King David was a sorrowful man

King David was a sorrowful man:
No cause for his sorrow had he;
And he called for the music of a hundred harps
To ease his melancholy.

They played till they all fell silent:
Played and play sweet did they;
But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David
They could not charm away.

He rose; and in his garden
Walked by the moon alone,
A nightingale hidden in a cypress tree,
Jargoned on and on.

King David lifted his sad eyes
Into the dark-boughed tree
"Tell me, thou little bird that singest,
Who taught my grief to thee?"

But the bird in nowise heeded;
And the king in the cool of the moon
Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness
Till all his own was gone.

I thought that my formative essay on this song was due in today; but it is actually due in tomorrow. Nevertheless, I have already handed it in. Hooray for citalopram!

I went to a mind-numbing concert of avant-garde music today. One of the pieces consisted of one note - in tune, slightly flat, and slightly sharp, for about ten minutes. Another was called "This Is Why People O.D. On Pills," and was, I am told, about an aesthetic of skateboarding. Another, by Miriam Rezaei, was good, if a little, or rather a lot, strange.

Today is the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes. Happy feast of Our Lady of Lourdes!

Remember your medication.