Within the written she resides
in quiet assurance of her place.
Lithe and languid, with regal mien,
she glides from the page bearing gifts.
The mantle, flowing through the ages,
envelops her in verity profound.
Gently musing all the while,
in soft tones of…Continue
Added by John Anthony Brennan on August 26, 2016 at 8:30pm — 8 Comments
On a Picture of a Black Centaur by Edmund Dulac
by W.B. Yeats
Your hooves have stamped at the black margins of the wood,
Even where horrible green parrots call and swing.
My works are all stamped down in the sultry mud.
I knew that horse-play, knew it for a murderous thing.
What wholesome sun has ripened is wholesome…
Added by Patricia Louise Hughes on December 18, 2014 at 10:30am — 1 Comment
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