Never resist a sentence you like, in which language takes its own pleasure and in which, after having abused it for so long, you are stupefied by its innocence.
“Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air! To him who speaketh words as fair as these, Say that I also know the ‘Yearly Slain.’”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Yearly Slain”
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