Hour of Stars (1920) The round silence of night, one note on the stave of the infinite. Ripe with lost poems, I step naked into the street. The blackness riddled by the singing of crickets: sound, that dead will-o'-the-wisp, that… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
I believe that my whole creative life stemmed from this magic hour under the stars on that hilltop. — Ruth St. Denis Copy Share Image
