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And the violet lay dead while the odour flew on the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue.
-Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
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And The Violet Lay Dead While The

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
And the violet lay dead while the odour flew on the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue.
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Blue Wind Wings

More From Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

We walked on the beach, fed blue corn ships to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy and all the other free samples my mom brought home from work. i guess i should explain the blue food. see, gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. they had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. but ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. she baked blue birthday cakes. she mixed blueberry smoothies. she bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop.
Mom Beach Home
…the lake of shining waters was blue — blue — blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the water were past all modes and tenses of emotion and had settled down to a tranquillity unbroken by fickle dreams.
Summer Dream Spring
High high in the hills , high in a pine tree bed. she's tracing the wind with that old hand, counting the clouds with that old chant, three geese in a flock one flew east one flew west one flew over the cuckoo's nest
Clouds Hands Wind
To harden the earth the rocks took charge: instantly they grew wings: the rocks that soared: the survivors flew up the lightning bolt, screamed in the night, a watermark, a violet sword, a meteor. the succulent sky had not only clouds, not only space smelling of oxygen, but an earthly stone flashing here and there changed into a dove, changed into a bell, into immensity, into a piercing wind: into a phosphorescent arrow, into salt of the sky.
Night Clouds Rocks
At night i would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. i watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. the way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.
Wall Lying Flower
The duende....where is the duende? through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.
Children Wind Baptism
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