The Last Leaf

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  “The day slowly passed. As it grew dark, they could still see the leaf hanging from its branch against the wall. And then, as the night  came, the north wind began again to blow. The rain still beat against the windows. When it was light enough the next morning, Johnsy again commanded that she be allowed to see. The leaf was still there.” “The Last Leaf” A Short Story by O Henry (1905)

Cyclops Blacksmith

 “Sacred to Vulcan’s name, an isle there lay,

Betwixt Sicilia’s coasts and Lipare, 

Rais’d high on smoking rocks; and, deep below,

In hollow caves the fires of Ætna glow. 

The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal; 

Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel, 

Are heard around; the boiling waters roar,

And smoky flames thro’ fuming tunnels soar.”


—Vergil (70 B.C.–19 B.C.).  Æneid.




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