The sword sang on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field;
The sword he sung a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.
·
The sword sang on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field;
The sword he sung a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.
“A mythical animal, the vicuña fares well in the volcanic regions of northern Peru. Light thunders down on it, like Milton at his daughters. Hear that? – they are counting under their breath. When you take up your axe, listen. Hoofbeats. Wind.”
Anne Carson | “Short Talk on Vicuñas”