Death and the Turtle I watched the turtle dwindle day by day, Get more remote, lie limp upon my hand; When offered food he turned his head away; The emerald shell grew soft. Quite near the end Those withdrawn paws stretched out to grasp His long head in a poignant dying gesture. It was so… Continue reading Mary Sarton
Her mind was as the landscape outside when dark beneath clouds and straitly lashed by wind and hail. — Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out. (Harvest Books; 1 edition February 3, 2003) Originally published 1915.
And so the space Of my still consciousness Is full of gilded snow, The which, no cat has eyes enough To see the brightness of. — Ezra Pound, from “Middle-Aged,” Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22. Edited by Harriet Monroe. (Chicago, 1912–22)