Christopher

“Three times I tried to put my arms around her neck, Three times enfolded nothing, as the wraith Slipped through my fingers, bodiless as wind, Or like a flitting dream." 2.1026”
― Virgil, The Aeneid

“Son why let suffering goad you on to fury past control" 2.780”
― Virgil, The Aeneid

“There the Tyrians Were hard at work: laying courses for walls, Rolling up stones to build the citadel, citadel While others picked out building sites and plowed but his A boundary furrow. Laws were being enacted, Magistrates and a sacred senate chosen. Here men were dredging harbors, there they laid The deep foundation of a theatre, And quarried massive pillars to enhance The future stage- as bees in early summer In sunlight in the flowering fields Hum at their work, and bring along the young Full-grown to beehood; as they cram their combs With honey, brimming all the cells with nectar, Or take newcomers' plunder, or like troops Alerted, drive away the lazy drones, And labor thrives and sweet thyme scents the honey." line580”
― Virgil, The Aeneid

“The morning star Now rose on Ida's ridges, bringing day. Greeks had secured the city gates. No help Or hope of help existed. So I resigned myself, picked up my father, And turned my face toward the mountain range." 2.1041”
― Virgil, The Aeneid