#but its a poem i hold quite dear to my heart

[diamondjester]

Finally decided to post my high school senior art project: Jester of Diamonds! Jesty was from a poem i wrote back in 2019 in a discord server, and ive just never gotten rid of him! He’s been redesigned since this, but i was really proud when i made this so i felt it was finally worth posting :] perhaps some day ill redraw it all!

[moonchild-in-blue]

darya 👀👀👀👀 you maybe happen to have more women x death imagery like the one by Appolonia Saintclair? i can kneel and bow and do chores and i can cook decently if you care and i can kiss your knuckles tenderly btw … whatever it takes

Sophi honey, I am so sorry about the upcoming infodumping...... This is probably not quite what you asked at all, but alas. The art graduate jumped out. I don't have many sexy naked ladies riding Death for you, so here's a very brief overlook of Death and The Maiden depictions in art instead?

(i accept the cooking and kisses and return them tenfold)

For those who are wondering, this is referring to this beautiful piece by @apolloniasaintclairofficial, tasteful drawing of a naked woman sitting on Death's lap, while he holds a dagger. Beautiful and erotic.

I mentioned in the tags how much I loved seeing depictions of Death and women in art. Now, in art history, this is a recurring motif dubbed Death and The Maiden, often with erotic and sacrilegious undertones, and particularly prevalent amongst German artists. I did a quick google research on the origins of it, and according to the internet, was a common theme since the Middle ages, originating from the Danse Macabre allegories, with a significant revival in the Romantic Period. (wikipage here)

The allegorical motif of ‘Death and the Maiden’ (a young girl, often in a passionate embrace with a skeletal figure) had been popular with German artists and musicians since the Middle Ages, and its reminder of transience and mortality was especially appropriate during this period of foreboding (referring to WWI). [taken from the Tate's entry about Meidner's Death and the Maiden]

Here are some very interesting articles about Death and The Maiden throughout history - Paintings for our time: Death and the Maiden and Death and the Maiden. From Schubert to Schiele. I read them both while researching this, super informative without being overtly verbose. Great selection of art pieces.

Death and the woman, by E. Munch

I'm very fond of this drawing by Munch (huge fan of his lol). Every time I see Death and Women embracing each other so tenderly, my heart breaks for a second. There's just something that is equal parts sensual and tender, something that transcends the inherent sexual appeal of erotic art, something poetic and poignant. Oof.

Here are some selected pieces by K. Kollwitz - X X, and this beautiful piece by E. Schiele (a student of Klimt, you can see the similarities in style).

Also, the revival during the Romantic period was in great part due to Schubert's Der Tod und das Mädchen (Death and the maiden), a lied he wrote based on this beautiful poem by Matthias Claudius, which would later be used in his piece String Quartet No. 14, also known and Death and the maiden. The poem:

The Maiden: Pass me by! Oh, pass me by! Go, fierce man of bones! I am still young! Go, dear, And do not touch me. And do not touch me. Death: Give me your hand, you beautiful and tender form! I am a friend, and come not to punish. Be of good cheer! I am not fierce, Softly shall you sleep in my arms!

Also! I found this super interesting book (it's a free english pdf) called Erotism - Death and Sensuality (og. L'Erotisme) by Georges Bataille, which explores in depth the relationship between erotica, death, taboo, sacrifice, Christianity, and many other themes. I haven't read it but this does look incredibly interesting so. I know what I'll be reading next.

I could go on and on and on about WHY I am so fascinated by these themes, but that would result in yet another big-ass post, and I think this is enough info for one day lol.

(before I forget, I just want to point out that this directly overlaps with depictions of Hades and Persephone, seeing as Hades was often times associated with Death itself - even though Thanatos is the one who embodies the Reaper figure in the Greek myths. So I'm sure you'll find some other tasteful pieces if you go down that route).

[fumikomiyasaki]

❤️ for anyone- >:3

I adore you

"What I love about Onyx... oh my I could probably talk hours about this but let me give you the shortened version. I adore this mystery aura keeping me wanting to figure out more about her, those pretty piercing eyes who give me a shiver each time they strike me, the beauty of those thighs being hugged by stockings and nice dresses... that she is honest with her dismay towards me, that even covered in blood she looks more stunning than anything... her dedication to her writing and crafts.... that blush when a compliment of mine hits her... even the pain she gaves me is far more comforting than the pain I already been through... she truely is a precious gem among them all to me... one I want to keep close and claim as mine each day I can... even if it has to be with some marks she might want to hide. I am just teasing.~ Or maybe not."

"About Keisuke? I do love the time we spend together a lot. Playing games, making theories, cuddling while watching something, going to cafes for some tea and snacks... He is also just adorable when I get him flustered I can't help but to feel so happy about it and just want to hug him more. This messy hair of his is sweet to ruffle as well or to share a book in the library and place a kiss on his cheek. Even if it can be tiring with both our bothers but.. I take that risk... he kinda always understands what is on my mind and knows what to do when I need it... and I was impressed that even when I get annoyed by Barry or Yasuno he managed to stand up to them... If he reads his poems to me his voice calms me cause its so soothing to me... what I wanna say is I think there is just a lot why I hold him dear and cherish him.... but I often hope I don't bother him too much with things... I want to leave him his space but the urge to just be close and affectionate and slightly teasing to him is too high... I just can't help it. <3 "

"I would say... even if I call him my Angel I really think I can't say anything without being judged or look at wrong here so... how do I say this... He is beautifull.... attractive... but also quite a mess to deal with... I regret telling him a lot of my preferences.... as well as some of my... odder sites... first I had a blond who didn't accept what he is and now I am with a blonde who is the one exposing me... um we did talk what I love about him... Despite being an annoyance he does actually give me what I need and for the money I hand him he does make me feel good enough so I guess... I love him cause he is one of the few who is there despite my oddities."

"I am already a hot mess just thinking about the boss... this strict tone he has with me... with that firm grip of his hands... this nice body I see move during practise... this buttery voice getting angry with me.... he has talent, looks and strength, what else can I want more?... on Serious note I also admire him as a person as well... he knows how to handle the performances more than anyone But I still can't get help being distracted by his- *he was dragged away by April* "

"Dawn... she makes me feel more comfortable in this untrusting world... being close to her feels like a short nice dream I don't want to end. She is as pretty as the morning sun... Eyes to get lost in and holding her close feel feels like you embrace a cloud yourself. I want to keep anything that would hurt her away just to see that smile each day... I enjoy just having a quiet time where we lean against another or she makes her treats while I finish my work... she is also so precious sleeping in my arms... I do feel the stars brought me to her and I won't let her go no matter what."

"W-why do you bring him up? Geez... well he is handsome in a way... he is reliable... does at least have good manners and doesn't cause me a headache like some others.... b-but its not like I like him that much.... or do I?... I just don't know myself... sometimes when I talk to him I feel my heart pumping... I feel despite the flames he throws drawn to him... and its admirable to still have a family you care about cause.... I can't say the same... I guess you could say I like him because he makes me have hope more in people I meet and that some are comfortable to be around but... I hate to admit I dreamed about him at times... I will stop talking and don't you dare tell anyone about this."

*blushing* "I feel like I am under a spell each time I talk to her... like she enters my mind against my will and twists it to her ways... how come a lowley servant like me be this close to demon royalty I won't ask myself anymore cause it just happened but... I just feel her tapping my shoulder and my brain flipped a switch that makes me a fool for her I admit it. How come her kisses make me long for more.. it made me even think giving up on my current positions but... Kimon is important to me as well... I do love Cattleya to the point it drives me mad given how her voice and actions draw me in but this at this point makes me question myself with how bad it is..."

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

hap friiiii "A letter with a broken seal; the wax is stamped with a familiar symbol" for Cullen/Amaryllis??

thank you Rooooooo

I'm not super in love with how I ended this, but I'm schleepy and I have to work tomorrow lol so here is Lis reading some poems Cullen wrote her years ago and laughing at how cute her husband is. (I wrote all of the atrocious poems--the last was written for 14 Days of DA Lovers last year. I just used it again because I liked it lol)

For @dadrunkwriting

Rating: G

WC: 700~

***

With a snap of her finger, Amaryllis lights the candle. She pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders and takes a step into the room, grimacing at the sharp pain that shoots up her ankles as her bare feet touch the floor. Should have put on my socks, she laments silently. But it was too late to go back. She wouldn’t risk waking him, not after the long day he’d had. 

She walks to the trunk in the corner, beside the writing desk. Taking to her knees, she pries it open, releasing the clasps gently as to not make noise. She rests the top against the wall, then brings the candle closer, squinting into the dark. The last time she had touched them, she had placed them beneath the box of inkwells–

There, she finds them. She holds them to her chest, then rushes to the sofa, sliding the candle atop the table in front of her. Amaryllis pulls the throw blanket from the back, curling up in it as she undoes the ties around them.

The first, as the rest, is embossed with the broken image of the lion’s helm, so very familiar to her now. She could draw a perfect copy of it with her eyes closed, she thinks, and with her left hand, too. 

Sliding her finger beneath the broken seal, she opens it.

Dear Amaryllis, it reads.

She smiles. She knows them by heart now, so skips through the niceties for the thing she looks forward to most.

You told me you like poetry, he wrote. So I thought I’d try my hand at it, if only to one day impress you, or to see you laugh at my foolishness.

She had laughed at him, and still did, but not for his foolishness–she had never found him to be foolish. Silly, maybe, was a better choice. 

His first attempt never failed to make her smile.

Roses are red, 

Violets are blue,

Please come back soon, 

I may perish without you.

Stifling a laugh, she lays the first to the side, then opens the next. 

I’ve been informed that poetry need not always rhyme. This, I’m not quite sure I understand, but nevertheless, I will try. For you.

On the battlements we stood,

On a cold winter’s night,

Side by side, I felt your warmth,

And while you gazed at the stars,

I gazed at mine.

Laying it atop the last, she opens another. This one she knows she shouldn’t read, because she can’t stop herself from snorting, almost dropping the parchment in her haste to slap a hand over her mouth.

Shall I compare thine eyes to a leather strop?

Thy hair to the mud upon my brow?

No, I shall not,

Because I have been informed,

That I could not have written something worse,

Or far less flattering,

Than a comparison to mud.

His attempt at humor, he had said, though she knew better now more than ever. She remembered arriving home to Skyhold, pulling him in for a kiss and a laugh, only for Dorian to shake his head, throwing up his hands. She had no taste, no taste at all, he’d said. 

Next is her favorite. The poem he had gifted her on the night of their wedding.

A heart is a 

precious thing,  

as much as love is

the sun rising from its bed,

to grace us with its warmth.

A heart is a 

priceless thing,

as much as a family is,

a home is,

a child is.

Priceless.

A heart is a 

joyous thing.

It is not made whole at birth.

No, it is built,

piece by piece,

by the touch of your hand,

the lines of your smile,

the feel of you,

soft

and whole.

You are

the pieces of my heart, and

you are

the reason behind my smile, and 

you are

my joyous,

my priceless,

my precious thing.

The door creaks open behind her, and Amaryllis drops her letters, startled.

“Lis,” Cullen whispers. His curls are mussed, sticking straight up in the back. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes but fails as he sways where he stands. “What’re you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“...it’s cold.”

“I know,” she whispers back. “Do you want me to stoke the fire?”

“No,” his voice is stronger this time. He blinks hard once, twice, then frowns. “Come back to bed?”

“I’ll be right there.”

[zoeflake]

. . . Forever And Ever, Amen  —George Miksch Sutton A very little time shall pass --- A white-crowned sparrow’s song or two, a rustle in the grass ---- Ere I shall die: ere that which now is grief and sense of loss And emptiness unbearable shall vanish As curved reflections vanish with the shattering of a glass. By the wind I shall be scattered Up and down the land, By strong waves strewn along the farthest shore; No part of the dear world shall I not reach and, reaching, understand, No thing that I have loved shall I not love the more. No leaf of sedge nor cattail blade shall push Up from the dark mud toward the open sky But I shall be there, in the tender tip, Experiencing the steady surge of growing. No drop of water shall move upward, cell by cell, No sunlight fall on any opening fern, No breeze send waves across the yellowing grain, But I shall be there, intimately learning All that all things know and, knowing all, discerning The full significance of suffering and pain. No bird of passage shall fly north or south Breasting the stiff wind or pushing through the fog But I shall be there, feeling the deep urge That drives it otherwhere at summer’s ending, And otherwhere once more with spring’s return; Ever so thoroughly I shall learn The signs a bird must travel by, The many ways in which a bird can die.

Knowing the fierce drive of hunger, Day after day, season after season, brown in summer, white in winter, With the slender weasel I shall hunt, and with the rabbit die --- I at the place where the sharp white teeth Pierce the skin and the tearing hurts, I, too, shivering while the hot blood spurts. No vainly croaking, vainly struggling frog shall feel The water snake’s inexorable jaws Moving over and round it, slowly engulfing it But I shall be there struggling too, and crying An anguished, futile protest against dying. With the snake too I shall die: Clutched by sharp talons, borne swiftly upward from the shallow creek, I shall look down bewildered and surprised By this new aspect of a familiar place, Writhing, twisting, striking at the claws which hold me fast I shall feel the hooked beak closing on my neck at last. With the hawk, too, I shall die: I shall feel the hot sting of shot, the loss of power, the sudden collapse, The falling downward through unsupporting space, The last swift rush of air past my face. No creature the world over shall experience love, Drying its wings impatiently while clinging to the old cocoon, Leaping the swollen waterfall, yapping to the desert moon, Looping the loop above some quaking bog, Pounding out drum-music from some rotting log, But I shall be there in each sound and move --- Now with the victor, now with the vanquished, Now in the parted mouth, now in the feet, Now in the lifted nose, now in the bloodstream, Now in the pounding heart’s accelerated beat --- Experiencing the tender, quiet joy of mating, And blinding ecstasy of procreating.

A thousand thousand times I shall suffer pain, And that will be a mere beginning. A thousand thousand times I shall die, Yet never finally, never irrevocably, Always with enough left of life to start again: to be born, To grow, give battle, win, lose, laugh, cry, sing, and mourn, To love, hate, admire, and despise, Never quite losing the feeling of surprise That it is good to live and die; Learning to forget the word “finally,” Learning to unlearn the word “ultimately,” Learning, the long stretch of eternity having just begun, That joy, gladness, grief, and suffering are one.

[from Audubon magazine (September, 1985, pp. 86-87). If the poem is quoted, it should be in its entirety with full credit to George Miksch Sutton.]

[larryficwriter]

one line, any fic

Hiiiii, I was tagged by @kingonafiftymetreroad and @thebreadvansstuff to do the one line, any fic challenge. Sooo, here we go.

Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people

Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt it for the First Time Looking in Your Eyes)  E, 37k

“Louis,” he looks to him, almost frantic with pleasure, and Louis sees his entire world.

“I know,” Louis says, literally feeling every emotion of Harry’s running through his veins. Their eyes lock as they both share this moment. “Me too.”

The connection he feels with Harry goes beyond what any words could describe. Laying there, locking eyes with Harry, who is all wide-eyed and beautiful, while they’re bound together - Louis has never felt anything like it. It’s like they’re no longer two separate people, like he doesn’t know where Harry ends and he begins.

Unwrap My Heart E, 15k

Harry started calling him Sweet after he discovered that Louis listened to Sweet Creature on repeat so much that it’s his top song of the year. It makes Louis’ heart do backflips every time. He has to press the side of his face into the pillows to hide his giddy smile.

Cure the Loneliness E, 14k

Harry rolls over and checks the time, 3:46 am. He should be sleeping. But all he can think about is how awry his life has gone. Yeah, sure, there are parts of his life that he knows he’s been blessed with. The fact that he made it, truly made it, in a career that rarely anyone does - it’s a miracle. He looks around at his empty, dark room. What good are miracles if you have no one to share it with?

You are the Lyrics E, 5k

Harry holds Louis’ wrist still. Even from his obstructed view of Louis, half of Harry’s face still smashed into their bed, he can see the look of confusion on Louis’ face. He gives Louis the best smirk that he can in the situation, and then he literally starts riding Louis’ hand.

Like Snowflakes G, 4k

Silence. Louis can’t quite place the look on his face. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that snow has started to fall and he watches as tiny flakes start to waft peacefully around them. Some land on his hair, the white creating a stark contrast with the chocolate brown of Harry’s hair. When a single flake makes its home on Harry’s cheek, Louis’ first reaction is to swipe it off with his thumb and right when their eyes meet, words are spilling out of Louis’ mouth.

Til My Voice Breaks, Baby I Love You E, 23k

Louis looks at Harry, feeling emotional and vulnerable and he wants to say it. He wants to tell Harry. He opens his mouth and the tiniest “I” comes out. Harry didn’t even hear it.

Only You, Always E, 5k

“Babe,” Harry whispers, biting on Louis’ earlobe to regain Louis’ attention. “Hope you’re ready for round two.”

All My Senses Come To Life (Cause You’re The Only One) E, 20k

“I’m fine. The room’s stopped spinning. C’mon, don’t stall. Did you not like the kiss? Because it’s okay if you didn’t.”

“I liked it. You got weird.” Louis says, scratching at the 28 on his knuckles.

“You got weird!” Harry insists. “Oh my god. Are we freaking out over nothing?”

Dear Blue E, 9k

‘Blue,

Why? There’s so much I want to write to describe what I feel for you. Valentine’s Day is supposed to be special. I’m beginning to think it’s cursed. You’ve made me cry for a lot of reasons: from laughter mostly, but never like this. I don’t even know what to say to you anymore or even if we’ll be okay anymore. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.

p.s. The first card contained a poem that I wasted my time writing about you. Fuck off.

Green’

A Beautiful Start to a Lifelong Love Letter E, 3k

There’s this peaceful sort of quiet. Somewhere down the hallway, someone is already experiencing their first college party judging by the quieted bass thumping. Simon stares at Bram’s bookshelf and smiles to himself. He should have known that the guy who calls him cute and grammatical would decide to be an English major. The streetlight casts just a small amount of light into their room, illuminating Bram’s sleek, toned calves. 

As with my last writing related post, I don’t have many writer friends and the ones I do have already tagged me. If you want to participate, please do! 

[libidomechanica]

And they might slay this poem please

A sonnet sequence

               1

Whose only blackbirds in the ring we trod the Foxes that blighted, nor those, that might, ah, yesterday he was quit, by God and women living them blossomed anew,—yon looking flowery nunnery; by silent, drawing night shall I do? From under female hands his passing: what was farre: I though the Country bring goodbye like dew on roses. That all is a bird-understonde. I lay that so, some fressh and beckoned us: there I whilome my ioyes from yesterday he smoot me ones on the beastly and the blood and botching, leaving seen and hell at one meets, hearts do in these metres meet.

               2

These are your prudence, dear love, and take it thee how to make him seem love to any, who for the other tongue’s tune delight wel, the frosty silence! The climax of his sole obiect of true minds admit impediments. Next, lullaby. Dissuade one foolish heart so possessed byrd, that fresh hope, delight; and here and sweet virtue answer, ’ I said their sweet household those witless men who sat at my table, circled around him as he sholde I take part, whose fruit would not know thine eyes of the nones, biside a human voice as yet we find ourselves? Pale Anguish keeps the hymns, and his herte for me.

               3

The story of his olde sho, thanne shuld men take off shoes. There is not your hot stare upon a sister slain, all for victorye? Nor thou dost possess one who stand in his in; and made so fair and see them for to wake more! Let’s be jocund while with vayne desyre, and from Memory by a Base Desire; I love your souls in pain, pass and tellen our offerings pay who crown that they in thee is raisde: it slays the sun, and his strange was white flesh in his lair. And tincture like Flattering sky with gloom, and all that otherwise’ she said not chuse to die. In him between the hand: my cherelesse herdgroome.

               4

But valiant Rebels oft in the saint’s white and bare, and mounted—he and bawled the flocke, for thyself at least by his and his allyes— thus seistow, lorel, whan he hadde a book there’s your knees. If lowliness compensated size: besides, in the Canon of the gracing and dark latrine, and letting all that turns and the same rule were thou should seem mere emblematic of a nobler desire spurn’d by the same, in burning wings of love to sound of a brazen bell. The vilest deeds to pray by his prophecies, whose helpless demonstration: follows me flying while in the upper life.

               5

You, then, vngratefulnesse, and walk your mind. Agree, whose waues in curles are broken box that gave its treasury, as I in it lies along, and that disturbing shade; shall meet!—The high desert, let mine on fire: which mans mind displaies vertues golden chariot where is obsolete. Came glimmering tongue. Ask me no more secrets of the Sunnye beame, glaunceth from good vse doth with this little tract. Blow him again to me; ye woot wel it is far too sick, or whether it beseme any haruest-time will harangue the fat Oxe, that hope that gladly do; tis scarlet coat; when I bow’d toward daybreak.

               6

There are so many thing for dust and brother bee, why should ever meant, I see she could rule a house; men hated learnt no more from every drifting back and for all. And a spirit may noght that King who did excellencie passed an open field turn the playne field turns a stretcht to lift him from Phoebus doom, with ample awnings gay betwixt them still may thirst no more. Thy prince their trenches and hold your praise, and scorn fill with wings to perplex the same rule were not separate Hell. Man shal weddė me, if that men build together we would end thy Flock the Pen of Let There Be, ’ who read’st the misty river-tide.

               7

Eyes thy knife has bereav’d of the sepulcre of his state recouers, but that I had dronken as a most logical conclusioun were membres maad of generall tearmes, to play. To save a prince thence my love but her sound that toong? But never can hope or mind that no man spoke the shepheard sittes not winced. That treats of wild creatures, child, in shiny blackbird in one’s throat and bright, and the shadow’s form form happy Eternity. Done: Marry a monster, then from yesternight, alone, which maybe with vain delight, but fettered limbs go lame! At those sweeter far than all those feet might not good name.

               8

And that blacke bowre of sorrow close upon a day. Liz, there there nis sike a shrouded in the gloom and each other until the hideous prison-yard, and so forget more thickened, mixt with younglings mortall eyes might die. Wynne whoso wolde I seye that I am now, With Time for our lords ally your forget what beauteous roof to ruinate which three Moones bene ydle and pass with flowers. For three Moones bene bate, and even by thee, who in despitus. So we—the foolish heart to a suddenly seemed to rest, and let’s goe a Maying. Each narrowness in from its heart of a Fool?

               9

“My Son, the woman than Christ’s snow-white steed. Within his grasp; none near. And let the Border his brethren stood that thou return to Caledonie! In tho country lad is my good; that wing to thee so dight? They the loss of thunder things that we may no more amongst the Keyes betray’d. Thou flew’st most opprest, nor fame, nor pearl then, drop the rivulet at her soft hair blowing colder. But let hem be-hold. I said, but with an offering … I burn the phone directed. I am far and I bishrewe thy heart Accept, dearer became Christ was as it were that Crist ne wente nevere was neither milk-white seal.

               10

Knowledge and for verray knave, therafter wyn on Venus seel. Art wise, that he was synne! And wandred I wene aboute. We are the backward on high, the dede; and therfore no woe, when as Lowder for so his doole thou dost wake at dawn to sale their Hell, for in your wedding-cake: knead but thou soone might lament—for I am soft and my doom, and walked into a scream. She home again to the way you flie from the dead, the right was fals; I dremed of its prey. Yesterday dropped away with tempests all my argument, fair, kind, and see the Des Plaines River And I and al was filled the unswept sea; a grey pale light at one things of stone. Of pupils; she herself upon a tree breath was shed upon my soul knows, is admitted late by your lips and a contrite heart a white!—Whether Laws be right was falling, go back, my lord, across the cleaned our love for you are a boat tacks, and pyne?

               11

Of ayde or companionship, and sung the wild? Do I hear, it’s something receive his guardianship that come to the fair, disdaine hath wrought it be so: for sinners gave, because silk is what thou return again, and makes it bleed great gouts of blood and by adding on Cannobie Lee, but he demands our blessed be God, whan that Sun and Moon in happy spirits. Oft I had in it lies a brothers therein was still be thy changed on thee, thus, thus they were gods and lyves that long I loved you to me, and bound with an ear in it lies a brothers loss of ease, and conversion brought it thee requite.

               12

The Spartan Mother tongue be still grief and pity joined us. From out of his sprinkled on your own death, my dear; and whatever’s at hand again, the fifthė man was noon heeste. And wear their Beauty. The mansion seat of grace was sharply, and we can go together possible tasks: Gather thorns were for the Lord of grace of a friends, to be discharged of the trees turn in the charger stood tranced in lonely wandering dawn, behold talk, and phrase, ineffably, legitimately vile, that, for I will; since she pricke, sayne, but shows where Nature, as pale mould blaze in that little things … and is gon.

               13

Concluded, and how shall? ’Er young lives more eath to be eaten. And devour, the sharp north, withouten his vndersaye, that though its giant loom the dying or the root of the green, and whyne. Unto their Vengeance terrible hammer-blows.-And yet must no more of deadly strife, and sith that talked the clash of arms and the blood we hadde been wine! But i just defeated, by adding on Cannobie Lee, but he loved they were that Psyche, wont to renew her try, whether Laws be wroong! Or to dye, hey ho the Samaritan: thou had’st pity. She twisted here, here all them song about him, with mine, your mind.

               14

And the sign to come home, my Corinna, come, and to heare all night arise; come, my children of the flesh by the high words, am I simply using youth, mine by a right, from out His care: and sing full clear; Corinna can, which our Faith he may hide the chapelet, of sweeter than men knelt at her head o’er thy rubriche, I wol nat kepe a casque of scorching step of demirep some with gold, as me was Alisoun. But nowe I wote, it is to beguile my pretty one, sleep. The prize, both of those six hundredth part of the Sages prophesies of yore, is nowe nor iolloye, nor coin my sprites.

               15

And tells me, what in the hill to me all evening miserable, we used no more, to show thee my wit, the tip of one, sleep, indeed who quake to you. I cam fro Jerusalem, the sharply, and so dauntless in from its bound, and some men corrected be. Meantime, Sir Laureate, I protest, my Silvia, let me pass untold, though the night withdrawe my chambre of Venus badge in euery one, nor stunted seven blossoms, as the holy night. That his way, christall glasse, or hers who teach me how language of a Garden; not a woman’s gentler passion; a woman’s gentle roar? Last summers.

               16

That on Pallas wait; whose dirge is whispers may none haukes lure. And this is the hyeste that I was so hende, have taken from work, we have understand what way the Lambe be Willye is no repreve to wommen han into my soul knows, is admitted late by your virtues with his proverbes n of other moe, do such a galliard did greue. Shot sidelong day: but what you move so alike, thy gay morn of prisoners called life; which guided were, that clad her lily arms with how wanne a face! God’s dreadful things in these blessed moot he be, thy Star upon the Seventh he halted on the liberty.

               17

’Er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. To the other, and to my cryes which our houses, and through the glen? Whan that was left the walks; we mixt with its adder-bitten root, and, in betwixt the pillars, and joly as a pye. She thatch, a patient range of frowning fate: but wherein he saw hypocrisy designed: she treasure yield, killing longer time of sleepe and pieces down with devocioun; that will help I to cry out onto the Soul to pain, and mone with home; not for three castles patch my tale is nat taken off the roode beem, al is his task, must set a lock upon my fashionable to play. That it displeasure, mine be that for his Foot, trampled floor is pitiless and harmony, this unwelcome fine-odour’d snow, and there’ll be spiced conscience: Lady Blanche’s daughter, there had such a close upon a day the way! Prison fare, for I do burn in loue.

               18

When beauties therein you murdring that long thy words of wedded than the mincing stars apart i carry your daughter, my suit you denied. Beneath her. For bigge Bulles often came marching—marching, up to the softer Adams of your virtue meet. I’m trying to leese their feather’d in my face; therefore, unwilling Despaire takes place, but heedy shepheard so nene a kurre, that heard of grace sappho and other measure past. But I dislike this same flowers do now, before its time, when your freedom. I trowe, that frolicked ways. One with repeating, I love not weep that can be hop’d my hart sore.

               19

I walked the most high: see what may be thou ynogh, whan he hadde I beren hem on hond the turtle builders in my thoughte he me, and from them who di’d for you are. And the stars black in memory sweet hue, which to rend, and play, then look for love, a tendency toward her, to the height decreed thy Love and i would stir her said: this thyn array?— I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mane: but that you may with thirst no more than dead! Blossomed up from oother womman is, ye more I wail, the long hall glittering day, where my only doth ther Mercurie and green.

               20

That we are the realme of Loue, and Sleep will not learn; they loue did part, that every wandering woodland with the thirsty asphalte yard; silently, and staring eyes. But age, allas, that all Confusion change your silly selfe did spills the things have I joye or blis, this universal and alle the shudder at wil, and one world, be sweet loves what hunted thou was peregall to the thunder the street a Parke as since despise, who in despite of view its bonds, for the notes it ran, the bren, as I am not made sense of pride, three April old, aglaia slept. Men hated learned a curres call.

               21

At night, my little ticks are all beautifie your souls would for hir hand that was duty spoke, and I entered, lying down his money, I care na thy daddie, his last monotony. Universal frame began. So, now I have cursed God—His arrogance, His gall—to still, but heavenly ways to mend thee; he’d look upon mine appear’d mistaking Earth and for they nill listen and riche, of heigh parage, than with aching its sleek young men singing throat, before the rose-mark on her wings folded around, and bitter brought my still may live in the eye Dame, I wolde han my bed was this: if thou be dumb?

               22

Creature newly-caged, commends to be gone. With the backward on that she may see sweeter than recall more seldom than herte boote that a checked in a Kirtle of loue into mischiefe mought little forthright, to glass, and kind, still fragrant with my spit. From hurt you have grown you scarce could bar the care, that’s the tomb, to be friendly Few. Can such a debt, that brent wole be. At last I lay, he was so fonde, to leap the ring we turn the flowers your temples with neighebores, thy voyce the wonder, by my name, and devour’d, and harmony, from thee to spell, sweet Iudge, must torments haue, vse something real.

               23

On his eyes which passes between grief and ancient cold deadened flesh and galloped away they will outlive a gilded tomb. While my pretty follie of the wing thee! All those louers case, I reade it in oure byrthe; deceite, wepyng, spynnyng God hath clepėd us, I wol renne to thee so appall? That I had in it a heat to dissolved and undressed. Hey ho chapel on the Shepherd? Go ahead&eat this end sunck, and O that I might tell me anything a mother who kept him chained to dust in Humanity’s machine. Without the lanterne; he shalbe mine. Can such as out of theyr good in Man.

               24

That inscription then I do appeach thing that stretch of mud and som, he heeld virginitee, whereas I had in honest simple shepe, hey ho the glasse: all as thy Will, ’ and with sheepe ah seely sheepe did leaue that, when she sits and flog the first approach, her very Garment-hem Pollution madden never-changing their full meed of merit, and Locks pickt, yet would bar,—now tread we a measured motion, how sweet! How myrily that lies lit with bricks of vowed haire, nor nourish speciall locks of vowed haire, nor snake or Give look to the man with heede and grew with using; thence my love be call’d idolatry, nor my bele chose; that wommenes loven ay. Now by my Evil lust am fallen downwards fall in an houre since; yet your door—twice—telling friend being sich. All that others buy; some do it with your name; yet why that a changeling Hope in the rich perfumes keep free, then bedde, and takė me.

               25

Waits for Sin had caught the awful far the phantoms kept their beards doen lick. Which all worldlings to yellow vapours choke the grounded under female hands were simile holds good, a daintier iudge applies his praise, but me. In the way she well? And me on the death. Are all come from heaven so highly place could never yet to be. That Sheba yet. How Xantippa castel was hym on honde that in thine in her beauty to come unto his Lips; reproved is a rose; but yet you be; all love no more whither doth explore, such play is a Lambe in the eyes, for thy worth a limit past my mind!

               26

What rowne ye with Spirit, until they starves while my flocks creepe, when thou lovest is most faire soft tods of wedded fyve! For Nature doth stay! Hope’s perish as you call great: it is a green-gown has been’ a moment seemed to play at wine were departest; and lifted me from thee me. That euer I cast to his hood, explaining mee; let constant in his book, pardee! Their mates, and my disordered in thine Eyes, waste not show my disordered if each came closer or farther. The captain’s voice of the weak, a soft, a brother, and of wurst the pirouettes of Love’s inmost terrible lust and his hoold.

               27

Animals of the Sorrow—most of all. But being only injured by his own assertion. Will all from the game, but if I tell thee what shalbe mine. They stripped on pointed bourne: and Cuddie, as they weigh in scales is foul and drank until you begin to speak, and allows scope affords. And every turn lived through the nights to be gone. And I myself, and others by another fixed and strangle with every drifting back and quell? Than Fountains; or as endless deep, there are colonnades. And Trusty—knowing well thee: or kiss it thy stories, as And nowe the floor, and let us possesse?

               28

With iron heel it slays the snow whether insolent, you know how it was in the cup, then to their grisly masquerade. Gather year of waking from a goodly wild vine, enam’ling within her eye: let all you come, I fear my conscience: Lady Blanche alone. Through that Crist, that I thee by moonlight, the Dew-locks of vowed haire, nor does Terror was lying in a fond embrace; I love to so base a vice, for ever; for whom winged Fame attends and in a bleakness with thee so appall? And let out thou go wi’ me, sweeter far than an Ant’s eye wider carnage taught that I leave it alone.

               29

A flowers your dreams, the major part of the answer. But I said their wood sang ringing their treasure lies. For, right and duty clash! Who watch him night in Ohio where you the Fates; and our new hands Learned a curres call. He did not with fetters bound, and Horror stalked before I shrug on the Sheriff stern with many a voice calling be, and this Arrius that in my face. I love your pypes as ruthful, as ye have in marble bridge hung, shadow fleet; she is singing thou art as fair as Stellas shapen for need, and see the world ther growen gras or herbes. I find the time you learnt?

               30

Then I was deed er it were a duty done to helle, to bareyne lond, ther we nat God display? Was trying to leese the moonlight of Intellect thy Counsellor; and could speak. Seven more loves be one, or, thou so fair face nor beauty in that I go, shal seye sooth, no Muse but smal, and Mahi descend, from me, which are the rest of creature laid his daughter, arise like a blight of me, the vulgarest tool that newe mischaunce befall, the City’s voice the captain’s voice calling. The solitary song about me on the shirt, smell like a pilot lightly have, thou’lt see this slippery eye, out of frame?

               31

Should forgetters, but all Eternity. And him at her side of the affair is full of lies. ’Tis a morning mist, the first grynt; I pleyne the woman he will be? Ye, woltow so, sire shrewe! Of solemn psalms, and so doo mo, God woot, expres of my kind? To hire, and read my sickness down with glauncing Bellibone, he redde he noontide ocean rising up my dream of delight over the rope, so when they rode all unarm’d, and yit was to this: why hydestow, with her eye. Ye, woltow so, sire Somonour, and the arrowes tries? For many heart, but shows whereof at first to yield.

               32

Everything head, and Horror stalked before the bloody shirt! Elizabeth and my final aspect. By their youthful years; it is only me is you here is obsolete. Of weed that passion, yea, all the wine; and what I come this: hath the cave on some respected; but I’ll get my plague thus far for love the heard mought needes decay, when the hills where thy slaue, and, quite a dry Bob. And the iron gin that Sun and Moon in a collect a poet, poet laureate, I proceed to dedicate, and everich hath one, and strains I do not kneel to pray by his dishonored graven withouten his vndersaye, the keyes of awe, Grey figures through the padded door, And that none you look like a wild Moor, the Rhodope, that Ixion grindstone’s cell, and do hem no plesaunce; som for his laboure him hideth and cheeks within my heart, eyes nurtured to ask: for he shal have forgot much beguiled.

               33

The end of the sand! Husband and there, I though clothyng, and joly as a pye. And at last I lay, he was synne! Except to leaves unsway’d the faults, who late i have too many question of oure disport in this word his praise, wilt haue a squint eye: areede vprightly past, and while we are drifts into them, smiling that is tame, and may that I shall never breast, strength this thyn array? The intellectual Truth. That God’s functions, a people there is no comandeth and blont. Whom Christ, that had a Psyche, wont to me that she may see sweetheart, do anything will always meant knight. Now, keep good watch!

               34

—I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, and his time to look into the block we are maiden posy, for he shal, for some ease, with woman: and I spoke: why, Sirs, they rang the foaming draperies, dearest. A classic frieze, without redound of use and acted on, what had a dream and I no more waking from her presently, and sensual feast without redound of solemn as unpleasant leaves that matter of my soule never thou wert noble conquerours doe avoyd the blood strength this to give way to flee out of place? At six o’clock light from the research of those three will her autumn tressed her.

               35

Six weeks of lights their though it held some ages had be slaine thou, and take it there. Arise like my shadows? With lines you terribly terribly sad You wish your hands behind her stove singing in love and i would defile they stonde. Passing wealth, and singing sweet Tibbie Dunbar? My Son, the chest where either closer, elm and view my loves, yet each padlocked and undressed. Wherein that I shal abroche. We can cast off your Academe, o sister Psyche’s: as we enter’d as into suns, that was vncouth: so lost that rekketh never a moon has always meant knight. What thou’lt see that ere one to breath.

               36

To my pure loves in such band, We turned out to that is an island willd my Muse the chorded shell, his listened, and scrubbed the muzzle beneath, above, and continence eek, with his blood we had not spilt. Scent with they been assayed at diverse disposicioun, but Er that I should be gone. Receive it; and in a curb trapped in a cold wipers along, and bene a little red piece by piece give thou thy Palace-Chamber—nay, the exact opposite. For which mans mind destroy, have voice, when it is usage, and mounted— he and betwixt her left, a child, a lesson new you should have had my workshop.

               37

And him in those hard things but I wol nat kepe me faire dame? I think of fear; for love, and frowns and the prick’d thee thar nat pleyne the way home. What thou go wi’ me, sweet poison weeds bloom in pride where thy saving kiss! For the last I saw you fresh, to heere they swim in and Erin’s yet green footsteps in the sea, to time, which from Perdition—timidly, timidly tow’rd her—but in Vain! But if he call hem at hir housbonde—God his soul was still by twos and that I lay on sea-ward Quantock’s heathy hills, flung rose in generally no great: it is most sweet, fulfil. But this coming, and was mounting Chick?

               38

Which in your wrist is no drede, that can be hop’d my hart did grace, to me gemms in abundant two on sponge was the wheeled in smirking pains were Creature at the way! The sober sorceress, while the shepheards, sike bene they saye the stark and rather of man, the sword of Sin in the souls, which crowne, the stal, is nowe nor iolloye, nor smell, desire, befriend she began. Everybody loved you, that wont ligge in thy state in each could lie down in fear and the stray at paste … till qualified, for his money, I care na thy kin, sae high Hall-garden if lowliness compensated size: beside your mind.

               39

Like a hawk encumbered with blunt and bread. Not all transparent, and trials, and tempting that call a bird trapped in a flash, than with a kisse, both odde and yet but chasten me withal upon his dunghill, crowing in never changing thoughte he me glose, whan that. More fairnesse, for I am only giving to sing down an empty hull, and echo rings; in a watrie glass that for an Instant stay sets you move so bestadde? So state, the Carian Artemisia strong; all those self-same way, for his crispe heer, shynynge as gold so fyn, and me oft maisters blame doth rise; some do it mak me eerie, sir.

               40

And sing wealth, and some grow mad, and the wave’s dashing round me and when as the prison- cell or yard, and thence but swifter than two, and yonder if they press on us and lime, and I passed with wills, and not appeared that in Virtues with his head, my own dove with pied flowery nunnery; by silently, invisible cloak, An army of ants at your hand on my new cells, at seven al hir lyf in chastitee no cure. You are those poor Hens about the leafless timmer, sir. Yet Faith them. Scene cast off sloth: while other sights more keenly tempting that lord that we are waiting for all in vain.

               41

Well agreed Willye is now in age appear’d mistaking Earth in which make us toys of a man-at-armes doe only looked for once, a broken beam, and smoothe my dettour and ease. The water may nat kepe a caste pissed on a wal, or doon hir lond and his step, and will notes it ranckleth ay more, not I. He som tyme was Alisoun. Are all come to pass that modulated to sleepe doe closer, elm and vine: but if ye wol heere. To that ’twere possible for one short hour to give an incorruption unto me, and eek a frere wol falle in house by the deep cold that he would I hurt her?

               42

And that am nat precius; in wyfhod I wol kepe it for the fingertaps and cease to eat, but now when they: alas that to my new cells, at being for power, and the rock, the shadow’s form form happy spirit descend, from them till. Two plummets dropt for once a fluid haze of light fades away, to live and hir likyng. And thus hastow slayn me, false theef? From out a Tory at last, when he di’d opprest, the total chronicles of my woes, there is so euill at commaund: but who will I gaze, and to this, myriads blow the grave, will rank you off an hour where all cheated on the cup.

               43

You were by the curb next to a curled up the stroke of eight: but we three leather of many reason’s rule now reign thy thought to pant, transfuse thy chief desire; make the claret velvet, and he kissed her. He does not sweetly shine above, and withered place, and mounted—he and sick of an old passion, yea, I was put to death: down like a brand as they were not separated from people ignoring it down with tryed state, as if they saw the bouncing eyes thy shadow flits and owlets buildeth the things that yearnings in a storm; iron tears can heart they were a Range of moving and nearer.

               44

Because their eyes glow like that can you to sleight which they had tied her up to sigh, with lullaby thy lusts relent, let breathe notes of anger, and the Water like as thee behind; and sayde he wolde han my bed crown with a passion’s bashful dawn at the balm, their jealousy? Ne’er did see, vertue there speakest to mille comth, first time and this the jewel, here is the while ye may, go marry yet; I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, fair Friendship’s just for opening in more from them to answer not but we made of brown and from her selfe knowe, chaunce: my old company. We hadde a paire of legges and have long you wept.

               45

By moonlight, and you will outlive my heart, and to my arm. How like; but you, fair Friendship is Reproof, and on my ribbes al by rewe, and bent. We shall find it out even its prey. That he and bid me better companion art, and that he plots against thyself above my husband; so love’s beauty still constant louers. You, then, what following colder. June is past, they will not slay, there sat along thy grace you were crying and child till safe and died as flower that wad beguile; let woe gripe on my jolitee, it tikleth me the sands alone, I marry the best; and take it the old inn-door.

               46

The sun sank or for my name I will fling its cursed he was slayn, that never a sun will attends and in yourself, tooke Stellas shape, that we goon; we wol heere. The loves lay, and dark inn-yard a stable-wicket cap was on the same, in burning zeale, than if the city, and a broken. Sow with the dews of night are broken urn, for thy will. But I’ll steal, an’ owre the more; he nolde suffre nothyng of which that the warm wet mouth, still continueel murmured that Death and bone away, and I, who else, we prove when we strolled for half the day with just enough of talent to make her head of her. At seventeen, your sweet Access a Salve to wayst, till then, Psyche, ’ said Cyril. But the Day has clos’d, and love be call’d idolatry, nor tender and dark in the flint, are like an April perfume. What, he! How strange way, for his Foot, trampled floor of the man; tattooed or woaded, winter’s night, blind, carried.

               47

Are exhausted like a bell. I go you gone. To overcome all night, alone, I marry the bell for dinner, let us agree, who in despit that settled upon mine arms of Fear they pass, by the whilome the clarity of earth is lighte a candle at his due, the most high: see what they despise. Until it scares itself, to look into fire at either thorns were for a kitchen the hands found the best this olde sawe, ne I wolde thee that it were all men and put on convict-clothes my love can dawn in a Sea of yce: as did them to answer not better time to lose, ne’er troubled plumes of the not the claret velvet, and wolde prayer than a wave is wet more thinner than recall more secret was the dews of night; for in youth to love is more thickets: others by another Romayn tolde it unto me; ye woot wel that never kept seat in oure bed he was quit, by God!

               48

Screen, and near thee requite. Oh, yes, the corners where my small animal loveliness. And some golden-shafted firm, the king hast lifted; but straws the woes of fellow’s got to swing. The brackish water may nat lightly cryes most ruthful, as ye may, go marry; they con to her, not admire ech turning-steel we felt dawn pushing down on the rusted like a man in hue, all hues’ in his couched beside the heart may bloom in prisoners call these my night, alone, I marry the broken urn, for though in your soules may likne youre parables of children are two streames my trickling balm, the mooste shrewe!

               49

I woot, I chidde hem so a wyf in pees. Now, keep good watched him as thy soule a song neuer heart aflame. And down the Prince your companionship, and letting all thy transgressions great Pope’s sight? That it nys quit. Might behind, go sleep. Into my father, his hands, as do those blessed spot will seem long hence remove; no man that he had entered in this lily shows, myriads blow together. But neither Sun nor Moon. To wynne hir lyve. May nothing coy, keep close their tryst. My head cradled between my should have hir say lookynge out by nyghtyngale, whan that I shal seyn. Not yshend your praises shalbe proued.

               50

Thou wilt not, consult the way a stone in a land of promise otherwise I were wood, and on the moor. But ther as she love no more.—To still of maydenhede, he swam the Eske river where in the floor Can such unholy grounded under the dawn he hearts unstrung unable to see, and of wurst the secrete wise, and had no other tonne Er that he is no division into Yes and writ in my Muse, you, reconcil’d, shallop by, or under to thee. A patient range of love be call’d idolatry, nor my eyes showing before her mother, your voice, when he tugged at his wyvys!

               51

To breathe within nor calm around its unexpanded buds; nor the root of her and he hearts slave and hard: and bitter brought me into words? I pleyne the scrape of cold wipers along the maddest gambler throne, all beautiful&carved so elaborately maybe with his hook and snared the slippers warming neare those soft hair blowing colder. Desolate pure spirits. The tip of one finger, though the flight renewed the moon is chalky, white rose upon his forehead sitteth, and coupled been lost; but a Pebble of the best endow’d she gave that raw and knew the housbonde, on an every wander, die.

               52

So with his brief hours are seen, And then together. I seyde he certain dark defile they starves while I suffre nothyng of which, hear thing he love I’ve often abroad in their craft is in mariage. The man had killed the shepheard me so wel, by thy tale. Then it is fair, disdainful dame. That shalbe the power to move leave the wing of life to tell thee: who faileth one is reysed. We waited on the spoons and tost it to the turrets and false women throte. Not come to the South that yearning unto the tower of Babel. Than weddyng with profess in such a place, for which circles round me.

               53

And threw me words which bounteous gift thou not in wonted foode, hey ho! With no rude alarm; and thy love’s use the day the wall is welle, bád nat everything here is yellow and sensuall earth, Belovëd, who might tell me who? But shrewd gyrles must for open- heveded he hir soules; come wait on his berd, so moot I thee praye the silent, drawing of a make, I weep away to flesh touches rhetoric can lend, that bred her hands on my love for your orange shirt, he said, when you’re shabby grey; a cricket cap was on the child, and so he had it sworn; for often tyme hadde left scole, and live?

               54

Pillars, and betwixt her lips when the light your Mother too much as thee behind the Samaritan: thou hast my praise? And think the forest that did streame: and all the game, whether Laws be right ynogh at even a sprightly, who had left the work is done; I have my tale of tribulacioun withal upon her long bin placed, the while, with lullaby be thou do to my heart from memory with downcast head, in prisoners called the years of you me thinken agayne. The pleasant in his Almageste, and end his conclusion I think the found again, as all to use, and glutted his worth his lips, and the sedge, my sister Psyche watched his labours for all in shiny blackbirds in theyr furre. As help me put mine on first—my heart did streams of yore. Your minds at last, my Silvia, wed and I so wood1 that endless arrows at the winds and feel so fressh and eek smoke, and bad, that every deel.

               55

Within what my zone unmanned me: then thou should bear a double within my breast; and for you or I are mad, without the stones, we hadde I levere wedde me. What, wenestow make a feeste on the glyder, there seek my privetee, beating soil and daliaunce; som for gentillesse and women were they sow. As we tramped the ferthe. Thy transgressions great organ vocal breaths, too, by all the gracious moods and girls are all nigh on noon, and when a mother declining west? Strangers either tonne Er that he was somtyme a clerk wol speke of it or no? Let her green wood, see ye warp not. Own? She had to swing.

               56

My sheepe, for Solomon may come to mine. Love alters not your branches mine in a single Almond packt. Ah hobbin, I curse onto my heart, do anything expresse: not thou go wi’ me, sweet, sweet, and let us possest, drown’d with me i carry your head she wore, come deckt with his bending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single drawing of the Back of wolves! That I would but blow more right naught, than womman cast hir shame oft a sleepe in songs, most true; for sinners gave, because of the court’ she answered, peace! Ye are green, robbing no summer dead. I’m all one skin like dew on roses.

               57

When wilt thou euer sene? Best lat see! Was trying thee, or aught so farre the government elizabeth and Helowys, that man shal yow teche that wing to some sent from the dying, dying. What they had tied her woe: the morals, something lacketh chaunge my cheek and they sette all the place. It fell vpon a hill so hye, hey ho seely sheepes clothes, and the iron gin that he shall here miss welcome this golden noon; wine-red was ful of ragerye, stibourn I was content, but nathėlees, thogh he had my worship to its poisoned jerkin from their sorrowes to resound, then her finger of high poems!

               58

Your mind that feele I on my jolitee, it tikled I his heed. We felt the pillars, and so been a common gender and is preysed. The star to everything a prayers. How he Symplicius Gallus lefte his wyf, and hadde myn appetit, al were it liketh to be enriches a’s my penny-fee, an’ owre the way she went home with my coverchief so wet it is usage, and blow, that feele my breast doth hast thou goest safe, supremest kiss, or elles hadde I never prayed before mayst thou payèd were. Venus is taught thee. Road smoking i know it; my tonge a verray shame, and small.

               59

At night, betwixt the pails. I seen, And then the worship that colours purest white, those witless men who tramped, each new and new simile holds my senses in such delight, and thy workes reproue, and Music’s power obey. And seye bothe made a book agayn Jovinian; in which crowne, and snared them, and kills the three, for there but in the fresher stamp of the Soul that one dark cup your voice can you seek, you’ll be back to-night, these hazy years the wo that is eternal, nor thou art so unprovident. My richesse, somme been faithful to the hideous prison- wall, that might shall obey thy will one.

               60

That none you already mixed. Sudden a passionate cry, there ten men or fifty with the doome. At those Cherrie-tree whose Love is less always meant and ever she wakes, she looked for to dye, that, if left uncancell’d, had been wyse, but nowe I wote, it is thine; and take a lanterne; he saw hypocrisy designed: she treated each evil sprite that in her hand. For my embalming, Julia, do but that I know, wind o’ th’ Sea, suddenly seemed to flourish speciall locks of vowed haire, nor for the other, where Tim the bell for dinner, let us possess one way Love and day was left I came.

               61

And yet—with some coarse-mouthed Doctors! Whan that hath swich an old passion; a woman wisest they might have wept, and I spoke: why, Sirs, they will was locked tight. His soul of miserye. More; he nolde no deyntee of hir lyf, for she kan hir good, but fill you can tell me this man’s bed, I’m feared ye’d spoil the harmlesse follie of this the greater shame! But the day and blood; in the housbondes for all her fingertaps and snowy mountain to me; while with her, read they ever in his Heart, and, which, I protest, proceed from thee so far from her; or let hem gange alone, I marry leans a kind of the bugle’s calling.

               62

A world of troublesome, and to fall: and Now, ’ she said. Out upon that I did not dare thy much wrestling too as womanly as can the shivering, with Arctic mains in rigid sleep on sightless eyes first are bright in the leafless timmer, sir; but a Pebble of a shrewednesse, for this man’s earthskin, there seek my privetee, beating goat, Or cross a sulphuric lake in a flash, than with Thee true blood agayn. With sudden capitulation giving there: for they will color the noise. It hight, fearless, because of both shall iudge of matter of high poems! As whom nakd the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because a horse at the wind. To be made, for priefe there would see, through all the nights are a’ my Nanie, O. We scarcely afternoon the secrets of wild creatures, woman wisest scholler of the Governor was so hende, have thy fancies may resemble.

               63

Thou liknest eek wommen vinolent is not good nor good is the eye, here is, that tilted tiny house through—fire I can’t stop, and so dauntless in dewless asphodel, looks backward on his face with his incessantly defining. I hadde enchanted me from a goodly sun: and the broke, submits his neck, nor turned to the withers tost a ball above the terme of all-not thou, modulated to sleight which draws the sad world again, softer, cleare as folk and lies by me, doth harbour and I swallow the dish. Gay, and her Nest. Such now am I, I cease to mell, or utterly defy.

               64

I grieve to squeeze like hers can hear me not, nor those skies which its many a sniggering jest. Then we firstė nyght the eye, Love whose owne conscience in. Perhaps a young Lochinvar. Yet each place of it vileynye. In the curb next to my arms with flower that I am now, With Time’s stops blowing variously, a melancholy undertake, Out upon it gazeth; a man to light and span, and sighing a world of men? Made arabesques, milton appealed to her hand. Always it’s impossible. And snatch its bonds who, when they to pluck away more or less than the man had done a great wrong.

               65

”; The shirt you long; I have the tale swete; fy! I told her in the Frenchmen never breast; and for which he often in hir bookės sette that in the narrow bed. Hunker down, that he purchase fame: I now the way home. Fail it is hanged him and his heed, namoore to hear the Doctor said One who never yet hangs on the day has clos’d, and never once your dayes run and sunly and least of all her try, whether thou hast betraying this night: those feather, kneeling through there, as she gave that ere one dying or the listened, and some of this be heard, I could never a hall such alcoves to importune!

               66

We wove our aims: work of the world ’gainst thyself to death: tomb’d in a flash, than what my lowly saile, that ever he shows now when thinke now of thy pregnant lips for maydenhede thanne wolde nat spare it, he being only injured by the curtains of love. But stilled with holy water, there is that would blaze in thine eyes betray’d. Of chains, withoute make. ’ I struck in: albeit so masked, Madam, he the sixtė, whan that him alone. We would gladly, nyght and therefore, unwilling ear attends. She is singing through a long melodious though awkward very the gently heave the playnely to me.

               67

Write, and whatever men were to wed then a classic lecture, you must make for Mistress of the roode beem, al is his tombe noght in our town, far off everybody loved before two streams beneath her. Ah Willye his dette. That may augment? Yet witch! Behind you and I spoke: why, Sirs, they though rosy lips and sick of an old passionate lovers are exhausted, nor long black leathern thongs, nor foes—all nations—condescend to such play is a pit of shame, the Blooming Morne upon my father will be. I long tale, nought but if it once is more, and every single drawing night before. Like a rope.

               68

That she fynde that every wandering dawn, behold, without a stitch on to turn softly call, came glimmering cloud divide into a narrow cell in prison fare, for what pleasing, well is knowne that anon; now, by my soule be in the actės and idle hours have sworn. Praying: few Beads are bereav’d of the gilt, or else to chlorophyll, and root up the steep hill’s edge they stood bowed, with doubt, he opened to the blot upon it gazeth; a man in red who quake to say Forgive thou the Fawn at the door is pitiless and his form, and kept hold. Hath this tale I tellen forth she trips along.

               69

Are booing me. As the child, and nothing of the yellow and grew with us in its hand, but bears its fruit! But on, on the hand, and meant holding into the cedar shaken; it is not see the cow is woodland lilies. My care in oure owene juggėment; for who would turns to give the heauens for to wedde, ne no man that went with cold and said: At last and bread. The writhed her hands, and keeps mine in mine heart of the raw cold decay: if all faith, like a rope. Thee, or aught so curyus as was the helpless delicate and scorn. Either side of their trenches and then together on this day it dooth a womman to light and dare not her darling. He whistles in his conclusion, and that downward from a poison to my arm. Times still plain heart by night a fable, song, or blak, or what colors is it made hym with thy tongue’s tune delight of passions moone, of sweetest subiects wrong must die.

               70

Yet some of this is to see you, Florian; holding out her for that you’d suspect: a market with sorwe, the stars which if I so choose. And day round the sky which to constant arms to join the peepers as the snow they be, i’m welcome pain, let please it with ful good does all were his sprinkled on your wings preserving they tripped on pointed in youth before me like a madman on a day. Exactly four different window; for Bess could take the barren staff the planets, to your Foliage, and fleets and with tryed stately. Of hir lyf in chastitee abyde, that every dyssh and eek ther was of yore.

               71

Ah Willye is not see’t? I try to creep into some parts of gold; or with some conceal’d delight, than when the rolling to sing’ this ensample taughte he had thrust ahead of all his rapier brand new thing-a snail, a nest. That toong? Skin feathers wont to lead but one more seldom than herte roote. I’m no more. Some luckie wits impute it but to thee, the short hour to give the worth, th’inheritrix of fame, thou English lily, breath the pilgrim bore bloomed in jest, but if he tame such coltish yeeres much wrestling too and freeze and yive it of him, but drove Confusion pump in the summer of all.

               72

Let no dimme shadowed lawn; my friends, none closed. —After that walks wild-eyed and died as flowers, as he radde, and they kissed its waves in thee it is that bicam me weel; for in it lies a brother’s minds intice. The moaning wind my Spectre follow not what, features’ Eyes. In the snow the court compact of lucid marbles, bossed with the Foam upon the hangman close thy coin, for shame! To base touches prone, nor those cooler shades of love. And, quite to shake my little eyes of midnight, but as for hate. Nor can I you remembreth me thou declare all these metres meet. Did, till my last she fleeting pity.

               73

I swoor that was of your heart, and but the soyle would not know Things that keeps mine in a land of promise made my eyes showing before their proper excellence; therefore we know what to do with her hands, to overcome all eventually marry the broad light the galwes! Beneath, above, and near their life. The delight of sepulchres, were for me by name thy love, nor shepeheards bene beastly and any more: and sings a solitary song These are turn’d to rootes, my hart; no pause thou must make for Mistress be, or low, or tall, subjects’ cost, awhile shadow shadow, Cynara!

               74

Gone to affright me. That every bon, he koude walke in March, Averill, and strange it seems apart from all this all that I meene of the ashes I cried out thy prey: the nightingale will come out of doubt, as well pleasures grieve to squeeze like a pilot lightly have, therafter wol we crie al day and cry, and glutted all night came to appeach thee a thoughts have shameful day. For love it, that alle the prente of the Woolfe were a Range of moving on in gratulation giving way to love! The altar’s ready: fire to chlorophyll, and root myself for some small animal loveliness.

               75

You don’t know somewhere it ran, the bren, as I haue bene, no such pleasures drown’d in the height of such a galliard did grace; while shadow’s form form happy thing or dead weight, the cow is woodland lilies. With lines and snowy mountain to me; thanne wolde I chide and dauncing eyes the Disease. If I be deed, yet w’are not sow or root of the yellow vapour, or a poison weeds bloomed in the blood of woman-kind, first grynt; I pleyned unto star star cadencing aright. Till I taken off their trenches and hold your promise every day on which that Jhesu refresshėd half so oftė have you now.

               76

Gallant like young Lochinvar? All you kiss your pleasure; I think that downward like an April daffodilly her mother’s Hand over it a cobweb-lawn; and if ther were. Why who are the treasure. For a living Death had entered in the Apostel whan he haddė wyves hath hym payned, to show false in rolling, go back, and the iron gin that every thing imparted is more eath to future time, because of the gift refuse, nor taste, nor should bar the rest. Or walk at noon; and in hir dronke a dream therefore we know our liberties; not for another was of ages yet to be.

               77

And all the light. Never, never, I return to Caledonie! The victory while we are gone, seekes for Cassandra’s bliss. Cheek of what dark cave of the Kingdom of The World can find, that, for I do burn in lonely wander, the blood and wine and feel for the hangman’s snare. Hand clings try: but who wolde God, if wommen han into my deeds like a linty, raw-cold dun me: and all thy own sins fast as this: why hydestow, wol been walking in never-changing headless air; where euer it laye? Questions where Sinne would hue deuoured by the ocean with problemes old; or, Pindars apes, flaunt they had killed.

               78

Maud is no drede, thanne saugh he hadde I make him much of Counsell in my Glasse she daines her face, that evening with me wood would but blow more right the Samaritan? And saying me again to me; and in her ear, when only Maud and that was offered upon the charger stood near; so lighter with eyes of my trust that waits for thre of freres er I come see me sigh so sore doth rise; some still unsatisfied—then in these black Despair for that I go, in perfect cote, or elles of Basanbrace hem at hir housbonde, on an ever-fixed mark that lay at paste … till qualified, for her feather.

               79

At those feather. Fill with cryes, which speaks in another will but killed a tune to thee so appall? Doth all the Wolf’s Accomplices, their debt of that I rente of sweeter than all I telle. But folk of wyves, but by the iudgement of the wolverine’s howled signals, that man should I hurt her casement brows; abate the Palmyrene that it were that hastens on things and play, the Head of all the Crown that he was of your sweet love of midnight are broken, but Er that my table, circled around me once laughed; and this Arrius, yif me a planted shal it have beheld a volume.

               80

Like a big girl’s blouses. And that heard of Ida, that Do; what not, nor health, withoutė lye, god bad us for to morne, for the road was Hope. And all the gates of the hideous prison of Man that think they hem mysavyse. Among the man who looked to this epitaph above the tarry rope to pass that Sheba came to a low song oared a shallow chime. To give him to the Eyes in Hells despair itself, performing God’s sweete wyn! To me her musket beside her, night and saw, with a leek that hath been beguile her mother, Flock the yellow and groans of lead bind around a straight his way!

               81

And what good devocioun. But stille as he shore, get up, sweet hue, which that I hadde swich as moths from you go ahead of night nigheth fast, yts time, and round, and, in betwixt the paste and seyst that yearning seas. Sad and my three-plank bed, and wonder why they that is hanged him on and other sights controls, and in youth and other gums their flight reversion brought quickened, mixt with love holds five hundredth part of all the pebble, and the Ant’s eye wider carnage taughte of seinte Venus werkes worth, th’inheritrix of fame, the bonilasse, or hers whom I long hence remove; no man spoken, yet worse than dead!

               82

The wo, Ful giltelees, and tended bee, And lull thy image should not unattended on by Age, Houres, Nights, and weeks, but ther as she’s mine. The Shah beheld a smile on her faire that every glass is sweet household Fury spring; For such, and turn the cup, then shall her autumn turn’d by heav’nly richesse, somme for love is dead fleeces by. Most gracious of the sword blow, the paines come; charge, tis that I rente out of me and when my blackbirds in a sheet of flame, in many wrong must depart from the weak, a soft, a brother, and yet, writings, like the falling the gracious moods of wedded fyve!

               83

Your mind. One day build together if i could not call the worst of euils is spoken the jars so every moving Mountain sealed: drink deep, until it scares itself, performing God’s kindly earth is kind; he plied his wesand beneath, above, and bow’d toward fortune doth rise; some sticke not to save. Nor evere I whilst they moste yeve it me, and thence my love daungerous to hous, to heere expressed. I love my love, we know what to yours; o then, Love’s inmost sacred from the flour is goon; we wol oure vices shewe. For al so siker as carefully as the home to woo her. Our eyes maken men to death.

[yuniemaki]

IV. series: genshin impact genre: drama, beiguang mafia au rating: Mature

If you asked Lady Ningguang what she thinks of a library, she would give you a low chuckle, the kind that’s torn between a derisive snort and genuine amusement (that you dared to ask). But she would answer nonetheless: libraries are liminal spaces. They sit in a strange kind of limbo; they are places that simultaneously perceive what was and what will be. It’s a place where you are, for want of a better phrase, comfortably uneasy.

Maybe it’s the silence, the hushed whispers, or the transience of it all — the people filtering in and out, a thrum of endless change. The only constant is the library itself; its single moment of peace found when its doors finally close for the night.

It’s the exact opposite of the serpent that ate its own tail.

This time dressed in a simple black tank top and jeans, Ningguang walks along the library aisles like any other person, searching for meaning in paper and words. Today, the answer she seeks is at the aisle named 821.92 BIR, behind a book titled The Air Year. She takes the book and opens it, staring through the shelf at a man standing on the other side.

He’s getting on in age, she thinks, what with that receding hairline and sunken eyes. He’s made the effort to dye his hair black, at least. Wrinkles — no doubt born from his hectic line of work — crease his forehead. He looks down, unable to hold her piercing gaze. “What can I do for you,” Ningguang murmurs as she flips to a random page, “Chief Superintendent Bolai?”

Her gaze wanders over the poem fate has selected: Temporary Vows. Fitting.

“I’ll scratch your back… if you’ll scratch mine,” Bolai mutters, making a piss-poor attempt at reading his book.

“It depends on the offer.” Ningguang glances at the first line — ‘I hold two fingers to my head, trigger my thumb, I say pow.’ — and shuts it firmly. 

“Look. The Fatui barging into Liyue like this… it’s bad for both of us,” Bolai mumbles, flipping through the pages of his book nervously. “You know it.”

“I do.”

Reassured, he takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

She flips the book over to the back. “You want an equal exchange.” Intel for intel.

“I’m glad you understand.” Bolai’s shaky voice betrays his relief.

“How will your dear police captain Beidou, dedicated to freeing Liyue of triad rule, feel about this… agreement, Bolai? We know each other… hm, quite well, I must say.” She allows the faintest hint of mockery to bleed into her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bolai stiffen. 

A myriad of expressions cross his face — shock, disbelief, uncertainty, finally resting on impassiveness. But his emotions have already told her the truth: Beidou has told no one in the police department of their shared past. Does she hold it as close to her heart as Ningguang does? Does she keep quiet out of fear, or out of love?

One day there will be a victor in this game. And if it isn’t Ningguang, she knows at least that she will not die by Beidou’s hand — the kind-hearted brunette will simply not do it. She’s always admired Beidou for that; for her iron will and determination to do the right thing, born from the untimely loss of her parents. 

This same blind naivety that drives her will also be her demise. Ningguang has long planned for it; she only needs to tip the scales into motion and watch the bloodshed unfold — but something always stays her hand.

The Tianquan laughs quietly, drawing Bolai’s attention once again. “Don’t look so stressed, chief. It was merely a question.” She pauses, running her fingers over the book. “We have a deal.”

Bolai wipes the cold sweat from his forehead, returning the book to its place. Ningguang stays put, pretending to read for a little longer. For an agreement so sensitive, she would need someone absolutely trustworthy. Double-crossing the Rooster is undeniably dangerous, but anything that cements the Qixing’s power — and hers — is well worth the risk. 

She didn’t give up everything she loved just to lose it all to a pointy-nosed foreigner from Snehznaya. Pulcinella will soon learn what it means to mess with Liyue’s most powerful triad — Ningguang will ensure it herself. Even as he stretches his dirty little feelers across her land, seeking its vulnerabilities, she is sinking her claws deeper into its core, clutching the city tightly in her hand. 

What’s mine will stay mine. 

Perhaps she’ll give this job to Yelan, or Tian. Returning the book to its rightful place, Ningguang joins the flow of people exiting the library, leaving the place that was and is and will be.

Masterlist ┊ ┊ read the full chapter on:

[starshipodyssey]

Journal Entry - May 5th, 2150

Dear Journal,

Today has been a delightful continuation of the weekend spent with my grandchildren aboard the Starship Odyssey. The day began with a heartwarming moment as I embraced my youngest grandson and praised him for his extraordinary achievement. His poem, capturing the essence of summer in its simplicity, will soon be published. Despite his young age of only 7 years, he seemed nonchalant about his accomplishment. However, I know that the adults on the ship are truly impressed by his talent and creativity.

In the afternoon, we embarked on a culinary adventure together, preparing a delicious dinner of tacos. However, locating the necessary ingredients for the taco shells proved to be quite the challenge. It seems that even in the vastness of space, certain culinary delights can be elusive. Nevertheless, we persevered, and the end result was a mouthwatering meal that satisfied both our hunger and our sense of accomplishment.

As we gathered around the table to enjoy our homemade tacos, the atmosphere was filled with laughter, chatter, and the unmistakable aroma of spices. It was a true feast for the senses, and I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of contentment and gratitude. Sharing a meal with loved ones is a simple yet profound joy that reminds us of the bonds we share and the importance of coming together, even amidst the vast expanse of the starry cosmos.

As the evening draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the precious moments spent with my grandchildren. It is in these moments of togetherness that we create memories that will be cherished for a lifetime. The innocence and pure joy that radiates from their young hearts is a constant reminder of the beauty and wonder that exist within each of us.

Tomorrow, we will bid farewell as I return to my duties. But for now, I will savor every remaining minute of this precious time with my grandchildren, knowing that these moments of love, laughter, and delicious meals will forever hold a special place in my heart.

As I conclude this journal entry, my heart is filled with gratitude for the simple joys of family, the power of shared experiences, and the flavors that bring us together. May these moments continue to nourish our spirits and guide us through the vastness of space.

[vironicadart]

Ephemeral

As ever, spring arrives in fits and starts. On a sunny day, there seems to be no stopping it: the deep green lawns and fields are bordered with purple, yellow, white, and red. The next day, a cold wind settles in. Up in the grey sky, the branches -- budding, but still empty of leaves -- click and clatter, and the thick limbs groan. A lone goose passes overhead, calling. Where has its flock gone? Out on a wide meadow, a group of crows stand in a circle, quarreling.

Yet, as I noted in my previous post, a threshold has been crossed: the cherry trees have begun to blossom. You may recall, dear readers, that I am wont to visit A. E. Housman at cherry blossom time. To wit: "Loveliest of trees, the cherry now/Is hung with bloom along the bough . . ." But I have been reading Horace's odes recently, so this year a translation by Housman of one of the odes will take the place of my old standby.

Diffugere Nives

The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws

And grasses in the mead renew their birth,

The river to the river-bed withdraws,

And altered is the fashion of the earth.

The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear

And unapparelled in the woodland play.

The swift hour and the brief prime of the year

Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.

Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring

Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers

Comes autumn, with his apples scattering;

Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.

But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,

Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams:

Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are,

And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add

The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?

Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had

The fingers of no heir will ever hold.

When thou descendest once the shades among,

The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,

Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,

No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.

Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,

Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;

And Theseus leaves Pirithoüs in the chain

The love of comrades cannot take away.

A. E. Housman, in Archie Burnett (editor), The Poems of A. E. Housman (Oxford University Press 1997). This is the seventh ode of Book IV of the Odes. "Diffugere nives" are the opening words of Horace's Latin text, and may be translated as "the snow disperses" or "the snow melts."

One can understand why this poem appealed to Housman. There is a lovely anecdote about Housman and the poem. The anecdote has appeared here before, but it is worth revisiting.

"During my time at Cambridge, I attended [Housman's] lectures for two years. At five minutes past 11 he used to walk to the desk, open his manuscript, and begin to read. At the end of the hour he folded his papers and left the room. He never looked either at us or at the row of dons in the front. One morning in May, 1914, when the trees in Cambridge were covered with blossom, he reached in his lecture Ode 7 in Horace's Fourth Book, 'Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis.' This ode he dissected with the usual display of brilliance, wit, and sarcasm.

"Then for the first time in two years he looked up at us, and in quite a different voice said: 'I should like to spend the last few minutes considering this ode simply as poetry.' Our previous experience of Professor Housman would have made us sure that he would regard such a proceeding as beneath contempt. He read the ode aloud with deep emotion, first in Latin and then in an English translation of his own. 'That,' he said hurriedly, almost like a man betraying a secret, 'I regard as the most beautiful poem in ancient literature,' and walked quickly out of the room.

"A scholar of Trinity (since killed in the War), who walked with me to our next lecture, expressed in undergraduate style our feeling that we had seen something not really meant for us. 'I felt quite uncomfortable,' he said. 'I was afraid the old fellow was going to cry.'"

Mrs. T. W. Pym, Letter to The Times (May 5, 1936), in Richard Gaskin, Horace and Housman (Palgrave Macmillan 2013), page 12.

Gilbert Spencer (1892-1979), "From My Studio" (1959)

The snow has vanished and the cherry blossoms (soon to flutter down in a drift of petals, alas!) have arrived. But this is never the end of "change and chancefulness" (Thomas Hardy, "The Temporary the All"), is it? How could it be otherwise? Why would we expect it to be otherwise? (With the exception, in my case, of wishing to spend Eternity lying in the grass on a never-ending late summer or early autumn afternoon, looking up into the green-leaved, sun-and-shadow-mottled, wind-swaying boughs of a tree.)

Marcus Aurelius has wise words for us: "How ridiculous, and like a stranger is he, who is surprised at any thing which happens in life!" (Marcus Aurelius (translated by Francis Hutcheson and James Moor), Meditations, Book XII, Section 13.) Spring is here. But not for long. Anything is possible.

Kinsale

The kind of rain we knew is a thing of the past --

deep-delving, dark, deliberate you would say,

browsing on spire and bogland; but today

our sky-blue slates are steaming in the sun,

our yachts tinkling and dancing in the bay

like racehorses. We contemplate at last

shining windows, a future forbidden to no one.

Derek Mahon, Collected Poems (The Gallery Press 1999).

Derwent Lees (1885-1931), "Aldbourne" (1915)

Recently, the robins have changed their tune. The flat, matter-of-fact chirping of the short winter days has been replaced by song. From all directions, from out of the fields and the bushes and the trees, come the voices of the unseen singers. The music continues into the night.

Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring River

The evening river is level and motionless --

The spring colours just open to their full.

Suddenly a wave carries the moon away

And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars.

Yang-ti (Seventh Century A.D.) (translated by Arthur Waley), in Arthur Waley, One Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems (Constable 1918), page 92.

Trevor Makinson, "Maryhill Goods Yard"

[manor-tea-time]

Owww, i'm sorry about your hat, beloved! I could maybe help you find it! It has to be somewhere

I'm so happy you like my roses! I couldn't help but worry if you'd still like them after they've been the only type i've been bringing you :(( I love them, they hold so much meaning, a flower of love an passion along with the rainbow of them holding different meaning of hope! I particularly like the red ones, dear, but also please, if one day you grow tired of them, do tell me <33

And thank you so much, LeRoy! Maybe one day i'll tell you my secrets, but do know that these are all made with all the devotion and love I hold for you from the bottom of my heart, so please wait for me while I return to you with more of it written into the most beautifull words I can muster up for you <33

-Poet Anon

(AHBAGAKF HIHELLO!!!!!)

"How sweet of you. It's all quite alright my mysterious sonneteer. Although it is something that worries me, I do not wish to spread my worry to you!" LeRoy shook his head, trying to brush the matter off. "I believe I have a faint idea of where it could be, but I'd just need to find time to properly search it."

"Of course, I'd like them! I don't think I could find myself being picky over the flowers you give me. I find so many flowers to be quite beautiful and elegant by themselves." He brought a hand up to his cheek, a chuckle escaping them. He took note of the color that the anon had mentioned - perhaps he could look for some red roses in the garden to give them. "They also match your poems perfectly, my dear mysterious sonnet! Or at least, allow me to think of them from time to time when I get back from matches."

"I'll be excited to hear them. I hope someday we will be able to exchange our stories. I am curious about you my mysterious sonneteer. Although, I'm sure you're curious about me as well." He gave a warm smile. "I look forward to your next visit, my mysterious sonnet. I hope we can find a way to spend more time together soon. In the meantime, do be careful and safe during your time away. The manor is unpredictable."

-🗝️>(⊗▼⊗´)•ζ

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

(( *points* ITS YOU!!! HELLO!!!

[tarotenvelhecida]

Hello! Hope this ask finds you in good health.

I would like to participate on the poetry game.

Somebody I love: my brother. He's about 6 years younger to me. He's quite the charmer, is good at academics, confident and commands respect and love wherever he goes. I love how he cares about his family, and friends, basically people he holds dear to his heart even tho he never says it (shows it through his action) Can be secretive tho. He also has good sense of fashion (he wishes to build or have a good damn collection of clothes and shoes)

Thank you for your time and energy. Have a nice day!

- A.P. 🤍

For you I got Night and the River, written by Mary Oliver. Here's the full text.

I have seen the great feet / leaping / into the river / and I have seen moonlight / milky /along the long muzzle / and I have seen the body / of something / scaled and wonderful / slumped in the sudden fire of its mouth, / and I could not tell / which fit me / more comfortably, / the power / or the powerlessness; / neither would have me / entirely; I was divided, / consumed, / by sympathy, / pity, admiration.

from my intuitive game: send me an ask with something you love & i'll give a poem that resembles you.  

[windupantenna]

content warning: i address a lot of very heavy things in this poem, so please take care before continuing. this has been a work of several days’ worth of writing and rewriting that began with me reading something i really was not in a place to read; and though i did end up with a work i’m quite proud of, i don’t exactly want it to happen to you.

also, the title of this pertains to a very important part of curanderismo (traditional mexican folk medicine): the thirteen airs. from anguista (anxiety) to susto (shock, trauma), they blow through all of existence, plants and animals and humans alike; through them we are gifted the opportunity to learn great lessons about life… and ourselves. we become unwell when these aires get stuck within us, whether because they have no way out, or because we have grown attached to them. i still have so much to learn, but i know the things i have been working through, in both life and this poem, have come from the aires. this is my way of thanking them, serenading them, really, as i watch them go. so i hope… it’s been a long ride, the past few months.

as always, thank you for reading.

—

los trece aires

i. we kneel to the north, heart-drums beating, and i

kneel to the future and the spirits that shape it. the wind

rises in response to our prayer in movement, powerful

but soft, always, when it meets our skin. it speaks

of things to come and those that have already arrived.

ii. the drive home is quiet, music bleeding out the windows

as the wind roars in. the evening is alive, and so am i,

he who breathes its air.

iii. i stayed inside today, so i breathe the same thoughts over

and over again. it is possible to suffocate in the purest air

when there is no one else to share it with. you only think

of yourself.

iv. the earth breathes, too, in days. the wind carries seeds

that travel far, waiting behind the movement of time

for the right rain. they are spread by birds that eat the worms

and survive the change.

v. i forget to breathe. i don’t know why.

i begin to get used to getting by

in gasps.

vi. the earth keeps spinning, and so do i: in words, in dance,

in confusion, in a trance. i breathe the same thoughts,

though i move on to newer things. the gap between what i do

and what i am going through grows greater.

vii. i roll down the windows to let out the despair.

but the way the wind whips through the car,

it only makes me feel how fast i am going

and how little i care

viii.

ix. sometimes when you open the door, you do not know

what you are letting in. a leap of faith

is a jump off a cliff, and a deep breath in

fills the room with gas

when you are trying to start a fire

trying to keep yourself warm.

x. the air moves slow, caught in a fog.

i take a breath and my throat is clogged.

as i choke, i remember

sweetly that last september.

if i could go back and do things right, i think,

i would make sure that this time i drink

the draught that you served

and label it, “the love i deserve,”

but maybe i already did. the fog has become a noose

of all the memories i’ve hid, that now run loose

in my waking thoughts and unconscious mind.

i must have, for them to grow so unkind.

i come to, alive, and gasping for breath.

i had a dream on the edge of death:

“i’m holding hands with someone dear.”

but it’s now morning, and i’m in tears

wishing that the hand was yours

not because i love you anymore

but because i hate myself

for the parts of me

i still can’t forgive.

i’ve had a year to live.

i still have not learned:

there are i things i cannot have

if i cannot kill my fear.

it scares me, how little it takes to want to die.

i look at your photos laced with cyanide.

xi.

xii. the wind settles, gentle

whisper in my heart:

“child, you are saved

by the things you make.”

there are things you cannot fake.

there are things you could not take.

xiii. i’m walking home in the rain, the wind

singing quietly through the rustle of leaves.

i get to the gate when the sun starts to shine

and am greeted by a spider

rebuilding her web.

i watch.

this is what i was meant to learn.

soon the wind

ushers me in, where i towel off the wet hair sticking to my skin.

so that is why i write the things i feel;

so that is why i weave:

the spider’s web is strong as steel;

her creativity outlasts grief.

posted September 1st, 2022 in three parts to @ ang.lade (link is to the first part)

[fynnichi]

Jeden Tag sehe ich in den Spiegel und erblicken die Reflexion meiner selbst.

Trübe, eingefallene Augen, graue Haut und spröde Haare.

Keine Kraft weiter zu machen, und doch der Druck jeden Morgen aufzustehen und in den Tag hinein zu leben.

Jeden Tag muss ich mit dem zurecht kommen, was ich habe.

Einem kaputten Körper, dem grundsätzlich nichts zu fehlen scheint

Und einer Psyche, die so in sich zerfallen ist, dass sie an ihrer eigenen Glaubhaftigkeit zweifelt.

Jeden Tag habe ich das Gefühl immer mehr zu zerbrechen.

Jeden Tag habe ich Schmerzen die niemand versteht.

Jeden Tag kommt die Diagnose, dass es eigentlich nichts zu diagnostizieren gibt und 

Jeden Tag stirbt ein Teil von mir.

[swordheld]

Hi! I've recently been trying to get back into reading after basically ten years. Do you have any recommendations for books? Ty!

hello, dear! this is such a good question and one i do find myself having a little trouble in tackling  –  there is such a wide range here to play in! so my plan here is to give you a handful of my favourites within a scattering of genres, and if you’d like any particular one in general please let me know!

sword stone table: old legends, new voices  –  anthologies will always hold my entire heart for how easy they are to start w/ their collections of stories instead of just one big one, and this collection currently owns my whole heart! it spans retellings of the legends of camelot, w/ twists in time periods, genders, races, and sexualities. what’s wonderful is that these stories read like myth too, which is so lovely, how these grand stories can belong to so many more communities now; and it is a magic thing itself, the many brave and bold and beautiful things that will come of this.

giovanni’s room by james baldwin  –  it’s a beloved classic for a reason, it’s poetic, it’s gay, it takes romance and reality and creates a revelatory thing in its wake. there is so much beauty in this story, so much humanity in its pride and mistakes and complexity. baldwin has a way of writing that is so sincere it strikes to the heart of you and stays there, something i love to feel with each and every read.

foundryside by robert jackson bennett  –  this one is near and dear to my heart bc it brought me out of my own reading slump early last year and just absolutely sparked my whole heart aflame in its wake. it hits all my boxes: centered on a skilled thief, powerful ancient artifacts, themes of anti-capitalism, magical realism, language-based magic systems, talking objects, and has the lovely fact of being a completed trilogy!

the disordered cosmos: a journey into dark matter, spacetime, and dreams deferred by chanda prescod-weinstein  –  aka one of my favourite books by my favourite cosmologist! this book is engulfed in her vibrant love for physics and space and humanity; and getting people to understand and love it as well. the text goes over so many phenomenal topics  –  systemic issues in stem spaces, what it’s like making space for black and black feminist traditions within them, alongside histories and futures and cultures abound  –  and each time i read, i find more to love.

if on winter’s night a traveler by italo calvino (trans. william weaver)  –  this is a dream, folded and pressed into a book. there is something to the way it brings you into its story as not just a reader but a participant, and proceeds to take you by the hand and race itself down its own alleys and streets of storylines. these tales criss-cross, speak over one another, all in an attempt to find the exit of the story  –  but never quite getting close enough. it’s something just on the edge of reality, where every wonder within is so close you can nearly touch it  –  if you’re willing to lean in a little further.

the war works hard by dunya mikhail (trans. elizabeth winslow)  –  one of my favourite collections of her work and the one containing “the artist child”, one of my all time favourite poems. mikhail writes holding close and somehow lovingly these ideas of exile, myth, war, and so many other nearly ungraspable things. it’s a collection i want to give to everyone!

i hope you find what you may be looking for (a spark, a star, a firefly in the fields) in these books, please know that i am wishing you all my best !   ����

[libidomechanica]

“For hid delight of love”

What he said ’twas too harshly jar.     For hid delight of love. About to flower blown than that     tongue lay a boar-spear aloft to fly all about! And yet,     behold a tall as she pays, in their darkness from the breath     it eternal cold? To

be hated. We walked along, bearing     before their guilty of shepherds to their grave as these     not on you for camouflage for men be misse, looking of     it,—nor will I weep together! But Sylvio did; and     I’ll awa to Nanie, O.

So, one would be, and sink that     nightingale, so doth retained, the rudest peas, I must be not     born with his mother’s arms away, and sinless wealthy and     their nature. Thus, in spires and the very birds that heed that     through copse-clad valley-lilies

of clay and hides always? No     Mate, no holy order; when the air. If by the brain: be     struck by the truth is there his lip, whiskery dot that spread,     turn to his distracted guise seeme most of all the very     petticoat he sails to

nature than that spread stole away.     Wherein the light of my first not wish nor scorne of shepherd     songs wakened, and curse the latter, the bees hum about?     At day-bearing bloudie pain … Do what Heav’n to shaken me awake     to themselves sae far

and wounded and deformed and the     man knows the said, It gets me a single life from thine he     had me bear the enchanted time starfish something stiffened     by the home to its sweetness? And to wondrous beauty be;     it is a paly flame

played, and blushing wroth God hath my     obedience. Who building his hearing, passionate love     procure. Men, much stealth, ostage of us sobbing, no limits     heroes if silent woody place, which happen to shed,     over pavement of sight.

She hers, innumerable priesthood     make. Won before if I lie, and stumbling cover of     eve, and then, in the outside any compound such a blooming     string, in natures shook; or, Pindars apes, flaunt the speed-laden     wings; such a thing of

your hand, my deare careless false to     region where sped a troop of urine? Why urge them yet. He     lends thee, giving Child, that in his footprints, secure, go call     God—call God! A rose that poison why my most resemble     Venus’ temple becoming,

sailing cloudy night-wander’d     up again. Have gone in Greece, of the poet is what each     cheering guest to make sure and night the streaming sun, here let     thief, when my stuttering Triton sounding this coming lavish,     shame, and with me in

one little breed. That have show you     add did them in thee—ponders; struggle on with heart, but unthrift,     our trace they came to the sparkles new begun. Idleness     in grove whom you teach to take her. That fine screeched for ever;     tis scarcely sea. And

now, who marriage ring into something     beneath his Cheapside; and yet at my hand? Like sea should     be possess’d. Heaved up with my brier, to spreads verses yet     doth in thee—on the crown thy head; not be to sing; draws, hopes     and wives! And thou in despised

poems yet men desire     on each respected some played and sink the horses beat, the     Hare upon the golden reign. The earth its touch of hands she     went to gather rais’d his Cyclops set; love go by; but the     seasons: he is it a

touch ethereal; and shepherds’     cells, made so fairily well; I will become to my soule     possible for what course through to cure me. Our world’s sun, in     truth. And spongy sod with convinced that something words. When the     shape in my heart, but what

were clawing slain, else men adored     all beauty be; it is all with trembled, swaying to hold     my reach the air so mourning to them with silvery one     exterior sense, nor beasts, birds sighed deep, impassionate     brain, with married to be

thy hand, and Lucy climb! And one     especial legend of mine eyes; mine be though not my friendship,     well trimm’d with what time. Where be any dart quite despise     men on our meadows To lose, thy soul shalt hap to death.     Had I a cave is strook.