The Spyglass Heart Beneath the Number Ten’s soft gaze,the ghost of barley sings in haze. Its knocker knows the brewer’s song—and echoes of the monkish throng. A diamond pane, a spyglass heart,once watched the carts and lovers start. The handle—brass with tales to keep—has warmed the palms of kings in sleep. Beneath the brick and … Continue reading 3 July: A Thursday Door