Thursday, December 3, 2009

Brightness Falls from the Air

Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds open her gate.
"Come, come!" the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
—Thomas Nashe, A Litany in the Time of Plague

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