" Receding Surf
The cool violence of wine;
the furrows of receding surf; the morning whistle
of the shepherd, more propitious for art
than all the music of the spheres;
this pride at having in one’s heart the spilled milk of the stars.
"
the furrows of receding surf; the morning whistle
of the shepherd, more propitious for art
than all the music of the spheres;
this pride at having in one’s heart the spilled milk of the stars.
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