Hunting Horns by Guillame Apollinaire:
Our past is as noble and as tragic
As the mask of a tyrant
No tale of danger or of magic
Nothing so insignificant
Describes the pathos of our love
And Thomas de Quincy drinking his
Sweet and chaste and poisoned glass
Dreaming went to see his Ann
Let us since all passes pass
I shall look back only too often
Memories are hunting horns
Whose sound dies along the wind
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
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