1 September '17
Mother of Rome, delight of Gods and men,
Dear Venus that beneath the gliding stars
Makest to teem the many-voyaged main
And fruitful lands – for all living things
Through thee alone are evermore conceived,
Through thee are risen to visit the great sun –
Before thee, Goddess, and thy coming on,
Flee stormy wind and massive cloud away,
For thee the daedal Earth bears scented flowers,
For thee waters of the unvexed deep
Smile, and the hollows of the serene sky
Glow with diffused radiance for thee!
Fortuitous being, soul of tempestuous resolve, never caught in slumbers halo, always guided by the shiver of fear. Has he the estuary of insight that lesser men hail for in the caverns of their all too sure moments of victory? The truth is guilded in the blood of century’s of disguised fractures of diligence, where a second glance might have curtailed a sea of terror. It is doubt, that mesmerising, inimical thought that sways the judgement to consideration of affect. An enemy of injustice, not a weakness, but a strength, an emergence of empathy.
