Tag: under the pyramids

Dost thou see a book before thee?

Thomasin: Black Phillip, I conjure thee to speak to me. Speak as thou dost speak to Jonas and Mercy. Dost thou understand my English tongue? Answer me. Black Phillip: What dost thou want? Thomasin: What canst thou give? Black Phillip: Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress? Wouldst thou like to live […]

New Blood IX

Another New Blood post to share the latest creations.

À la Lune

The moon pours to the heart its white intimacy Of a vaporous dream where passes a beauty, And in the hollow paths where the freshness exhales Adds to the puddles some opal-coloured pools. – Albert Lozeau – To the Moon –

Pulvis et umbra sumus

Pulvis et umbra sumus (We are but dust and shadow) – Horace – Book IV, ode VI, v. 16 –

Petroglyphs II

On the Ash Tree Yggdrasil […] Harts there are also four, Which from its summit, Arch-necked, gnaw. Dâin and Dvalin, Duneyr and Durathrôr. – Grímnismál 33 –

Fleur de Poussière

The threshold to the seance parlour has not been crossed for many moons. The air is intoxicating, filled with the scent of a myriad of fainted roses, rich draperies staggered by the dust of time and the resinous memory of incense long gone. Reminding you of times that you could not possibly have known and, […]

Your ever true

Dearest, deeply loved Victoria, According to your wish, and by the urging of my heart to talk to you and open my heart to you, I send these lines […] I need not tell you that since we left, all my thoughts have been with you at Windsor, and that your image fills my whole […]

She recited curses and spoke magic words

Circe, daughter of the Sun, recited curses and spoke magic words, worshipping unknown gods, with unknown incantations, by which she used to dim the face of the bright moon, and veil her father’s orb, with moisture-loving cloud. – Ovid (translation A.S. Kline) – Metamorphoses –

Préludes

This Chopin is an angel. His goodness, his tenderness and his patience sometimes make me anxious; I feel that he is too fine, too exquisite, too perfect to live long in this crude and heavy earthly world. He wrote in Majorca, being sick to death, a music that smelled strongly of heaven but I am […]

La couronne effeuillée I

J’irai, j’irai porter ma couronne effeuillée Au jardin de mon père où revit toute fleur ; J’y répandrai longtemps mon âme agenouillée : Mon père a des secrets pour vaincre la douleur. J’irai, j’irai lui dire, au moins avec mes larmes : “Regardez, j’ai souffert … ” il me regardera, Et sous mes jours changés, […]

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