La Petite Mort

La Petite Mort

The body delights in its own travail, both teased and tortured by a pulsing strain with claws of pleasure resembling pain. She prophesies but cannot pierce the veil; she approaches but cannot breach the pale. The end she sees and struggles to obtain with breathless...
Ozymandius by Horace Smith

Ozymandius by Horace Smith

In Egypt’s sandy silence, all alone,        Stands a gigantic leg, which far off throws        The only shadow that the desert knows:—      “I am great OZYMANDIAS,” saith the stone,        “The King of Kings; this mighty City shows     ...