The snails brush silver. Critic crow points his unpleasant beak, and lances. Resumes his treetop, darts below his acid-bright, corrosive glances. In the hushed corridors of sleep Professor Eisenbart plots treason. Caretaker mind prepares to sweep the dusty offices of reason. Eisenbart mutters, wakes in rage Because crow’s jarring c-a-a-r-k-s distress him. His mistress grins, refers to age and other matters which oppress him. He scowls purse-lipped. She yawns, and throws Her arms in scarecrow crucifixion. Clear of the hills, light’s wafer shows In world-without-end benediction. She makes him tea. He sips and calms His Royal Academic temper, While Life and Day outside shout psalms In antiphon ... Et nunc et semper.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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