Sunday, June 29, 2014
Friday, June 13, 2014
Chalk, charcoal and pastels on black paper, and as I drew the lines of W. H. Auden played through my mind:
Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm; Time and fevers burn away Individual beauty from Thoughtful children, and the grave Proves the child ephermeral: But in my arms till break of day Let the living creature lie, Mortal, guilty, but to me The entirely beautiful.
Full poem here.