From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
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Sublime poem, soundtrack an utter travesty! Seeing the photgraph, I had hoped for a vintage recording, perhaps even of the poet himself. Instead, we hear a female Stephen Hawking. Poetry: that which is lost in computerisation.
Thanks for the offer. Before you go, please give me your opinion on a couple of ideas of mine, one about Ovid and one about Manilius. Geoffrey Plowden