The (Most) Nabobist

http://vernix.org/marcel/people/. I begin with G.M. Hopkins.

The only girl I’ve ever loved
Was born with roses in her eyes
But then they buried her alive
One evening, 1945
NMH

Come dance in the dark. Come to move these automotive stars. I put my hand in with dusts and blown.

I don't know about you but I'm roasting the most beautiful Proust this year. Such heavenly scents, oh my, that I may swoon before I've even get the little beast on the heat. Should there be enough public interest, I'll post pictures of the results.

>I MET a traveller from an antique land >Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone >Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, >Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown >And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command >Tell that its sculptor well those passions read >Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, >The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. >And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: >Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" >Nothing beside remains: round the decay >Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, >The lone and level sands stretch far away.