Excerpt from The Breath of Life

by James Stephens, b. 1882

 

Around me was the night-time sane and cold,

The clouds that knew no care and no restraint

Swung through the silences, or drifted faint

To pale horizons, wreathing fold on fold,

The moon’s sharp edge, each rolling cloud a sea,

A foam of silver shining gloriously.

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Macro photograph: colored ice sheet.