I had wanted a quiet testament and I had wanted, among other things, a song. That was to be of a like monotony. (A grace Simply. Very very quiet. A murmur of some lost thrush, though I have never seen one. Which was you then. Sitting and so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet. A song. And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross perpetuity (which is not reluctant, or if it is, it is no longer important. A song. Which one sings, if he sings it, with care.
Added: 13 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 8 Jun 2025 3:07 AM | Viewed: 7166 times
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