I am reading W.H. Auden’s Collected Longer Poems while on vacation. Throught the oncoming heaviness of sleep last night, as I lay reading, seeking the soothing medicinal dust of my summer reading pile, I came across this, which did indeed soothe my mind, but awakened me to excitement, as if Advent were here. And I do offer that which I have received to all of you:
We who must die demand a miracle.
How could the Eternal do a temporal act,
The Infinite become a finite fact?
Nothing can save us that is possible;
We who must die demand a miracle.
(W.H. Auden, Collected Longer Poems, page 138)
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