She was like a fire, a burning bush, and the... - church of phocks

church of phocks

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail / The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder, / That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze / Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder / Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind, / Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind, / An’ the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time / An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
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She was like a fire, a burning bush, and the candle flames about her head were silver leaves; or again, the glass was green water, and she a mermaid, slung with pearls, a siren in a cave, singing so that oarsmen leant from their boats and fell down, down to embrace her; so dark, so bright, so hard, so soft, was she, so astonishingly seductive that it was a thousand pities that there was no one there to put it in plain English, and say outright “Damn it, Madam, you are loveliness incarnate,” which was the truth. Virginia Woolf, Orlando (via thegoddessofthorns)

(Source: fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)

▲677 | reblog | 7 months ago

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Tagged as: Virginia Woolf. I'd like to think she actually said that to Vita Sackville-West at some point. longest love letter in literature. Orlando.
Reblogged from: theivorytowercrumbles
Originally posted by: fuckyeahvirginiawoolf