I like these glimpses of an almost unimaginably different land (despite the apparent similarities in photos taken over a century later):
"The Past is a strange land, most strange.
Wind blows not there, nor does rain fall.
If they do, they cannot hurt at all.
Men of all kinds as equals range
The soundless fields and streets of it.
Pleasure and pain there have no sting.
The perished self not suffering
That lacks all blood and nerve and wit."
"The Past is a strange land, most strange.
Wind blows not there, nor does rain fall.
If they do, they cannot hurt at all.
Men of all kinds as equals range
The soundless fields and streets of it.
Pleasure and pain there have no sting.
The perished self not suffering
That lacks all blood and nerve and wit."