Thursday, June 09, 2011

John Cowper Powys on birdsong

That particular intonation of the blackbird's note, more full of the spirits of air and of water than any sound upon earth, had always possesed a mysterious attraction for him. It seemed to hold, in the sphere of sound, what amber-paved pools surrounded by hart's tongue ferns contain in the sphere of substance. It seemed to embrace in it all the sadness that it is possible to experience without crossing the subtle line into the region where sadness becomes misery.

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