"My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.
Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.For here though death doth end their misery,I'll there begin their endless tragedy.
Photo by Ákos Szabó
Photo by Ian Turnell
Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.For h...
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