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Nuttall Codex online.

“The Song Of Shadows

Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.

Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more.”

—Walter de la Mare

"Cool was meant to be about outsiders. Cute has no inside or outside: it’s all surface."

“deal, infidel, the night is indeed difficult” –Gwendolyn MacEwen

"After writing a Haiku on the board and asking his students to count the onji, his students responded with confounded silence."