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The Faery Song
How beautiful they are,
The lordly ones,
Who dwell in the hills,
In the hollow hills.
They have faces like flowers,
And their breath is a wind
That stirs amid the grasses
Filled with white clover.
Their limbs are more white
Than shafts of moonshine:
They are more fleet
Than the March wind.
They laugh and are glad
And are terrible:
When their lances shake
Every green reed quivers.
How beautiful they are,
How beautiful,
The lordly ones
In the hollow hills.
(From The Immortal Hour by Fiona Macleod)
-*-
Etain's Song
Fair is the moonlight
And fair the wood,
But not so fair
As the place I come from.
Why did I leave it,
The beautiful country
Where Death is only
A drifting Shadow?
O face of Love,
Of Dream and Longing,
There is sorrow upon me,
That I am here.
I will go back
To the Country of the Young
And see again
The lances of the sidh
As they keep hosting
With laughing cries
In pale places
Under the moon.
(From The Immortal Hour by Fiona Macleod)
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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*Just now discovered that Fiona Macleod was actually a man named http://www.feri.com/lurkingbear/fiona/f … ml]William Sharp.
Links to additional reading at the web page. Would love to get my hands on that rare volume.
--Cindy
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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Really weird. A thread with no posts. Hmmm, someone better tell the administrator.
Or is it just me? :laugh:
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Hark to the tolling of bells
And the crying of wind!
The old spells
Time out of mind,
They are crying before me and behind!
I know now no more of my pain,
But am as the wandering rain
Or as the wind's shadow on the grass
Beyond Finias of the Dark Rose;
Or, 'mid the pinnacles and still snows
Of the silence of Falias,
I go: or am as the wave that idly flows
Where the pale weed in the songless thicket grows
Over the towers and fallen palaces
Where the sea-city was,
The city of Murias.
(Extract from The Dirge of the Four Cities by Fiona Macleod)
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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Like button can go here