Short breath falls the worms arraign, flesh before a clamoring hain. Hungry ore, the mold it fills, maw surpassed, now overspills, the marble blue, to gild the dark.
Auric wings, undulant Fierce, the torch alights; Unhindered by the zephyr That roils on the heights Empyrean forge, prolific Unveiled in umbral flight Bares iron talons, adamant To encircle endless night.
Sculpted stone to rend the meal It the mind to bake the wheel Culinary engines whirl and pur No captive to the hungry fur Thence to mine the tynes of night To cast the seeds up to the heights
His scalding words—accost the court In chitin—pitch'd—with dark cavorts Cocottes scattered—cloisters cracked Quenchless gyre—consumption wracked His tower high—over the dead Blossoming fog—past colors fled.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one: Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. —Francis William Bourdillon (1852–1921)
From Virtue's blissful paths away The double-tongued are sure to stray; Good is a forth-right journey still, And mazy paths but lead to ill. —by Charles Brockden Brown (1798). Wieland, T. & J. Swords, H. Caritat, New York.
HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because… Continue reading Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven (1899)