“May I gaze upon you when my last hour has come, and, dying, may I hold you with my weakening hand.”
—Excerpt from a poem by Tibullus, stolen from the short story by David Gilbert in last week’s New Yorker
“May I gaze upon you when my last hour has come, and, dying, may I hold you with my weakening hand.”
—Excerpt from a poem by Tibullus, stolen from the short story by David Gilbert in last week’s New Yorker