Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed
most, I bring
Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything,
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.
Mais um ano letivo, mais uma temporada de praxes. Com trinta graus, andam com capas de lã e de collants aos berros durante horas e horas, a ...