HILFE
5 AUG 1923
He smiled, eyes sliding out of focus. "I was dreaming…" "Dreaming what?" "I don't remember… we were singing. In the rain…
| James Shirley. 1596–1666 |
| 288. Death the Leveller |
| THE glories of our blood and state | |
| Are shadows, not substantial things; | |
| There is no armour against Fate; | |
| Death lays his icy hand on kings: | |
| Sceptre and Crown | 5 |
| Must tumble down, | |
| And in the dust be equal made | |
| With the poor crookèd scythe and spade. | |
| Some men with swords may reap the field, | |
| And plant fresh laurels where they kill: | 10 |
| But their strong nerves at last must yield; | |
| They tame but one another still: | |
| Early or late | |
| They stoop to fate, | |
| And must give up their murmuring breath | 15 |
| When they, pale captives, creep to death. | |
| The garlands wither on your brow, | |
| Then boast no more your mighty deeds! | |
| Upon Death's purple altar now | |
| See where the victor-victim bleeds. | 20 |
| Your heads must come | |
| To the cold tomb: | |
| Only the actions of the just | |
| Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. |
“Bobby, do you know what a metaphor is?”
“A component, like a capacitor?”