Where art thou, my Dulcinea del Toboso?

Ye trees and herbs, so green and tall,

That shade this meadow, and adorn,

If you rejoice, not at my thrall,

Give ear unto a wretch forlorn;

Nor let my grief, though loud invade

Your peace; but by Don Quixote, be a

Self-offer'd tax of sorrow, paid

In absence of his Dulcinea

del Toboso.

These are rocks, to which he's driven

By her who seems not much to care for

The truest lover under heaven:

And yet he knows not why nor wherefore.

By love toss'd like a tennis-ball,

A cask of tears, will not defray a

Whole day's expence of grief and gall,

In absence of his Dulcinea

del Toboso.

Among these craggy rocks and brambles,

He hangs alas! on sorrow's tenters;

Or curses as alone he rambles,

The cruel cause of his misventures.

Unpitying love, about his ears,

With scourge severe begin to play a

Most dreadful game that made his tears

Flow for his absent Dulcinea

del Toboso.

I don't normally like classic, literary poems, but I have to admit:

Don Quixote is the shit.

I think personally, this is the best book I've ever read in my life. There's nothing obviously spectacular about it, I just believe that in a previous life, I was a Don Quixote.

I'm even considering not finishing the book because I don't really want the story to end.

.....yeah right.

Back to the book!