pound-incense-iv

December 2, 2024

The glowing rays
That from the low sun dart, have
Turned gold each tower and every towering mast;
The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms
Hides Khadeeth’s pearl and all the sapphire might
Of burnished waves, before her gates collected:
The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth,
Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth.

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Thought:

“‘Since mountains sink to vales, and valleys die,
‘And seas and rivers mourn their sources dry;
‘When my old cassock,’ says a Welsh divine,
‘Is out at elbows, why should I repine?’”

Richard Porson | “The Bathos”

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