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Don't Eat With Your Mouth Full

Where can we live but days?

Wordsworth and her Brother
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steepholm
Yesterday in class we were comparing the poetry of William Wordsworth - "I Wandered Lonely" and "Resolution and Independence" - with the journals of Dorothy Wordsworth. Before the seminar, I resolved to make a feminist point by never referring to William simply as "Wordsworth", as if only Dorothy required a forename; but I've got to say, it was incredibly difficult, and I stumbled more than once. I do hate the way these things get embedded in one's brain and habits.

Meanwhile, sparked by From our Own Correspondent, I've been admiring the stained-glass windows of Notre-Dame-Du-Rugby in south-west France. Much as I like the "La Vierge au Joueur Blessé", a virtually blasphemous take on the Pietà, my favourite has to be "La Vierge a la Touche" (The Virgin at the Lineout), which shows the baby Jesus about to lob the ball to the supplicant players like an ovoid benison. What will future archaeologists make of it?
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