tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19967968579119586982011-07-28T09:13:30.128-07:00Léahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14303468187853056137noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996796857911958698.post-39893933293153117982010-04-05T11:40:00.000-07:002010-04-05T11:45:16.684-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5ux6ZHsA-u0/S7ovnLCYAAI/AAAAAAAAAak/sNSPCcsfIeI/s1600/P1040830.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5ux6ZHsA-u0/S7ovnLCYAAI/AAAAAAAAAak/sNSPCcsfIeI/s400/P1040830.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456726248536932354" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1996796857911958698-3989393329315311798?l=the-cherryblossomgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Léahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14303468187853056137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996796857911958698.post-50539932500036783552010-02-10T15:37:00.000-08:002010-02-10T15:56:25.680-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5ux6ZHsA-u0/S3ND8ZWcfOI/AAAAAAAAAaU/SBWj9QQqFV8/s1600-h/5-photos-festival-de-cannes-Bright-Star-15-mai_articlephoto.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5ux6ZHsA-u0/S3ND8ZWcfOI/AAAAAAAAAaU/SBWj9QQqFV8/s400/5-photos-festival-de-cannes-Bright-Star-15-mai_articlephoto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436763880042560738" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />Bright Star</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;"><br />Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —<br />Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night<br />And watching, with eternal lids apart,<br />Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,<br />The moving waters at their priestlike task<br />Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,<br />Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask<br />Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —<br />No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,<br />Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,<br />To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,<br />Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,<br />Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,<br />And so live ever — or else swoon to death.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">John Keats</span><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1996796857911958698-5053993250003678355?l=the-cherryblossomgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Léahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14303468187853056137noreply@blogger.com0