Opal
Premium Member
Okay, the last paragraph on page 152, is very lovely.
“Ovid, the poet, caught the spirit of all this in a stanza of his poem:
The god sits high, exalted on his throne
Of blazing gems, with purple garments on;
The hours, in order rang’d on either hand,
And days, and months, and years, and ages stand;
Here Spring appears, with flow’ry chaplets bound;
Here Summer, in her wheaten garlands crown’d;
Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.”
Such a fitting way to end the chapter. We really aren’t that advanced, are we.
We see structures that have been constructed, in the far past, and in our ignorance we cannot dare, to think far enough back, in the ages, to mankind being more advanced than we are now. Such arrogance we show the Gods.
Structures worldwide, show architecture that we can not achieve.
“Ovid, the poet, caught the spirit of all this in a stanza of his poem:
The god sits high, exalted on his throne
Of blazing gems, with purple garments on;
The hours, in order rang’d on either hand,
And days, and months, and years, and ages stand;
Here Spring appears, with flow’ry chaplets bound;
Here Summer, in her wheaten garlands crown’d;
Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.”
Such a fitting way to end the chapter. We really aren’t that advanced, are we.
We see structures that have been constructed, in the far past, and in our ignorance we cannot dare, to think far enough back, in the ages, to mankind being more advanced than we are now. Such arrogance we show the Gods.
Structures worldwide, show architecture that we can not achieve.