Bidding us twain upon thy glory call.
Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall
Of that frail sleep, His first light seigniory,
And we are come through all the modes that fall
Unto their lot who meet him constantly.
·
Bidding us twain upon thy glory call.
Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall
Of that frail sleep, His first light seigniory,
And we are come through all the modes that fall
Unto their lot who meet him constantly.
“Today we no longer know what to call art, what its function is and even less what function it will have in the future. We know only that it is something dynamic — unlike many ideas that have governed us.”
Michelangelo Antonioni