Fascinated and haunted by this poem from Miguel de Unamuno:
Here, in the night, all alone, this is my study;
the books don’t speak;
my oil lamp
bathes these pages in a light of peace,
light of a chapel.
The books don’t speak;
of the poets, the meditators, the learned,
the spirits drowse;
and it is as if around me circled
cautious death.
And I wondered if I had quoted him before. One of the best things about a searchable online commonplace blog — I discovered that I have, and in no insignificant way.