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.

        ~~Irene Dodge

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