Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours; And clouds their storms discharge Upon the air towers. Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine, Let well-turned words amaze With harmony divine. Now yellow waxen lights Shall wait on honey love While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights Sleep's leaden spells remove.
This time doth well dispense With lovers' long discourse; Much speech hath some defense, Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well; Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.
There once was a renowned psychoanalyst Who found childhood events were always the catalyst. A patient who lived happily 'Til a recent tragedy, Learned it all stemmed from thoughts as a neonatalist.
That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, -- Those dying generations - at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect.
II
An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium.
III
O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.
IV
Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
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The Eternals is one of the lesser-known superhero groups, a collection of immortal, god-tier heroes who protect the Earth from a specific set of enemies (Deviants) and serve a specific master (Celestials.) [The Eternals are a little better known now, given Marvel’s “every hero, everywhere, all at once” strategy led them to make a movie based on the team, and — like many products of that phase — it was not loved.] I am usually not a big fan of god-powered comic book characters because it’s an uphill battle to make them interesting. However, I am a big fan of the story-crafting of Neil Gaiman, and this story had the promise of the heroes not knowing they were heroes, at least through the early part of the book.
I found the story to be coherent, despite its outlandishness, and I was a fan of having the heroes living under the impression they are ordinary people. I think that device created fine conditions for tension and intrigue. Still, the volume does not read with the visceral intensity one would expect of a story with stakes as high as they are stated to be. There was some distance created by a lack of intense connection to the characters and the clunkiness of the premise.
If you’re looking for stories of a hero team stranger than the Avengers, but not as strange as Guardians of the Galaxy, this may be your cup of tea.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 