Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792 – 1822
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Among the stars that have a different birth,—
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
Experimenting with a new lens, for wildlife and things like that.
International man of mystery. Well not really, although I can mangle several languages and even read the occasional hieroglyphic. A computer scientist, an author and one of the very few people who has both an NIH grant and had a book contract. An ex- booktrope author and a photographer.
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