A poem from birthday boy Harry Crosby, one of his numerous odes to the Sun (currently making a long-awaited guest appearance in Berlin):
I never go to church to pray
Among the crowded pews
Nor kneel before a crucifix
To hail the king of Jews
I never say a prayer
To Saint or Holy Ghost
Nor listen to the preacher’s word
That talks of sin the most
But in a pair of eyes
Or drinking silver gin
Or in the colors of a dress
My soul begins to sing
And sunbeams on the wall
Reveal sometimes for me
The beauty that I weave for God
And for Eternity.
– Harry Crosby, “Proportionate” from Chariot of the Sun
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