L'Apres-Midi d'un faune
If there be grief, then let it be but rain,
And this but silver grief for grieving's sake,
If these green woods be dreaming here to wake
Within my heart, if I should rouse again.
But I shall sleep, for where is any death
While in these blue hills slumbrous overhead
I'm rooted like a tree? Though I be dead,
This earth that holds me fast will find me breath.
-William Faulkner
...I just called every single bookstore nearby and none of them carry any of Faulkner's poetry, which isn't surprising. Now I'm wondering if the used bookstore will have anything....
And this but silver grief for grieving's sake,
If these green woods be dreaming here to wake
Within my heart, if I should rouse again.
But I shall sleep, for where is any death
While in these blue hills slumbrous overhead
I'm rooted like a tree? Though I be dead,
This earth that holds me fast will find me breath.
-William Faulkner
...I just called every single bookstore nearby and none of them carry any of Faulkner's poetry, which isn't surprising. Now I'm wondering if the used bookstore will have anything....