The dancers are all gone under the hill

[sovay]

                                          . . . Out of sleep
Something of our own comes back to us:
A drowned man's garment from the sea.

—Archibald MacLeish, J.B.

Comments

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

Oh, lovely. Epigraph?

Nine

[sovay]

I've used it as one, yes.

[lesser-celery.livejournal.com]

Once I knew a charm for sleeping—

Not as forgetfulness but gift,
Not as sleep but second sight,
Come and from my eyelids lift
The dead of night.