( via / via )

Ten thousand words in a cardboard box.

"You will take the book up where you left it,/ You will say, These were the last obscure words." --Bonnefoy (tr Richard Pevear)

Under Taurus.

"For Harvest

The year turns to its rest.
Up from the earth, the fields, the early-fallen dew,
Moves the large star at evening, Arcturus low with autumn,
And summer calls in her many voices upon the frost.

I who have not seen for weeping
The plum ripen and fall, or the yellowing sheaf,
Am not unmindful now of the season that came and went,
The hours that told of freshness,
The bud and the rich leaf.

Though I turned aside before the summer
And weathered but a season of the mind,
Let me sit among you when the husk is stripped,
Let me tell by the bright grain,
Those labours in an acre of cloud and the reap of the wind."

--Léonie Adams

Just another one.