The tide is running high, my love,

The blossom’s almost done,
It falls without a sigh, my love,
Like mist dies in the sun.

The wind is blowing wild, my love,
It rattles the window pane,
It cries like a lost child, my love,
Her tears fall like the rain.

A child you’ll never know, my love,
For I could not make you stay,
You followed the high tide’s flow, my love,
And a ship took you away.

Our tears could fill the sea, my love,
Beneath this cruel sky,
For you’ll not come back to me, my love,
Though the tide is running high.

—"The running tide",
Jane Dougherty

The love of books. My library is an archive of longings.

—Susan Sontag

A fire is burning in Bird Spirit Land,

In Bird Spirit Land lies my young love.
A storm is raging in Bird Spirit Land,
I will scatter the black carrion birds.
I will watch over the kissing clay of my young love.
I will be with him in Bird Spirit Land.

A fire is burning in Bird Spirit Land.
My bones smoulder.
I must journey there.

Lavondyss, Robert Holdstock

In the land of apathy

There’s a pretty girl who waits for me
I was standing there when she looked down
From Kramer’s wall at the edge of town

I stayed till all the rest were gone
My pretty girl, she stood alone
She wouldn’t leave, I asked her why
And this, my friends, was her reply

She said—
Shadows fly away from me
I cannot face the light you see
But if they come I’ll fight them all
While I’m standing here on Kramer’s wall

What injustice had decreed
This lonely life she had to lead?
I pitied her but didn’t stay
And the road I followed passed away

From that day on I had no rest
My heart kept burning in my chest
I couldn’t stand my fatal choice
For every night I heard her voice

She said—
If you are who I hope you are
You can never run too far
I will never let you fall
I’m watching you from Kramer’s wall

I realized I would rather be
In chains with her than alone and free
For she had shown the kind of love
The greatest ones had been made of

Her haunting words inside my head
Revived the heart I thought was dead
So I took the higher call
And stood with her on Kramer’s wall

I said—
Everything may come undone
The sky may fall and rend the sun
But you and I are standing tall
Here on top of Kramer’s wall

Nothing breaks the lover’s soul
Nothing makes the young grow old
Except the time that kills us all
But there is no time on Kramer’s wall

I will never let you fall
I will stand with you on Kramer’s wall.

—"Kramer's Wall",
A Horse and His Boy, Trilogy EP (2011)

The truth is, when the period at which

a man of talent is condemned to live is dull and stupid, the artist is, unconsciously to himself, haunted by a sensation of morbid yearning for another century… In some cases, it is a return to past ages, to vanished civilizations, to dead centuries; in others, it is an impulse towards the fantastic, the land of dreams, it is a vision more or less vivid of a time to come whose images reproduce, without his being aware, as a result of atavism, that of by-gone epochs.

(...or, in these days, yearning for a future history that never will be, save in dreaming...)

— J. K. Huysmans, “Against the Grain” (1926)


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