a.tacet

Sweet, through the mist, to see illumed again Stars through the azure, lamps behind the pane, Rivers of carbon irrigate the sky, And the pale moon pour magic from on high. I'd watch three seasons passing by, and then When winter came with dreary snows, I'd pen Myself between closed shutters, bolts, and doors, And build my fairy palaces indoors. (Baudelaire, t:Roy Campbell)