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On the same night they both dreamed the same dream of gloaming wind over water Nine cloaked priestesses circling like crows around a fire in the long shadow of a standing stone Long hairs swaying in the wind and arms raised up to the pin between the worlds...
Holding a ring and a silver key With pale fingers Tracing ancient tracks —Awake, he daydreamed away Evening Star Ancient traces on the mound They traced together A spring within an enwooded dark cove —Asleep, she dreamed away A white sail Afar Together...
In the soft pale golden light sliced with blue flashes No circling speck of deep yellow gold gleams and shifts Into something like an orb with a dark blue blazing core Evening Star Though whitish or hazy or nacreous drifts forgather And grey mists and...
Whilst mists arise above dark winding ditches Out of the oak shades of her faraway-looking eyes Her auburn light shines upon a green wooded land Evening Star To a black crow flapping its wings on the field afar Her pale face smiles whilst her dark cloak...
Perhaps lost Perhaps late No sign from Her Evening Star Here among hooded crows To live now is to look out for Underneath a flight of seamews crying A white sail Afar Together (Northern Crown Crossway)
Forse Ganhumara era il suo nome più antico, il nome pitto—forse il nome sacerdotale. Era così chiamata, forse, perché regina dei Pitti, la gente bianca—donne dalle bianche braccia e dalle bianche fronti—pallore simile a quello delle montagne innevate...
… grass & gloaming sky like blue green grey sea … … sometimes she walked or floated along the red or grey brick traces, ever so slowly, & sometimes above the grass, slowly, & sometimes along the wooden barrier, ever so slowly, ever deeply loved, though...
«La principale avventura della regina», «l’atto di gran lunga più significativo della sua vita», «segue il prototipico Viaggio nell’Aldilà». È una «discesa agli inferi», un «rituale di catabasi» che «la individua incontrovertibilmente come Alta Sacerdotessa»...
… hidden & lost their history, gloaming tracers like the grey man quietly sitting on the park bench are like the breeze brushing the greensward or the wind on the buffalo grass: no more than fleeting dreams, fragile sightings flying like a flight of the...
… by a different gaze the world changes, perhaps, like time & place are changed by the gaze of a child when & where he’s playing … … seen through the childhood’s eye, as seen through the eye of the flaneur, the everyday waking world is changed by playing...