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Partially frozen Gurudongmar Lake, a glacial lake located to the north of the Himalayas in the northeast Indian state of Sikkim at an altitude of over 5,150 metres (16,900 ft). The lake is fed by glaciers of the Khangchengyao massif, forms the headwaters of the Teesta river and is considered sacred by Buddhists and Sikhs. Today is Sikkim Day, which commemorates the formation of Sikkim as a state of India in 1975, following a popular referendum and full merger after decades of being a protectorate since 1947.

Original: Yoghya Derivative work: UnpetitproleX, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. View source.

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Australian brushturkey (Alectura lathami) female, Crater Lakes, Atherton Tableland, Queensland, Australia.

Charles J. Sharp, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. View source.

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844 -1900) German philosopher, cultural critic, composer, poet, philologist, and a Latin and Greek scholar. Biography

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This stained glass window in the Cathedral of Saint Julian of Le Mans (Le Mans, France) depicts the Virgin Mary and the apostles during the Ascension of Jesus. Today is the Feast of the Ascension in Western Christianity.

AnonymousUnknown author, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. View source.

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.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

John Keats - (1795-1821) English poet of the second generation of Romantic poets. He published only fifty-four poems during his short life time, having died of tuberculosis at the age of 25. Although his poems were indifferently received in his lifetime, his fame grew rapidly after his death. Today his poems and letters remain among the most popular and analyzed in English literature.

Photo taken near Hogle Zoo, Salt Lake City, United States. Captured with Canon EOS REBEL SL1.

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This azulejo from the Igreja de São Bento (Ribeira Brava, Madeira, Portugal) depicts Our Lady of Fátima. Today is the feast of Our Lady of Fátima in the Catholic Church and the 110th anniversary of her first apparition to three shepherd children.

H. Zell, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons. View source.

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Aerial view of the ruins of Takht-i-Bahi, a 1st-century CE Buddhist monastery complex located in what was once the ancient Indian region of Gandhara, in the present-day northern Pakistani province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. It is representative of Buddhist monastic architecture from its era and the ruins were listed as a World Heritage Site in 1980, with UNESCO describing it as having been "exceptionally well-preserved".

Muzamil Hassain Toori, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. View source.

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