Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. - John Keats

Here lies one whose name was writ on water.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

My imagination is a monastery, and I am its monk