"Pain is just weakness leaving your body."

 "Pain is just weakness leaving your body."

- Sean Kennedy, (TFM)

aka SKTFM

INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST ISSUE of PA1N: a world of pa1n.

\----------------------------------------------------????

What exactly do we hope to accomplish with PA1N? Not a whole lot really,

or maybe everything. We have no agenda, we have no plan. There are those

among us who do, however, and one thing I, as editor in chief of PA1N would like

to do is support them, and offer a soapbox to these people. First, however, let me

explain how the group of us came to the idea of creating another online zine, as

if there aren't enough already. The concept has been done, it's been dragged out,

beaten, left for dead. But I feel confident that the people who are helping me,

and those that have provided the inspiration will lead this into a new direction;

integrity. We don't seek to make ourselves famous, fame is a crown of thorns,

it makes you a target. We don't seek money, power, just a few thousand bytes

on the ether. We seek to be heard, to create a forum for some of the cyberpunk

scene's most gifted, creative and brilliant denizens. A forum in which to have

a voice that cannot be bought. Cannot be sold. Cannot be silenced Cannot be

stopped.

Cannot be intimidated into oblivion or obfuscation.

The world is full of pain.

This is now a world of pain. The country is plagued with a dying and

disemboweled economy, as people starve only miles from the white house lawn.

The planet shudders every second as we race headlong toward it's ultimate --

and therefore our own -- destruction. But no one asked me if I wanted to fund

genocide. No panel or census told me my taxes would fund bioweapons, nuclear

holocaust, or even the very agencies that might seek to silence this new voice.

No one asked you either. We have been bought and sold, our rights have been

written off as a casualty of a war.

A war on terrorism.

Where there are no terrorists.

A war on drugs,

where the enemy is the lower class.

A war on freedom,

which sucks the life out of our society.

But we can take it back.

It's already started. This is fuel to the fire...

I used to write for The Midnight Raid, HAPPLE, HazMat, TSHG, Reptile, the

list goes on and on... I was lured away from the scene as it became plagued

with neophytes whom I hadn't the patience for which I should have. People who

had been fed by the corporate media what hackers were. What phreaks were, what

goths did, what a punk was, who a fleshtripper was, and that those who protect

themselves are terrorists.

The norm became piracy, pornography and the outlets of all kids. The

economy died, and every hotline server, scores of IRC channels and

until-then free websites were relying on banner ads and popup scams to pay for

the bandwidth; whilst the sysops and admins worked three or four jobs to pay

the rent. The scene died, so I thought.

But we don't die, do we? No we don't. The culture that was spawned ever

since someone realized a single person could change something; if nothing other

than their own lives, a culture of new ideas was born. Rebellion, perhaps. But

with a cause ripe with nobility and idealism. The packet switched network was

the catalyst for a worldwide insurgence of new ideas. Then in the 1980s, the

United States Secret Service launched Operation Sun Devil. They arrested Steve

Jackson of Steve Jackson games for a cyberpunk RPG. The FBI and Secret Service

joint computer crime task force arrested Phiber Optik of the legendary 'Legion

of Doom', and Knight Lightning of the cornerstone magazine Phrack.

Yeah. They did a good job of ruining the lives of people who had committed

no crime; they destroyed the lives of people who had committed non-malicious

crime; and they almost killed Kevin Mitnick by placing him in maximum security

with a man who nearly beat him to death for taking too long on the phone

(something to that effect.)

And now there's the PATRIOT Act of 2001, the Homeland Security Act, the US

DoD wants ident cards initiated as standard ID, and everyone is afraid. Or so

it seemed. Then a girl who'll be known as Sapphire told me something important.

There was something happening on internet radio, a new-ish medium. Rantradio

gave me the hope I needed, and the faith I had lost that there were still

people who want to band together. To make the world a better place, perhaps? Or

maybe to make a new world. To throw out the old rules and live as ronin,

warriors without masters, but to live by the beleif that it is your duty as

another human being to stand up for those that cannot defend themselves.

As RumblingSky once said, "I am a cell of rantradio." And we are growing.

Now the Sean Kennedy Show is the first in-studio audience, and popular

non-mainstream tv show, rather, internet television show about things that

matter. Things that are real. It was Jello Biafra that said it best though,

"Don't hate the media, become the media."

- Jello Biafra, former lead singer of the Dead Kennedys

originally from the H2K Keynote Speech, then later on a

spoken word album entitled "Become the Media."

By the way, I mean what I say. Nothing more. You don't have to judge me, but you will.

- alienbinary

[ Special Thanks ]

Thank you to the following communities, people and friends that have encouraged

myself and others to make this happen. Together, I think we can make something

happen: Turnspike, for actually coming through and helping me pull this one

together, Cheezi, one of my partners in crime, the owner of e-lite

Communications, who has given me more help in my life, more fucking bandwidth

than GOD and of all people, if anyone deserves to own the domain e-lite communications,

it's him. Nemisis, the master of tic-toc, Oscar, AIM, YIM, etc; whose exploits

ended up in the local newspaper, along with some code of my own. Temporary

celebrity is fun, when they don't know your real name. To GrinReaper, one of

the best friends I've ever had. And not someone to mess with. Don't worry man,

we'll get your car back eventually. I want to thank Cimmerian of RantMedia,

whose opinion I have and always will respect; Sean Kennedy The Fucking Man, who

has proven that it's not how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit.

- PA1N Editor, alienbinary.

!

alienbinary | jared@e-lite.org ------

| '--------- Brought to you by...

Turnspike | turnspike@spfd2600.org ------'

|

j|l_

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PA1Nv1x2----------------------------------------------------------------------

Understanding Password Strength

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Understanding Password Strength

by alienbinary

[ preface ]

A modern misconception among both IT and non-IT people is that the vulnerabilty

of a box is inversely proportionate to the strength of the encryption keys

utilized by the systems administrator.

However, the old idea of a "weak" password still holds more weight than the

cryptography employed. The reason for this remains simple. Think of a computer

as analogous to a building. If the sides are guarded with razor wire and

turrets and barred up, the physical strength and security of the perimeter is

very high. However, all that is required to get into this building is what

every building uses: a key. Think of a password as just another key on a

keychain, and you understand that even if you suture up your packets nice and

tight, anyone with root access can freely traverse un-encrypted data. So while

SSH using Blowfish or PGP is a safe way to secure packets in transit from being

hijacked en-route, any data being transmitted can be accessed straight from the

source if an attacker can 'SUID root,' with the right password.

In order to understand the nature of passwords, you have to get even simpler

than that. What is a password? Passwords used to be real words. "hello", or

"aardvark." Because of this, people often make the mistake of remembering a

password as an idea. In old UNIX environments, no one was particularly

concerned with strong passwords, dictionary attacks were long, arduous

processes, and they required rudimentary knowledge of DES, the Data Encryption

Standard as set forth by the NSA. Therefore, people often look around the room,

maybe for a picture or a statue. The average computer user in a cubicle at an

office building might simply choose the first word of the first book to catch

their eyes. If you sat someone next to an iMac and a Poster for Fight Club,

chances are pretty good that the person might choose "iamjackspassword",

"tylerdurden", or "soap" when password protecting anything.

However, security 'experts' have long since warned about the idea of using a

password that can be located within the dictionary. These people suggest

subsituting a number for a letter or vice-verse. They suggest adding a number

to the end of the password string. This, in theory, would make it more secure.

Before the real meat of the article, it is important that you have reference,

and basic understanding of strings and ASCII.

[ password ranges ]

In the ASCII Range, every possible character has been assigned a numeric value

ranging from 1-255. Even a carriage return is assigned a numeric value.

chr(13). If you allow only uppercase and lowercase letters, your range per

segment is 65-91 and 97 - 131.

A = 65 B = 66 C = 67 D = 68 E = 69 F = 70 G = 71 H = 72 I = 73 J = 74

K = 76 L = 77 M = 78 N = 79 O = 80 P = 81 Q = 82 R = 83 S = 84 T = 85

U = 86 V = 87 W = 88 X = 89 V = 90 Z = 91

a = 97 b = 98 c = 99 d = 100 e = 111 f = 112 g = 113 h = 114 i = 115 j = 116

k = 117 l = 118 m = 119 n = 120 o = 121 p = 122 q = 122 r = 123 s = 124 t = 125

u = 126 v = 127 w = 128 x = 129 y = 130 z = 131

Now, notice the gap between the two arrays? that's because...

0=48 1=49 2=50 3=51 4=52 5=53 6=54 7=55 8=56 9=57

therefore:

a password string consisting of only lowercase letters has a range of {97-131},

a password of only uppercase letters has a range of {65-91}, a password made up

of both sets of letters has a range of {65-91;97-131}. A potential password

character with only digits is {48-57}. So a password of all three arrays has a

range of {48-57 ; 65-91 ; 97-131}. The total number of potential characters in

such a string is (letters(26)+(26))+(digits(10))=62. Only sixty-two possible

characters, that's why the next section explores the entire range.

[ measuring strength ]

A string of characters is only as random as the following variables will allow:

range (255 max in standard ASCII) and length. The range of a string corresponds

to the minimum numerical value and the maximum numerical value; where the

length correlates to the number of possible letters/numbers/characters.

The number of possible combinations for a password is an exponential equation.

r = range

l = length

r^l=x

where x = the number of possible combinations.

So, if you only allow the lowercase alphabet characters into a password, and

your password is 5 characters long, the equation to find the maximum number of

potential passwords looks like this:

26^5 = x

{ just letters, lowercase }

26 x 26 = 676

26 x 26 x 26 = 17576

26 x 26 x 26 x 26 = 456976

26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 = 11881376

26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 = 308915776

26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 x 26 = 8031810176

{ lowercase uppercase and digits }

62 x 62 = 3844

62 x 62 x 62 = 238328

62 x 62 x 62 x 62 = 14776336

62 x 62 x 62 x 62 x 62 = 916132832

62 x 62 x 62 x 62 x 62 x 62 = 56800235584

{ full ASCII range }

255 x 255 = 65025

255 x 255 x 255 = 16581375

255 x 255 x 255 x 255 = 4228250625

255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 = 1078203909375

255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 = 274941996890625

255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 x 255 = 7.011020920710938e+16

There are limits to the types of encryption certain software will use, so there

is a varying degree in terms of how much room you have to be creative with your

passwords.

[ outro ]

So now we come back to the Fight Club Poster and the kid with the iMac.

len("iamjackspassword") = 16.

range of characters {97-131}.

Possible characters = 26 (the length of the alphabet.)

So just how strong is "iamjackspassword"?

26^16 = 2.147484e+9

So let's just modify the password. Same phrase, different characters.

"iamjackspassword" becomes "IamJacksPassw0rd"

62^16 = 4.767240170682353e+28

Now that's a little better. There's always punctuation, though...

- 2003 alienbinary

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P41Nv1x3 ----------------------------------------------- o.O-------------------

The Department of Injustice, the Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal

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| |

X-o.O-X X-O.o-X

| |

+-----------'----------------------------------------------'--------------+

! "Don't tell me about the valley of the shadow of death. I live there. " !

! - Mumia Abu-Jamal, Live From Death Row !

+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

PA1N Political Editorial

The Department of Injustice, the Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal

by alienbinary

[ Mumia Abu-Jamal ]

The world was given a wake-up call in the late 1990's, when Rage Against

the Machine and the Beastie Boys headlined a concert to raise both money and

awareness for the case of Mumia Abu-Jamal, a person for whom those that once

sang the praises of had turned a blind eye to his wrongfull conviction of

having shot a police officer to death. For the first time in years, music was

back again, as a voice to wake up a population all too happy to throw in the

towel and ignore the problems that eat away at the structure of our justice,

economic and social systems. I had never heard of Mumia Abu-Jamal before, and

as you might expect, almost no one else I knew had either.

The man in question was a former Black Panther, and then an active member

of a social justice organization called MOVE. MOVE was a police-brutality

awareness organization, a much needed voice against police corruption.

Abu-Jamal hailed from Philly, where the single most noteable thing about the

Police Department, is it's corruption. Although an FBI inquiry into the actions

of six Philadelphia detectives led to hundreds of cases with similarities being

overturned and scores of inmates being let free, Mumia Abu-Jamal is still on

death row, waiting for the legal lynch mob of the Fraternal Order of Police to

call a death toll. I can't really imagine that, no matter how hard I may try:

waiting under the most brutal conditions in the United States corrections

system to be put to death by the state of pennsylvania for a crime I could not

possibly have committed. But, as unimagineable as it seems, that is precisely

the case with Mumia Abu-Jamal.

In the last several years, the pressure has turned up on the case,

prompting federal and even international inquiries into the questionable

circumstances surrounding the controversial conviction. The scenario is already

an unbearable one, before the officer was killed. According to the defense, and

now it appears that the Justice Department has come to a similar scenario,

Mumia Abu-Jamal approached the officer in question, after driving home in his

taxicab, which he drove for a living. Due to a previous encounter, Jamal had a

.357 Magnum revolver on his person to protect himself from being robbed again

in his cab. The initial reason for the confrontation had been grounded in the

fact that Mumia had happened upon several police officers beating his brother

to death with his flashlight. This, incidentally, has remained undisputed.

Now here the story becomes confused. Mumia may have drawn his weapon as a

precaution to ward off the hostile officers. At this point, forensics experts

from the Federal Bureau of Investigation speculate that a firefight broke out.

Although some speculate that the initial firefight occurred before Mumia

arrived on the scene.

Clearly, two people were hit. One was a police officer, supposedly in the

line of duty, the other was Mumia Abu-Jamal, who had been shot in the liver. By

most accounts, a gunshot wound to the liver is extremely fatal. However, during

the time Mumia was unconscious, several things happened.

The prosecution would later claim that Mumia Abu-Jamal had fatally shot the

police officer and even bragged about his alleged murder on the way to the

hospital. However, there are no witnesses to this activity, with the exception

of a prostitute who had been paid off by the other detectives, and a crackhead

who is speculated to have actually been the killer. In reality, Mumia Abu-Jamal

was laying face down with his eyes closed, trying to stay alive, bleeding to

death and then suffered a severe beating from the accompanying officers. During

this time, he was only vaguely conscious, until he blacked out; he blacked out

long before the alleged admission of guilt in the ambulence. The EMS teams

recall no such admissions.

Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth by Arthur Hugh Clough

 Say not the struggle naught availeth,

The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
 
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
 
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!

“The Love for October” by W.S. Merwin

 A child looking at ruins grows younger

but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun

“October” by W.S. Merwin

 I remember how I would say, “I will gather

These pieces together,
Any minute now I will make
A knife out of a cloud.”
Even then the days
Went leaving their wounds behind them,
But, “Monument,” I kept saying to the grave,
“I am still your legend.”

There was another time
When our hands met and the clocks struck
And we lived on the point of a needle, like angels.

I have seen the spider’s triumph
In the palm of my hand. Above
My grave, that thoroughfare,
There are words now that can bring
My eyes to my feet, tamed.
Beyond the trees wearing names that are not their own
The paths are growing like smoke.

The promises have gone,
Gone, gone, and they were here just now.
There is the sky where they laid their fish.
Soon it will be evening.

 

The Point of the Needle

• 
• 
• 
• 

Dana Levin

Since you got to behead

each

              hollyhock crown

              with your round

              guillotine

              of a mouth―

I hope you get to spin inside your

               paper house.

              Emerge Noctuidae,

              owlet moth, 

              laying your eggs in leaves at night.

    

That you might finish your stitch―

Replicate yourself in time so you are

              always present―

              each egg a deposit―

              an echo-pearl of “you” along time’s string―

That my soul might be allowed

              to flourish―

Make a success

              of threading flesh, to participate 

              again in time, on 

              long arcs between sets of plunge, even though

                            it hurt―

                            to be born and die―

                            it loved to ride

                                          the point

                                          of the needle―

 

Emily Dickinson   Follow

A Clock stopped -

287

A Clock stopped - 
Not the Mantel's -
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing -
That just now dangled still -

An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched, with pain -
Then quivered out of Decimals -
Into Degreeless Noon -

It will not stir for Doctors -
This Pendulum of snow -
The Shopman importunes it -
While cool - concernless No -

Nods from the Gilded pointers -
Nods from Seconds slim -
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life -
And Him -

Another Time by Wystan Hugh Auden

 

Another Time - meaning Summary

Living in the Present

Auden’s poem argues that human life exists only in the present, contrasting immediate being with people who seek identity in history, flags, and ownership. Those who refuse the present cannot truly say "I am" and attempt to hide in old certainties. That refusal produces grief and loneliness. The poem ends by insisting time will have other lives, so clinging to past belonging offers no real solace.

It's our sacred duty to defend Israel

 Jihadist rockets just killed more Israeli civilians. Iran is actively firing waves of ballistic missiles, injuring hundreds of Israelis.

The Iron Dome can't stop them all. Iran has one goal – the utter destruction of Israel – and it has been demanding all Muslim nations join its genocidal death cult. We cannot allow this evil to continue.

Yet Iran's sadistic allies at the U.N. and the International Criminal Court are still trying to issue arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. New York City's new socialist Mayor Mamdani has pledged to arrest him. And even some "conservative" personalities are turning their back on Israel. It's madness.

It's our sacred duty to defend Israel.

We've mobilized our offices in Jerusalem, Europe, and Washington, D.C., in one of the most important legal efforts we've ever taken on to defend Israel. NEXT WEEK we're sending an emergency submission to the U.N. Security Council defending Israel's right to exist and defend itself.

Israel's very existence is on the line. Now, as we battle the unlimited resources of enemies that seek to eradicate Israel, we need YOU.

We're in the final days of our Double Your Impact drive, and we're short of our goal. But you can still have your gift DOUBLED today.

Have Your Gift DOUBLED TODAY To Defend Israel.

Stop the madness. Stand with us as we defend Israel.

Sign NOW: Defend Israel From Evil Attacks.

Jordan Sekulow
ACLJ Executive Director

 

Past Present & Future

Alero “The Mimz” Ogisi

Threat of loss of the benefit of the Black bodies  in bondage caused great fear The Confederacy didn’t care for Lincoln  The Civil War had been going on for over an entire year Lincoln then made a power move to get them to conform  He signed the Emancipation Proclamation it didn’t work though  the Confederacy pushed back with great determination After two years of battle full of frustration and ultimate humiliation  In April of 1865 Robert E. Lee surrendered ending the Civil War But see Black people were not truly free until  Freedom had blessed each and every door One instance was marching into Galveston Texas on June 19th  The News was spread strong and loud The Abolitionist had succeeded a true moment to be proud  The 13th Amendment it plugged up  Some of those holes that the Emancipation missed Please I encouraged you to put both of them on your must-read list The rejoice began the rebuilding surging through our Black veins  Building our community securing our Black reigns We are qualified builders and planters sowing the seed of upliftment Something out of nothing we build our own equipment Depending on where you lived is when you celebrated being free We didn’t have cell phones or the internet  News took some time to reach every city  April of ’62 began the festivities in DC Tennessee gotta glimpse at the end in August of ’63 Ohio grasped a hold to freedom in 1862 in September While Kentucky didn’t see freedom until 1865 in December Many Variations of a well-deserved celebration called by many names  Freedom Day Jubilee Day Emancipation Day 2nd Independence Day Throughout the United States freedom was celebrated Striving for upliftment not to be underestimated America was taking a turn and now suffered a great depression Designed laws which supported systemic oppression Fueled by greed corruption racism and domination None of that was stopped by the Emancipation Housing and education and the onset of strong Jim Crow Laws were being passed to protect the status quo Civil Rights movement Kwanzaa Boycotts  And the Rebellion caused the celebrations to be reignited Celebrating Black people abolishing racist laws got me excited Experiencing horrible tragedies we still try to instill hope Through education and upliftment we will have growth You changed the world George Juneteenth is a National Holiday An accumulation and great anticipation as we  Come together to strive forward  As a unified Black nation Going forward what does that mean One more day to sleep in and take a long bath One more day that you can get time and a half One more day from work or school One more BBQ to go to I challenge you to look into the eyes  Of our beautiful Black children  And make them a promise You will strive for them to learn all that they can be a leader in the crowd You will support perseverance to keep pushing and to be proud You will do your very best for them so they can succeed You will encourage them to thrive and plant the seed

Last Song of the Exile Miguel Teurbe Tolón

 

Poem-a-Day is reader-supported. Your gift today will help the Academy of American Poets continue to publish the work of 260 poets each year, and share this series with 320,000 readers every day. October 13, 2024

Last Song of the Exile Miguel Teurbe Tolón translated from the Spanish by Francisco Javier Vingut                                  I.    Hard my path on earth is closed; Light is dead within my heart. Star of Hope! thou art gone down;    Clay and spirit now must part!                                   II.     Land of flowers! no more thy breezes Sweetly shall my forehead kiss. Sky of Love! Thy beams of light    Shed no more celestial bliss!                                   III.    Foreign shores, o’er seas afar, I sought alone with many a tear Home is lost! no more of love,    No more of friends, no mother dear!                                   IV.    Harp of mine! thy woeful strains, Sadly echoing, soon shall die; Words no more with notes shall twine,——    Winds mid graves my lullaby.                                   V.    Dark and lone my grave will be From Cuba far, unmarked, unknown: Birds will chant my requiem wild,    And dew-drops fall for tears alone.                                   VI.    Fate, O Fate! I fain would read The record in thy book for me;—— Death, draw near! I list thy call;    Ope thy gates, Eternity

The Spirit of Poetry Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

The Spirit of Poetry

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where’er the gentle southwind blows; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, When the fast ushering star of morning comes O’er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the white cascade; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunnyvale, The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, My busy fancy oft embodies it, As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues That stain the wild bird’s wing and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her tender eye The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning’s dewy flowers, it comes Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the till night, with its passionate cadence.