"Like spraying rockets
My peonies shower
Their glories on the night.
Wavering perfumes,
Drift about the garden;
(...)
Towards the impossible,
Towards the inaccessible,
Towards the ultimate,
Towards the silence,
Towards the eternal,
These blossoms go.
The peonies spring like rockets in the twilight,
And out of them all I rise."
John Gould Fletcher
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