chestnut trees, dancing, and the cello-y life
I keep thinking about some Yeats I read a while back. Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul. Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom…
I keep thinking about some Yeats I read a while back. Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul. Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom…