Not as good as [b:Nota|1356827|Nota|Martin Corless-Smith|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1193627091s/1356827.jpg|1346552] or [b:Complete Travels|1356828|Complete Travels|Martin Corless-Smith|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1182961941s/1356828.jpg|1346553], but at its momentary best it is as good.

(he apologizes later for fellating younger men)
immortal natures have immortal sorrows
yet if we mortals are unhappy
death is the harbour from our quarrels troubles

His stuff has an antiquated music to it that I love. Sometimes I have no idea what he is talking about, but the sense is still there, confident music, that lyric wave. But cut short like statuesque limbs, interrupted, spliced in with references & anachronistic quotes anachronistic wares.

A great walke of an elme and a walnutt set
one after another in order

I walked, also, into the ruined garden
The ways, very bad, and the weather worse

I miss the mystery of his other books. This book felt more focused, more researched and less messy. There was something undefinable in his other books but that you just trust worked. That going with it.

The coombes breed whole families
daintiest snails in saxifrage & moschatel
the spurge and spurge laurel

The book is about internal/external constructs where we feel at home, be they physical structures, gardens, language, or thought. Though the best parts of the book transcend this rather serious thesis, forgetting itself as it may, unselfconscious.

We are swallowed up irreparably, irrevocably, irremediably...envy the sparrows and the swallows, yea.
— John Donne

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