into his 90s and wrote some remarkable poems about being old. Writing powerfully about his loss of powers, Landor makes a simple, but heartbreaking image, more pedestrian but maybe more penetrating than the "pellucid gold" of [Lucrezia] Borgia's purported hair: When he sets out to write a letter to a friend, the word Dear "hangs on the upper verge," waiting for the unremembered name.
from Robert Pinsky: Slate: Lucrezia Borgia's Hair and Forgotten Names
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