Art from Dover Archives
Words are such enchanting things conjuring unknowns. Past deeds, the flash of blades, galleons on cresting seas. The subtle scent of spice, the gleam of gold. Jewels trickling through fingers, paladins, castles, pillared porticos. The shades of those who once have been brightening still all the tenebrous steps of time Life's amaranthine mosiacs Nebulous stars and starward treks tracking the peregrine black of space. Words can tell the south's soft fragrant wind the northland's bitter shrieking gale, the sound of raindrops on my roof. In panegyric paens, our own brief span the expectations of man's hopes the universal sum of mankind's fears.