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Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people. Where do the black trees go that drink here? Their shadows must cover Canada.
A little light is filtering from the water flowers. Their leaves do not wish us to hurry: They are round and flat and full of dark advice.
Cold worlds shake from the oar. The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes. A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;
Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

Sylvia Plath


:::e:::


In Caria there is a Mount Latmus, which has a cave containing the shepherd Endymion, a youth of surpassing beauty. Selene, the moon, found him there one night, lay beside him, and kissed his eyes. He sleeps there permanently in a magic trance, never growing older, as a captive of the moon.



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