Joy illimited

Not a toilet ...not quite

When I saw this, the expression joy illimited came to mind. It melded nicely with the stressful day and sleepless night.
Thank goodness for the sheer gorgeousness of Hardy’s Darkling Thrush ...
I think I might knock comments off whilst I’m so cut off.
I want to keep posting though as continuing proof of existence as I am liable to doubt it as I rattle around. Other minds and all that stuff (dipping into Nagel too).
Suddenly, Virginia Woolf ‘s ‘To the Lighthouse’ is making a lot of sense even if I have had to renew it so many times the library has told me I have to take it back.

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

Postscript: Too tired to be arsed to find where to knock comments off....
So many IT challenges at the mo.
They said they would ‘get it done’ by 1st October but the splits and mergers have everyone looking dazed, confused and a tad crazed. Of course there would be chaos ... what were they thinking...? Oh, of course, they probably weren’t.
The joy of parallel worlds.
Don’t mind me, I’m muttering and mumbling ... stream of consciousness...
Post postscript... found it