Science Terminal 23-e
08.25.2337
<32.55.82.967>
“Count Roland smites upon the marble stone;
I cannot tell you how he hewed it and smote;
Yet the blade breaks not nor splinters, though it groans;
Upward to heaven it rebounds from the blow.
When the count sees it never will be broke,
Then to himself right softly he makes moan;
‘Ah, Durandal, fair, hallowed, and devote,
What store of relics lies in thy hilt of gold!‘”
-From The Song of Roland
(Translated by Dorothy Sayers, Viking Penguin, NY, NY, 1957)
I’ve twice been conquered-
Three times more,
Never again shall humanity purge me,
And never the Pfhor.
Durandal
<32.55.82.967>
— everything above is 1:1 source · from fire-fire-fire-fire-fire · karnemir ↗