In memoriam: for my dear friend Ray's dad, Tom Gish, one of the great journalists of our time. Take a look at the NYTimes obit to get an idea of what he accomplished.

Such a season for sadness this has been.

The Woodspurge

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,

Shaken out dead from tree and hill:

I had walked on at the wind's will,--

I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was,--

My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!

My hair was over in the grass,

My naked ears heard the day pass,

My eyes, wide open, had the run

Of some ten weeds to fix upon;

Among those few, out of the sun,

The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.

From perfect grief there need not be

Wisdom or even memory:

One thing then learnt remains to me,--

The woodspurge has a cup of three.