Right now I am trying to shift way too many books from my double-stacked shelves, loving this lovely photostream, this group, and this man and his poetry:

A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the laboring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers,

Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
- W. B. Yeats

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