She walks in beauty, like the night

           Whenever I feel a little down, or unlike myself I like to look back into my journals to see a time where it was quite worse than right now. It must of been for I choose to write something about it. A couple days ago I took the time to read what my professor had written about the work I had done in my journals for class. His hand writing was pretty much illegible and considering I had about 30 journal entries to look at I figured he didnt read most of them. However, at a closer inspection at his note to me, I found that I was wrong. A very pleasant surprise!

        Julia- Your journal offers a wonderful collection of poems, reflections, and short story. I really enjoyed your poems which harbor back to Byron and Shelby(i believe that's what he wrote- illegible script!)You may want to present these to the literary magazine at WCC.
       I hope you continue to write your journal entres: don't stop being an optimist!
                                                                             A+ (motha fucka!)


        I feel like a loser getting such pleasure in recognition from a teacher. Has to do with family issues most like but whatever. I was very touched by what he wrote in the last line, for it indeed means he read all my journal entries. In journal entry #23 I discuss my disapointment in what life has to offer so far, and how dispite all this I try to remain an optimist. Its nice to know that someone actually gives a crap. I wish I had read his note to me before the semester ended so I could tell him how much I appreciated that he actually read my works.

A poem from lord Byron

HE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!