The world is too much with us…
Thu
Apr 1 2010
Quoth
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
— The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot.
The first stanza of this poem is possibly my favorite eighteen lines of written word, ever.
This is the floating abode of Henry Li (that’s me!), a biomedical engineer by name and an intractable dilettante by trade.
Pick a style: subtle blue or tarnished copper
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