And This Is Probably The Reason Hes Called The Slytherin Prince.

And this is probably the reason he’s called the Slytherin prince. 

⚜️Dear vintage souls, dark academics, I now need your help: PETRICHOR OR THE SMELL OF OLD BOOKS?

lore mode

“The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That’s a phrase from Thoreau that we’d invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see, we’d gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley — the biggies. Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment, we’d let poetry work its magic.”

The Listeners

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,     Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses     Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret,     Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time;     ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said. But no one descended to the Traveller;     No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,     Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners     That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight     To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,     That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken     By the lonely Traveller’s call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness,     Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,     ’Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even     Louder, and lifted his head:— ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,     That I kept my word,’ he said. Never the least stir made the listeners,     Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house     From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,     And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward,     When the plunging hoofs were gone.

                                       ---- Walter De la Mare