I've just finished reading Shakespeare's , that is, I've read and them for the first time. One passionate, desolate lament - immeasurable and inconsolable - for the waning, wasting and passing of beauty. At the same time there's something disturbingly un-Christian here - the utterly heathen, desperate keening of the dirges, the grisly dances of death, , in which death is nothing but the , finality - destruction, not transition.
Ida Friederike Görres