Worship

Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn
The flames’ red wings soar upward duskily.
This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
And darkened slowly after. I am she
Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it.
“Helen of Troy,” Sara Teasdale

When it first comes to my mind, worship always seems to me a singularly religious concept…

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