blancwene: (THE MAN - HH)
I embraced the summer dawn.
Nothing was moving yet on the facades of palaces. The water was still.
Encampments of shadows still lingered along the road through the woods.
I walked, waking living and warm breaths, and jewels looked on, and wings
arose noiselessly.
The first undertaking, in the pathway already filled with fresh, pale sparkles,
was a flower which told me its name.
I laughed at the blond wasserfall disheveling itself through the pines: at its
silver summit, I recognized the goddess.
Then I lifted the veils one by one. In the pathway, gesticulating. On the plain,
where I denounced her to the cock. In the great city she fled among the steeples
and domes, and running like a beggar along the marble quays, I chased her.
Farther up the road, near a laurel grove, I wrapped her in the veils I had
collected, and I felt, a little, her immense body. Dawn and the child fell to the
bottom of the wood.
When I awoke it was noon.

--"Dawn," Arthur Rimbaud

et en français )


blancwene: (Default)



It is always remarkable when someone sees your soul to a better degree than you see it yourself. You could count the people who see your soul on one hand. Others might know you but they would forget; their knowledge of you was like a weak and undisciplined thing. But that wasn’t so with him. He didn’t forget. It stuck in his mind. He had seen a kindred soul. He had seen it long ago. She only saw it now. But she was stricken with it. Suddenly she had identified him. There was the man she loved. As a result, she proceeded dementedly to behave as if the opposite were true.

–Nancy Lemann, The Fiery Pantheon

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