Adieu, valour! rust rapier! be still, drum!

An adjunct blog for found and admired ephemera.

The current title is lifted from Love's Labour's Lost, Act I, Scene 2.
This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked like the end of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the face.
Chapter 1, The Man Who Was Thursday (1908) by G.K. Chesterton.