Barrymore’s Avignon Chairs, French classicism with a strong voice.
Oh, fateful town in France! While communing in your Sainte-Claire d’Avignon, I saw her. Laura. The name that would haunt me for the rest of my days; the visage I would spend every waking hour longing to glimpse once more, knowing I was doomed to never look upon that face again. See me here; hear me loud and clear—I, Petrarch, bow down to her beauty, dreaming I might manage even a moment with the limbs flowing from that glorious...
Published on November 15, 2014 09:28