In the summer of 1873, when the smoke of industry had begun to hang about Philadelphia like a second, less reputable atmosphere, Miss Alina Landau…
Poet and Novelist
In the summer of 1873, when the smoke of industry had begun to hang about Philadelphia like a second, less reputable atmosphere, Miss Alina Landau…
Propped upon a chaise so faint,so pale with antique grief,that even angels hesitateto touch its fragile leaf. Her lungs—two trembling reliquaries—spill hymns in crimson lace;each…
It lies across her trembling palm, a shroud in miniature— white linen steeped in whispered harm that dares not speak too pure. The lace, in looping filigree, still dreams…
She holds it like a chastened bloom pressed flat by winter’s heavy palm— a slip of lace, a breath of loom, a quiet relic asking calm. Yet through…