Italian edition of the Old Testament's Ecclesiastes.
Books by Spain Rodriguez
New translation Collection of 57 poems and short texts in prose. French edition. Display all pictures. More details. This product is not sold individually.
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Texts have been typetypeset by hand in the monumental point 24 Caslon types, punch-cut by hand by William Caslon and cast in the original 18 th -century mats. A close look to one of the images shows the complex interlacement of tiny pieces, which makes the hand typesetting of Gregorian chant the most difficult task for typographers. The volume is housed in a hand-made slipcase and box, custom made to an exact size, whose exteriors are covered with Ingres paper.
Deux Contrepoints. Ab imo pectore — Jean-Pierre Rosnay Collection of 57 poems and short texts in prose. Poems - Emily Dickinson Print run of 18 copies on paper made in Sicily. Authorship by Wilfred Owen - , "The next war", from Arts and Letters , first published [ author's text checked 2 times ]. Authorship by Wilfred Owen - , "Futility" [ author's text checked 1 time ].
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How to pronounce dies irae
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air; And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear. Voices of boys were by the river-side. Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad. The shadow of the morrow weighed on men. Voices of old despondency resigned, Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.
The Day Of Wrath
Judex ergo cum sedebit, quidquid latet apparebit: nil inultum remanebit. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus, cum vix justus sit securus? Rex tremendae majestatis, qui salvandos salvas gratis, salva me fons pietatis. Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death: Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland, -- Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand. We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath, -- Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe. He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed Shrapnel.
We chorused when he sang aloft; We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe. Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
What does dies irae mean?
No soldier's paid to kick against his powers. We laughed, knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags He wars on Death, for Life; not men, for flags.
Quaerens me, sedisti lassus: redemisti Crucem passus: tantus labor non sit cassus. Qui Mariam absolvisti, et latronem exaudisti, mihi quoque spem dedisti.