To your right, the summer dawn awakens the leaves and lazy mists, the noises in this corner of the park; in the slope to the left, in their violet shade, lie the gratings of a thousand wheel ruts in the moist earth. A parade of Fairies? No, in actuality, the wagons loaded with animals of wood and gold; wooden poles holding up the multi-colored canvases, gallop behind, at a grand speed, twenty spotted circus horses, and men and babes astride astounding beasts. Twenty wagons of the most striking aspect, decked out with flags and flowers, like something from an ancient legend, full of children attired as for a suburban pastoral.--At the same time, coffins passed there too, their canopies of night rising above ebony plumes, behind the step of great blue-and-black mares.
Formerly, assuming I remember correctly, my life was a banquet, wherein all hearts were open, and all wines flowed. One night, I sat beauty on my lap.—And I found her to be bitter.—And I hurled abuse at her.
A vast, limitless throng of prisoners walk the slick, cement pathway upward; This could be the Tower of Babel (scene from Metropolis, 1927).
The old man with the white whiskers,