OK, what time did we start?
Eight.
Eight, OK.
OK, I'm getting behind.
On page seven, on the right hand side,
skip the endless evening one.
Let's go right to the one called "Sonnet."
This is addressed to someone who you
think is very beautiful but--
well, I wrote this poem out of astonishment,
or wonder, that I was with this beautiful person,
I was beside this beautiful person,
but somehow her presence didn't seem
to really change that much.
As you can-- I mean, nothing was the--
I mean, the president didn't lay down the atomic bombs
because she was stepping out of a cottage with me one morning,
or nothing happened.
As you can see, look at the first line, it says,
"The way the world is not astonished at you,
it doesn't blink a leaf when we step from the house."
Nothing happens, I mean the world doesn't stop and say,
hey, that person with Bill Knott there is really beautiful,
and I think we should all stop in our orbits,
and take a good look at that person.
"The way the world is not astonished at you,
it doesn't blink a leaf when we step from the house,
leads me to think that beauty is natural, unremarkable,
and not to be spoken of, except in the course of things.
The course of singing, and work sharing,
the course of squeezes, and neighbors,
the course of tying back your raving hair to go out,
and the course, of course, of me, astonished at you,
the way the world is not."
You see, you-- the end, it turns around, kind of cute, right?
[LAUGHTER]