"POSTSCRIPT
Though now but marble are the marble urns,
Though fountains droop in waning light and pain
Glitters on the edges of wet ferns,
I should not dare to let you in again.
Mine is a world foregone though not yet ended,—
An imagined garden grey with sundered boughs
And broken branches, wistful and unmended,
And mist that is more constant than your vows."
—Hart Crane
Gelände (Part III). In Nürnberg.
"And lies all withering on Methymna's shore" —Royston's Lycophron
Free Jeffers in wide format--i love this. (via)
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