Mélanges littéraires (XXIII)

Some literary snippets;  click.

Alas, I am slain, and by bút óne árrow.

Allow me   to halt awhile,    and weep  here,   before the scene...

Thank you, Lord, for Brother Sun. / He warms us till the day is done.

[You’ll have to click on the Comments to see this one.]

the flat-foot shamblers,  the dead-eyed gamblers …

O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand,

    And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed,

    And backward mutters of dissevering power,

    We cannot free the Lady that sits here

Unfluctuant passion  for some perfect sphere.