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for every grain of sand that runs

12.23.2015

Our fourth presentation of A. L Tennyson for the holidays. Revere the beard.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

 

CIV

The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid, the night is still;
A single church below the hill
Is pealing, folded in the mist.

A single peal of bells below,
That wakens at this hour of rest
A single murmur in the breast,
That these are not the bells I know.

Like strangers’ voices here they sound,
In lands where not a memory strays,
Nor landmark breathes of other days,
But all is new unhallow’d ground.

-from In Memoriam, 1850

Merry, merry, Literary.

*

Once again, the Homeless Christmas Tree…

Homeless Tree

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From → Readings

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