'tis the soul's August,
whose roots are tightly compact'd--
water stagnates and rots the soil.
Nothing seems to pass through it.
In dreamy night air does
it imagine,
a haze of soft rain,
to refresh the hell
of the hot day.
Autumnal glimpses
are found deep within,
deadening the murmuring
below.
And nothing sticks to it,
vanishing up like
morning dew.
Norcia’s New Sanctuary Paintings in Honor of Our Lady
-
Near the start of this month of Our Lady, I am very pleased to be able to
share with NLM readers several photos of the new wall paintings in the
church of ...
10 hours ago
0 comments:
Post a Comment