sábado, 5 de novembro de 2011

Poem of The Day: Water


Water

The water understands
Civilization well;
It wets my foot, but prettily,
It chills my life, but wittily,
It is not disconcerted,
It is not broken-hearted:
Well used, it decketh joy,
Adorneth, doubleth joy:
Ill used, it will destroy,
In perfect time and measure
With a face of golden pleasure
Elegantly destroy.

Meus Poemas: combateremos a sombra


Mas não é por desconhecermos aquilo que nos diz respeito que deixamos de fazer parte do desconhecido.

Lídia Jorge, Combateremos a Sombra


combateremos a sombra

Quando me chamas

Perdida num deserto de chamas

E tudo começa de novo


Dormimos sem rumo

Sem contemplar a nossa aproximação

E que nos cega

Perante esta nova luz


E se a tua voz depois se cala

No ritmo sincopado dos nossos silêncios

Para me sorrir mentindo

Sobre o que não podemos ser


Mas não podemos parar

Porque já nos temos

Esquecido antes

Debaixo desta iluminação perfeita


Mas podemos deixar-nos cair

Na imperfeição

E comprometer o que prometemos

Porque mesmo quando o desconhecido se abre finalmente

E acelera atravessando o vazio

E esta poeira se levanta sobre nós

Não é por isso que nos descobrimos menos

segunda-feira, 1 de agosto de 2011

Poem of the day: Again a Solstice

Jennifer Chang

Again a Solstice

It is not good to think
of everything as a mistake. I asked
for bacon in my sandwich, and then

I asked for more. Mistake.
I told you the truth about my scar:

I did not use a knife. I lied
about what he did to my faith
in loneliness. Both mistakes.

That there is always a you. Mistake.
Faith in loneliness, my mother proclaimed,

is faith in self. My instinct, a poor polaris.
Not a mistake is the blue boredom
of a summer lake. O mud, sun, and algae!

We swim in glittering murk.
I tread, you tread. There are children

testing the deep end, shriek and stroke,
the lifeguard perilously close to diving.
I tried diving once. I dove like a brick.

It was a mistake to ask the $30 prophet
for a $20 prophecy. A mistake to believe.

I was young and broke. I swam
in a stolen reservoir then, not even a lake.
Her prophesy: from my vagrant exertion

I'll die at 42. Our dog totters across the lake,
kicks the ripple. I tread, you tread.

What does it even mean to write a poem?
It means today
I'm correcting my mistakes.

It means I don't want to be lonely.

sábado, 2 de julho de 2011

Poem of the day: Mirrors

Mirrors

by Tada Chimako
translated by Jeffrey Angles

The mirror is always slightly taller than I
It laughs a moment after I laugh
Turning red as a boiled crab
I cut myself from the mirror with shears

*

When my lips draw close, the mirror clouds over
And I vanish behind my own sighs
Like an aristocrat hiding behind his crest
Or a gangster behind his tattoos

*

Oh traveler, go to Lacedaemon and say that in the mirror,
Graveyard of smiles, there is a single gravestone
Painted white, thick with makeup
Where the wind blows alone

Now wouldn't that be great?


sábado, 25 de junho de 2011

Quote of the day: Rainer Maria Rilke


"For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences."
— Rainer Maria Rilke

segunda-feira, 20 de junho de 2011

Pessoa Diário: Cansa sentir quando se pensa


Fernando Pessoa

Cansa sentir quando se pensa

Cansa sentir quando se pensa.
No ar da noite a madrugar
Há uma solidão imensa
Que tem por corpo o frio do ar.

Neste momento insone e triste
Em que não sei quem hei de ser,
Pesa-me o informe real que existe
Na noite antes de amanhecer.

Tudo isto me parece tudo.
E é uma noite a ter um fim
Um negro astral silêncio surdo
E não poder viver assim.

(Tudo isto me parece tudo.
Mas noite, frio, negror sem fim,
Mundo mudo, silêncio mudo -
Ah, nada é isto, nada é assim!)

quinta-feira, 9 de junho de 2011

Pessoa Diário: A morte chega cedo

Fernando Pessoa

A morte chega cedo

A morte chega cedo,
Pois breve é toda vida
O instante é o arremedo
De uma coisa perdida.

O amor foi começado,
O ideal não acabou,
E quem tenha alcançado
Não sabe o que alcançou.

E tudo isto a morte
Risco por não estar certo
No caderno da sorte
Que Deus deixou aberto.

Fonte: Cancioneiro

terça-feira, 7 de junho de 2011

Tumblr Influences #2

Poem of the day: Around Us

Marvin Bell

Around Us


We need some pines to assuage the darkness
when it blankets the mind,
we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly
as a plane's wing, and a worn bed of 
needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind,
and a blur or two of a wild thing
that sees and is not seen. We need these things
between appointments, after work,
and, if we keep them, then someone someday,
lying down after a walk
and supper, with the fire hole wet down,
the whole night sky set at a particular
time, without numbers or hours, will cause
a little sound of thanks--a zipper or a snap--
to close round the moment and the thought
of whatever good we did.

Sapiosexual are you?

sábado, 4 de junho de 2011

quinta-feira, 2 de junho de 2011

Regresso a um passado mais recente: ruídos

ruídos

o ruído
do meu corpo tombado
inexpressivo
num deserto sem cor

hábil
no contorno
distante monóculo
perímetro de segurança
alerta

pele
poder
palavra

embargo
de incenso
raízes
fractura imposta

maçã mordida
cegueira
dançamos

um passo
posso mudar
devagar
posso mudar
sem saber

Going back to the past - old poems: gry































gry

there is a time in our lives where we recognize ourselves.

and then we ask ourselves: what have i been doing so far?

protecting myself.

Citação do dia: Pessoa Diário

















«Tudo quanto o homem expõe ou exprime é uma nota à margem de um texto apagado de todo. Mais ou menos, pelo sentido da nota, tiramos o sentido que havia de ser o do texto; mas fica sempre uma dúvida, e os sentidos possíveis são muitos.»

Calm and cozy: Part I

domingo, 29 de maio de 2011

Poem of the day: The Republic of Dreams

The Republic of Dreams

She lay so still that
as she spoke

a spider spun a seamless web
upon her body

as we spoke
and then her limbs came loose

one by one
and so my own

segunda-feira, 16 de maio de 2011

End of the Road: May Issue



Interview with Portuguese band Switchtense, album reviews and other articles. Always done with great effort and dedication. Our little contribution to the world. Enjoy.

quarta-feira, 11 de maio de 2011

Poema do dia: Escolha


Escolha

Quando é que enfim nos dispomos
A morrermos lado a lado?
Bons ou maus, o que nós fomos,
Nessa escolha transmudado,

Será só brisa da aurora
Que de nós sobe à cidade,
Quando no sangrar da hora
Reflorir a liberdade.

Fonte: Poema de Horas de Vidro

terça-feira, 10 de maio de 2011

Conhecendo Alice Vieira: quatro poemas


Alice Vieira

a) 2

como dizer aos meus olhos que se afastem
do incêndio que lavra a oriente do teu sangue
rasgando a minha fome

e me protejam nesta imperfeita madrugada
em que as línguas dos homens e dos anjos
se confundem

b) 1

de tudo o que era meu deixo-te o fogo
os resíduos do tempo a ferida gangrenada
o palato onde a língua se desvenda
nos ritos obscuros da morte

deixo-te ainda o declínio dos lugares
onde as vozes amadas se perderam para sempre
e o eco das palavras desgarradas ao meio-dia
quando os cães ladravam
no calor dos pátios clandestinos

- e aquele estranho lugar no coração
aberto sempre a quem chegava mesmo quando
não sabíamos o seu nome

c) 5

a língua sobre a pele o arrepio
os teus dedos nas escadas do meu corpo

as lâminas do amor o fogo a espuma
a transbordar de ti na tua fuga

a palavra mordida entre os lençóis
as cinzas de outro lume à cabeceira

da mesma esquina sempre o mesmo olhar:
nada do que era teu vou devolver

d) 6

entre a saliva e os sonhos há sempre
uma ferida de que não conseguimos
regressar

e uma noite a vida
começa a doer muito
e os espelhos donde as almas partiram
agarram-nos pelos ombros e murmuram
como são terríveis os olhos do amor
quando acordam vazios

Fonte: excertos de Dois Corpos Tombando Na Água

segunda-feira, 9 de maio de 2011

Poem of the day: Blood

C. Dale Young

Blood

Someone has already pulled a knife
across my chest, and the rope has already
gripped our wrists drawing blood.

I am naked, and I cannot be sure
if you are as well. In the room, the men
come and go, yelling blood bath, half-blood,

blood-bitch
. We never hear the word trueblood.
In my dreams I am dying all the time.
We are bound and gagged, blindfolded,

but still I know you must be the one
lying there, the cool anodized steel table
beneath us, the two of us side by side.

Lying there, my shoulder blades ache,
and there is blood collecting in
the corners of my mouth. But then it happens,

just as it always happens: your fingers
suddenly twist into tiny shoots, your arms
break free as you accept the shape

of a tree, the leaves sprouting, the delicate
bark rising up from your skin's surface.
Try as I might, I never seem able.

On the telephone this morning, I again
keep the dream to myself. Half-blood
becomes half-breed. Blood-bitch

becomes blood-sister. But blood never lies,
does it? Blood carries so many secrets
one can only hear its murmurs in our arteries,

its incessant monologue, in the quiet
night's bed just before sleep. Blood says
You are more and, sometimes, You are less.

Album of the month: Grayceon - All We Destroy



Grayceon is a very unique band from the USA. And All We Destroy is one of the best albums released so far this year . You probably won't find anything like it anytime soon. The creativity of metal at its best.
A must-listen. Highly recommended. Album of the month.

domingo, 1 de maio de 2011

Poem of the Day: Dark Matter

Jack Myers

Dark Matter

I've lived my life as if I were my wife
packing for a trip—I'll need this and that
and I can't possibly do without that!

But now I'm about
what can be done without.
I just need a thin valise.
There's no place on earth
where I can't unpack in a flash
down to a final spark of consciousness.
No place where I can't enter
the joyless rapture
of almost remembering
I'll need this and I'll need that,
hoping to weigh less than silence,
lighter than light.


Sugestão musical para acompanhar o poema: Porcupine Tree - Dark Matter

sábado, 16 de abril de 2011

Poem of the day: The Things

Donald Hall

The Things

When I walk in my house I see pictures,
bought long ago, framed and hanging
—de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore—
that I've cherished and stared at for years,
yet my eyes keep returning to the masters
of the trivial—a white stone perfectly round,
tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell,
a broken great-grandmother's rocker,
a dead dog's toy—valueless, unforgettable
detritus that my children will throw away
as I did my mother's souvenirs of trips
with my dead father, Kodaks of kittens,
and bundles of cards from her mother Kate.

It's been busy

segunda-feira, 4 de abril de 2011

Poem of the day: Exact

Rae Armantrout

Exact

Quick, before you die,
describe

the exact shade
of this hotel carpet.

What is the meaning
of the irregular, yellow

spheres, some
hollow,

gathered in patches
on this bedspread?

If you love me,
worship

the objects
I have caused

to represent me
in my absence.


*

Over and over
tiers

of houses spill
pleasantly

down that hillside.
It

might be possible
to count occurrences.

sexta-feira, 1 de abril de 2011

#1331



























"Often met their eyes of love, and happy were their words in secret."

sexta-feira, 25 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: Without Discussion

Samuel Amadon

Without Discussion

What people said, what left the table dark.
None stayed inside the house, nor close around.
Each direction its direction bound.
Like when you leave the arcing thing to arc.
Like papers gather papers in the park.
We note the wind is what can't hold the ground.
While hearing transfer stations fill with sound.
And let the city alter a remark
a little further from explaining what
was meant. A creak again or just a creak
right then. Like leaning forward on the cart.
A structure falls to stay its every strut.
I'd like to speak. I said I'd like to speak.
And someone sighs, they broke the silent part.

Concerto do dia: Moita Fest

segunda-feira, 21 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: The Moment

Marie Howe

The Moment

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment

when, nothing

happens

no what-have-I-to-do-today-list


maybe half a moment

the rush of traffic stops.

The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be

slows to silence,

the white cotton curtains hanging still.

sábado, 19 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: Who goes with Fergus?

W. B. Yeats

Who goes with Fergus?

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.

terça-feira, 15 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: The Coming of War: Actæon

Ezra Pound

The Coming of War: Actæon

An image of Lethe,
and the fields
Full of faint light
but golden,
Gray cliffs,
and beneath them
A sea
Harsher than granite,
unstill, never ceasing;

High forms
with the movement of gods,
Perilous aspect;
And one said:
"This is Actæon."
Actaeon of golden greaves!

Over fair meadows,
Over the cool face of that field,
Unstill, ever moving,
Host of an ancient people,
The silent cortège
.

sábado, 12 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: The Uses of Poetry

William Carlos Williams

The Uses of Poetry

I've fond anticipation of a day
O'erfilled with pure diversion presently,
For I must read a lady poesy
The while we glide by many a leafy bay,

Hid deep in rushes, where at random play
The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee
Hush-throated nestlings in alarm,
Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.

For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring
To rural peace from our meek onward trend,
What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string

And close the door of sense; then satiate wend,
On poesy's transforming giant wing,
To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.

sexta-feira, 11 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: Exoskeletal Gesture

Eric Baus

Exoskeletal Gesture


Venom erupted from the trees when the vital system of the brook reset its serum stem.

Can suspended snakes compose a more careless music? Do two detached wings count as an

exoskeletal gesture? A hiss is the sound the sky would make if these leaves revived their flight.

segunda-feira, 7 de março de 2011

Poem of the day: Chita Ground

Sandra Doller

Chita Ground

The blazes mine
Chita ground
been flown
been hampered
away

Authorities say
to the East
a blue camouflage gold
gold mine
camouflaged

"The cause of the fire is not yet unclear."

The company owns the mine
—not yet unclear—
the bodies of 12
12 miners there
there clear

"My brother's there.
I can't say anymore"
some said saying

Most popular
trapped miners
the other guys
Russia's gold
got smoky
got baskets

One miner described
safety
as
O

Have breathing devices
have many accidents
have the bosses
have happened

Have since been flown
after the blaze unclears
unclear miners flown
down above the ground.

sábado, 5 de março de 2011

Album of the month: Evergrey - Glorious Collision




























Welcome back, Evergrey, we've missed you. Or at least, I have. Glorious Collision is the new Evergrey release, it came out in February. I'm not gonna say if it's good or bad, it's still to early for that. I might do that some place else, some other day. For now, I'm just commemorating the music of Evergrey and welcoming a new album. Regardless of what is is, Evergrey will still be a dear band to me. I'm very fond of them. They wrote a page on progressive metal history as one of the most creative dark prog metal bands that ever lived. They are going through a restructuring period as well, so one can really ask them the world at this point. Let's just hope they continue to give us new music that is exciting and interesting.

Evergrey, Glorious Collision, album of the month.

Poem of the day: Sonnet—Silence

Edgar Allan Poe

Sonnet—Silence

There are some qualities—some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence—sea and shore—
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

quarta-feira, 2 de março de 2011

Poem of the day:The House

Richard Wilbur

The House

Sometimes, on waking, she would close her eyes
For a last look at that white house she knew
In sleep alone, and held no title to,
And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.

What did she tell me of that house of hers?
White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;
A widow's walk above the bouldered shore;
Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.

Is she now there, wherever there may be?
Only a foolish man would hope to find
That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.
Night after night, my love, I put to sea.

terça-feira, 1 de março de 2011

Musical Recommendations: Intronaut & Klone

It has been a while since I have recommended albums here. I miss that. I haven't had as much time to do that as I would like to. But here I am. Both albums are from 2010 and I missed both of them last year. It was such a reach year as well for prog. So, at the beginning of the new year I'm going back in time and rescuing some of the albums that were released last year and see what I've missed. I rarely listen to a whole lot of new albums in one year, I focus on the albums my favourite bands release that year. I might find some album here or there that I want to listen to for a particular reason, but generally speaking, I take my time to discover new bands and new albums. These two bands are new to me. I have never heard of Intronaut or Klone until I found out about these two albums I'm suggesting. These are not your typical metal bands, they are underground but luckily some people are still spreading the word about them and it got to me. Oftentimes, the good metal you find is unknown to most metalheads, although that's not always the case. But here, they are definitely worth checking. I hope you enjoy them. Musical recommendations are back!

a) Intronaut - Valley of Smoke





















b) Klone - Black Days

segunda-feira, 28 de fevereiro de 2011

Citação do dia: Fernando Pessoa





“A nossa personalidade deve ser indevassável, mesmo por nós próprios: daí o nosso dever de sonharmos sempre, e incluirmo-nos nos nossos sonhos, para que nos não seja possível ter opiniões a nosso respeito”

sábado, 26 de fevereiro de 2011

Os Meus Poemas: coisas concretas

coisas concretas


as coisas muito concretas

que parecem alucinações

quando olhamos para elas e nos afastamos


daquilo que é poesia


e daquilo que são corpos pregados num céu sem estrelas

feito a partir de retalhos e remendos dos contos que me contas

com os olhos fechados

para o mundo


e se agora me atingisse um relâmpago

quando estou a acordar

e a ser engolida pela noite

uma coisa concreta

mas impalpável


tudo se transformaria

numa coisa desfeita

e dolorosa


aquilo que escondemos

por entre sorrisos abertos

e momentos transitórios

colocar-nos-á um pouco mais longe

do que vemos reflectido


e a sensação com que ficamos

é que as coisas concretas

não nos deixam ser aquilo que queremos

Poema do dia: Cartas a uma Desconhecida


Nicanor Parra

Cartas a uma Desconhecida

Quando passarem os anos, quando passarem
Os anos e o ar tiver cavado um fosso
Entre a tua alma e a minha; quando passarem os anos
E eu for apenas um homem que amou,
Um ser que se deteve um instante diante dos teus lábios,
Um pobre homem cansado de andar pelos jardins,
Onde estarás tu? Onde
Estarás, ó filha dos meus beijos?


Tradução de Albano Martins.

quinta-feira, 24 de fevereiro de 2011

Citação do dia: Augusto Monterroso



«O certo é que o escritor de brevidades o que mais deseja é escrever interminavelmente textos longos, textos longos em que a imaginação não tenha de trabalhar, em que factos, coisas, animais e homens se cruzem, se procurem ou fujam uns dos outros, vivam, convivam, se amem ou façam derramar livremente o seu sangue sem estarem sujeitos ao ponto e vírgula, ao ponto.»

Augusto Monterroso

Poem of the day: Strip Show

Zach Savich

Strip Show

Lightning-torn bark lured on the lower limbs, a sym-
bol of how a bole bares itself in time. I've tried

to wear my sheddings so gracefully
that finches will not flush at the foul capillary sheen my

systolic nerve acts out its barn-raisings slash burnings by.
Have a heart. Mine murmurs yes and no and yet now.

quarta-feira, 23 de fevereiro de 2011

Poem of the day: Wolf Cento

Simone Muench

Wolf Cento

Very quick. Very intense, like a wolf

at a live heart, the sun breaks down.
What is important is to avoid
the time allotted for disavowels
as the livid wound
leaves a trace leaves an abscess
takes its contraction for those clouds
that dip thunder & vanish
like rose leaves in closed jars.
Age approaches, slowly. But it cannot
crystal bone into thin air.
The small hours open their wounds for me.
This is a woman's confession:

I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me

sexta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2011

The Truth About the Present

John Lane

The Truth About the Present

after Bei Dao

when rivers are intoxicated
with dioxide you gather lotus shoots
to pick their pockets is
the clock of the age

when the last songbird
shivers with undue cold like wires overhead
to handle harsh metals is
the clock of the age

when your keyboard dissolves
in the pit of nations
to write in echoes is
the clock of the age

when you forge transparencies
in the foundries upstream
the bridges are blocked by karaoke
their digital sand is
the clock of the age

the cell phone's face is always
time-dependent on fingers somewhere
today opens to the nearby delta
and tomorrow
is the clock of the age

Poem of the day: Almost There

Timothy Liu

Almost There

Hard to imagine getting
anywhere near another semi-
nude encounter down this concrete
slab of interstate, the two of us
all thumbs—

white-throated swifts mating mid-flight
instead of buckets of
crispy wings thrown down
hoi polloi—
an army of mouths

eager to feed
left without any lasting sustenance.
Best get down on all fours.
Ease our noses past
rear-end collisions wrapped around

guardrails shaking loose their bolts
while unseen choirs jacked on
airwaves go on preaching
loud and clear to every
last pair of unrepentant ears—

Mood: In Absentia

quarta-feira, 16 de fevereiro de 2011

Poem of the day: What Elizabeth Bishop Could Not Know

Afaa M. Weaver


What Elizabeth Bishop Could Not Know


Black women keep secrets tied up in hankies
they stuff in their bras, secrets of how their necks
are connected to their spines in the precise gyration
of a jelly sweetened in nights they had to keep
to themselves, nights prowlers came in to change
the faces of their children, secrets like the good
googa mooga laughter they do with each other
when something affirms their suspicions, when
their eyes are made the prayerbooks of fate crafted
in the wisdom that knows there is no north or south
in black wandering, searching the new land, a song
they wrestle from black men, the broken ones
who had to be shown where and how to stand,
how to respect pain and the way it governs itself,
secrets, things made out of generations and not kept
in the glass selections of an old juke box.

sábado, 12 de fevereiro de 2011

Citação do dia: José Saramago











"Se podes olhar, vê. Se podes ver, repara."

José Saramago

Poem of the day: A Book Said Dream and I Do

Barbara Ras

A Book Said Dream and I Do

There were feathers and the light that passed through feathers.
There were birds that made the feathers and the sun that made the light.
The feathers of the birds made the air soft, softer
than the quiet in a cocoon waiting for wings,
stiller than the stare of a hooded falcon.
But no falcons in this green made by the passage of parents.
No, not parents, parrots flying through slow sleep
casting green rays to light the long dream.
If skin, dew would have drenched it, but dust
hung in space like the stoppage of
time itself, which, after dancing with parrots,
had said, Thank you. I'll rest now.
It's not too late to say the parrot light was thick
enough to part with a hand, and the feathers softening
the path, fallen after so much touching of cheeks,
were red, hibiscus red split by veins of flight
now at the end of flying.
Despite the halt of time, the feathers trusted red
and believed indolence would fill the long dream,

until the book shut and time began again to hurt.

Knowing Archibald MacLeish: 2 Poems

Archibald MacLeish

a) Charity
Since my Beloved chambered me
   To beat within her breast,
And took my soul to light a shrine
   Her soul had decked and dressed,
And caught my songs about her throat,—
   Dissected, known, confessed,
I dwell within her charity

A half-unwelcome guest.



b) Soul-Sight
Like moon-dark, like brown water you escape,
O laughing mouth, O sweet uplifted lips.
Within the peering brain old ghosts take shape;
You flame and wither as the white foam slips
Back from the broken wave: sometimes a start,
A gesture of the hands, a way you own
Of bending that smooth head above your heart,—
Then these are vanished, then the dream is gone.
 
Oh, you are too much mine and flesh of me
To seal upon the brain, who in the blood
Are so intense a pulse, so swift a flood
Of beauty, such unceasing instancy.
Dear unimagined brow, unvisioned face,

All beauty has become your dwelling place.