Over the violence and the proud loyalties, over the sold-out-ness and the cruel indifference, there is light reclothing us in a kind of strange innocence.
Every enchanting mist, one hundred thousand crystal bullets of rain, sparkling dew, glistening stream, fragrant moodscapes of the rainforest are all His handiwork.
next stroke him should haue slaine, / Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound, / Dernely vnto her called to abstaine […]
With your guitar under the windows, of moonlight nights! your Spanish fopperies and trickeries! your French phrases and toeings!
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