Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, Lark without song, and messenger of dawn Circling above the hamlets as they nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. ***


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One Response to Smoke

  1. Jeff S. May 25, 2010 at 9:56 am #

    I dig the egg briefcase. Mine only holds a half dozen.

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