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Poem: The Passing of the Hours by Ella Higginson

The hours steal by with still, unmasking lips —      So lightly that I cannot hear their tread; And softly touch me with their finger-tips      To find if I be dreaming, or be dead. And yet however still their flight may be,      Their ceaseless going weights my heart with tears; These touches will have wrought deep scars on me—      When the light hours have worn to heavy years.

Morbid meditations: funerary rites of Thailand

Poem: Ozymandias by Percy Shelley

Return of the flaneur: a quiet revolution