un nuovo dialogo fra fumetto e grande schermo nel dimenticato "Scott Pilgrim vs the World").