Canto

The artist does not compete with his fellow artists; he does battle with his angel.

—Nicolás Gómez Dávila (Don Colacho)
{x} {xx}

Methought I floated sightless, nor did know

That I had ears until I heard the cry
As of a mighty man in agony:
“How long, Lord, shall I lie thus foul and slow?
The arrows of thy lightning through me go,
And sting and torture me—yet here I lie
A shapeless mass that scarce can mould a sigh.”

The darkness thinned; I saw a thing below,
Like sheeted corpse a knot at head and feet.
Slow clomb the sun the mountains of the dead,
And looked upon the world: the silence broke!
A blinding struggle! then the thunderous beat
Of great exulting pinions stroke on stroke!
And from that world a mighty angel fled.

Thomas Wingfold, Curate, chapter VIII
George MacDonald

A year on. Syr is beautiful as ever, more haunting than ever.

Syr is an ABJD; a Crobidoll Lance hybrid girl.

The Gift That Is Better Than Rubies (1899).
Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1872-1945)

from The Story of St Elizabeth of Hungary.
Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1872-1945).

    Vega nightfishes in the Great Sky River. Copyright © 2021

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