hoskyns-fart

November 24, 2024

Reader, I was born and cried / Crackt so, smelt so, and so died, / Like to Caesar’s was my death, / He in senate lost his breath; / And alike interr’d doth lie, / Thy famous Romulus and I. / And, at last, like Flora fair, / I left the commonwealth mine air.

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Thought:

“The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows
Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf,
Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown
Sigheth and dies because the day is sped;
This wind is like her and the listless air
Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees,
The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain.”

Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Yearly Slain”

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