"On the Manner of Addressing Clouds
Gloomy grammarians in golden gowns,
Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous,
Eliciting the still sustaining pomps
Of speech which are like music so profound
They seem an exaltation without sound.
Funest philosophers and ponderers,
Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
So speech of your processionals returns
In the casual evocations of your tread
Across the stale, mysterious seasons. These
Are the music of meet resignation; these
The responsive, still sustaining pomps for you
To magnify, if in that drifting waste
You are to be accompanied by more
Than mute bare splendors of the sun and moon."
--Wallace Stevens
"The historical sense of castles is so entrenched that most will assume any spirit of the stair must be former royal prisoner or warden. Of course, it's just as likely the ghost of a visitor from 1959 who fell to their death before they installed the guide ropes." – C. Josiffe (via @HooklandGuide)
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