Praising, that's it! He was called to praise and emerged from the silence of a stone like an ore. O his heart – a temporary press for man's everlasting wine. Nor does his voice grow...
This is the creature there has never been, They never knew it, and yet, none the less, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene. Not there,...
A god can do it. But tell me, how can a man pass through the narrow lyre to follow him? His mind's divided. At the place where two heart-ways cross is no Temple to Apollo....
Climbing the slope beneath grey leaves he just seemed grey and tousled like the olive-trees. He hid his burning forehead streaked with dust in hands as grey and dusty as the trees. This after all....
When he played his lyre to the shades it was his first awareness of the everlasting praise. When he had eaten poppies with the dead his ear was new attuned to every smallest sound. Understand:...
