User:Wkiernan

Hi there Wikipedia!

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity
Fie, fie, fie now would she cry;
Terue, Tereu! by and by;
That to hear her so complain
Scarce could I from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon my own.
Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they will not hear thee,
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion he is dead,
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.

- Richard Barnefield

The result is nil. Stendhal never succeeded in being truly loved by any woman. This should not be very surprising. Most men suffer the same fate.

- Jose Ortega y Gasset