Thrice-Three Muses

 

 

 

"The thrice-three Muses, mourning for the death Of Learnings late deceas'd in beggary."

 

William Shakespeare A midsummer night's dream

 

 

 

 

"Even when I glimpse you for a moment My tongue is stilled as speech deserts me While a delicate fire is beneath my skin - My eyes cannot see, then, When I hear only a whirling sound As I shivering, sweat Because all of me trembles;    I  become as moist as grass   And nearer to death... But all must be ventured..."  

 

The Tenth Muse