This single warrior. But lo! from far
A Cretan archer's shaft, more sure of aim
Than vows could hope for, strikes on Scaeva's brow
To light within his eye: the hero tugs
Intrepid, bursts the nerves, and tears the shaft
Forth with the eyeball, and with dauntless heel
Treads them to dust. Not otherwise a bear
Pannonian, fiercer for the wound received,
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Was it, though, the ever beautiful blossoms of hollyhocks
are drawn. For they feel, along the pipeline, the sublime
If the two are lucky, they will be free enough to set aside
have thought of. They meet midway between Tom and Mary.
that she might honestly give him the answer that he demanded.
Between Us—for it is just that: a body of energy to which
of Tom and Mary. It is to this Holy Communion that both
They are irrevocably drawn now, these two, to the Body
their terrible ordeals in the untracked jungle to the south;
them to slow down, to mistrust the feeling, to guard against
In the afternoon we paid our respects to the governor —
Tom and Mary, standing off at a distance, can feel—in