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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Warnings: so much fluff, brief angst, domestic violence (Tim and reader respond to a call & allusions to past dv against reader), one scene is inspired by "The Switch" (1x4)

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: This doesn't really fit in any specific season, so I put characters in the roles I wanted them to have and just made up some names to fill in the gaps. Hopefully everything makes sense. Please let me know what you think!

Picture from Pinterest

“What are you doing here?” Angela asks, surprised to see Tim.

Furrowing his brows, Tim answers, “I’m here for the TO meeting.”

Angela tilts her head back and groans, passing Nyla a 10-dollar bill.

“She thought you’d give up your position for Metro,” Nyla explains.

“I’d like to, someday, but not today,” Tim replies.

“20 bucks this is his last one,” Angela says to Nyla. “He still has the open invite to Metro and his patience can’t take many more boots.”

Nyla reaches to shake Angela’s hand as Tim rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Let me see his rookie first, then we’ll talk,” Nyla decides. “I’ve got a feeling a lot is going to change around here.”

“Like what?” Angela asks. “Nyla! Like what?”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station on your first day as a rookie is both nerve-wracking and exciting. You’ve heard stories about boots making it through the academy to fail once they reach this level, but you’re determined. When you were a kid, you were in bad situations more often than any child should be, but kind police officers changed your life, and you’d like to do the same.

Waving to one of your police academy friends, you sit in the bullpen, waiting impatiently to learn which officer behind you will be your training officer. Getting the perfect training officer is up to fate, based on what you’ve heard, and your TO can make or break your career.

“Good morning, boots! I am Watch Commander Wade Grey. You have made it through the police academy, but don’t expect a pat on the back, your work is just beginning. This is the time to prove yourself, to show your TO, me, and this city why you deserve to be a police officer.” He pauses, moving around the podium to add, “If you should be a police officer.”

As you listen intently, striving to remember every word Sergeant Grey says, two detectives stand at the back of the room and evaluate the rookies.

“He’s only got one shot,” Angela mutters.

“If he gets the pretty one in the front, I’m not taking the bet,” Nyla says.

Angela looks up a row, her brows raising when she sees you. “If he ends up with her, we’re starting a station-wide pool and getting rich,” she adds.

“Now, it’s time to be assigned to your judge, jury, and executioner,” Wade says with a smile. “Or, as we call them, TOs. Our former rookie turned TO, Nolan: you’ve got Edward Henderson.

Officer Nolan nods at Henderson, and you remember his story: a late-life rookie who got a golden ticket. Part of you wants to work with him and learn why he decided on law enforcement, but you only nod at Henderson before turning back around.

“Lance Vincent, you are with our newest TO, Eliza Reagan.”

Wade says your name with a smile that seems a bit more genuine than before. “Officer Bradford, last but not least,” he says as he assigns you your new TO.

You look over your shoulder, a small smile on your face as he nods at you. He is undeniably attractive, and you hope it doesn’t cause any problems.

“Oh, he’s a goner,” Nyla whispers under her breath when you smile at Tim.

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Something about you bothers Tim. Not in the usual, grumpy-with-a-new-boot way, but he has a sense that you’re different.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, walking to Tim at the back of the bullpen.

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

“I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy or fun,” he tells you. “Being a rookie is the hardest part of your career, but if you’re a good cop under the uniform, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, you promise to do your best and express your willingness to learn everything you can from him.

“Good,” he says. “Meet me outside the war room. We’re not wasting any time, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim watches you walk away, and when you stop to let someone carrying a large box cross in front of you, Tim realizes that you’re hurting, or were hurting not long ago. The underlying need to help people is something he recognizes.

“She’s pretty,” Angela muses, walking to Tim’s side.

“Though you know that,” Nyla adds, smiling on his other side.

“She’s a boot. No different than the other rookies,” Tim argues, though his gaze is still on your back as you sign for your bags and weapons.

“Sure, she is. Why don’t you go put her through a Tim test?” Angela suggests.

Tim rolls his eyes as he leaves, wondering what hurt you bad enough to make you want to be a cop. He became a cop despite his hurt, but you’re young and bright – and too good for him – so there must be something in you that makes you worthy of this. More worthy (and more beautiful) than any rookie before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Several officers wish you luck, with one or two warning you about so-called “Tim Tests” while you wait for Tim behind the shop.

“Don’t tell me you have a checklist,” Tim begins, drawing your attention away from the shop tires.

“No, sir,” you answer. “Just being vigilant, I suppose. I’d hate to start my first day with a flat tire.”

Tim nods, asking where the war bags are. You tell him how you checked the contents and loaded them into the trunk, and he appreciates your brief explanation.

“Good work. The easy part is over,” Tim says. He seems to weigh his options before deciding, “You drive. Show me what you’ve got.”

He follows you to the driver’s side door, opening it as he reminds you of standard shop procedures. As Tim closes the door, you wonder if he’s a gentleman or if he followed you because he doesn’t trust you to drive correctly. Either way, you know what you’re doing, and you won’t let the man in the passenger seat distract you… too much.

Driving toward Wilshire Boulevard for patrol, Tim looks out the window.

“Blue Camaro has an expired plate,” you alert.

“Call it in.”

You do so, hitting the sirens as you engage the traffic stop. Tim raises a hand to stop you from getting out.

“Remember your training. Don’t let the situation get away from you.”

His words linger in your mind, and you complete the stop with no problem, issuing a ticket and returning to the shop.

“I’m driving,” Tim alerts you, spreading his hand across the small of your back as he directs you to the sidewalk.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask when he starts the car.

“No,” he answers bluntly.

You lick your lips nervously, turning your attention to your surroundings. Suddenly, Tim pulls over and hits the brakes.

“I’ve been shot, boot. Where are we?” Tim demands.

Furrowing your brows in surprise at his actions, you answer, “Intersection of 12th and Meadowbrook, west of Redondo. There are several hospitals in a five-mile radius, but only one has a trauma center.”

Tim pulls out wordlessly, continuing his patrol route. Tim doesn't say much else throughout the few hours between his first test and lunch. He lets you point things out, answers your questions about the area and procedures, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he pulls up to a small circle of food trucks where several police officers are waiting, he turns toward you.

“You’re doing well. I’m not neglecting to give you good feedback for any reason other than once you start riding alone, you won’t get it. My role here is to prepare you for your solo career, not hold your hand until you get there.”

“I understand, sir. Thank you for answering my questions,” you reply as you open the door.

Tim’s hand finds your upper back as he leads you to his favorite of the food trucks, a light touch that disappears nearly as quickly as it happened. You thank him quietly for the suggestion before sitting with your fellow rookies.

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his annoyance breaking through his growing fondness for you.

“Just came to get some food. Your boot seems to be in a good mood.”

“Strange, I thought Tim’s thing was ‘break their spirits in the first hour,’” Nyla adds as she joins Angela.

“You two not have work to do or something?” Tim inquires.

“Something like that. How’s she doing?” Angela tips her chin toward you as she asks.

“She’s got good instincts, knows protocols.”

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

Tim grabs the radio, accepting the call as he hits the sirens and turns into a residential area. You chew the inside of your bottom lip; domestic calls are your least favorite, especially when kids are involved. Unwilling to show discomfort, you put on your best brave cop face and follow Tim to the door.

A young girl with a bloody nose and teary eyes opens it, and you glance at Tim before kneeling and asking her to come outside. She listens without question, her lower lip wobbling as you smile.

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

Tim nods at you before tilting his head toward the shop. You direct the girl to stand at the edge of the porch and wait for you as you follow Tim inside.

“LAPD, put your hands up!” Tim yells as he steps into a bedroom.

Your eyes widen when you see the large man towering over the girl’s mother. He smiles as he reaches for something.

“Don’t move unless you want to give me a reason,” Tim says lowly. “Step away.”

The man looks toward the nightstand before taking a deep breath and giving up.

“I got it,” Tim tells you before radioing a code 4.

You wait until Tim has the handcuffs secured to walk outside. The girl runs into your arms, and you pop the shop's trunk, setting her down as you retrieve a small first aid kit. She lets you clean her bloody nose, gripping your wrist when it stings.

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

“She’s talking to my partner right now, she’ll be out in a few minutes,” you explain.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

“Mom!” she yells, letting you set her on the ground before she runs to her mom’s side.

“Get in the shop,” Tim commands as he walks past, his hand brushing your arm as he closes the trunk.

You obey, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting as he talks to the EMTs. When he joins you, he drives to a quiet, empty street before switching off his body cam and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve heard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t say what I want to hear. Domestic calls are tough but that wasn’t your first one, was it?”

You shake your head, looking out the windshield instead of at Tim.

“We all have reasons for becoming a cop, and some calls are harder than others. As long as your past doesn’t get in the way and put you in danger, it’s okay to be human,” he continues. “TOs are notoriously hard on you, but we’re also here for you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Tim shrugs, one corner of his lips upturned. “No more sappy stuff, we have work to do.”

“Oh, if you think that was sappy, I’ve got a lot to show you before I graduate to short sleeves.”

The comment catches Tim off guard and makes him feel something he didn’t expect.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the first week, you feel like you know Tim well. His hand spread across your back or shoulder when you’re in front of him, his little reminders that you’re not alone, that you can show emotion when the time allows, and every other little thing he does makes you wonder why there are so many horror stories around his teaching style.

Likewise, Tim thinks he has you down. You ask him questions, ask for his opinions, listen and apply what he says, and send him small smiles when he compliments your work.

But, it only takes a shift to realize that people are multi-faceted, and cops and rookies are no different.

“Good morning,” you greet, passing Tim a small box.

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

You smile as you reply, “Nope. Just something I found, and I thought you’d like.”

Tim opens the box, his eyes widening at the 2000 Super Bowl tickets, the Rams’ first win. “I can’t accept these.”

“They were under a bookshelf in my apartment, it’s not like I spent a million dollars on them, Officer Bradford.”

Tucking them into his pocket, Tim opens your door. “Thank you.”

You smile, and Tim thinks your joy is the better gift.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your first call of that day, you show Tim that you don’t just value his opinions.

“Shots fired!” you radio as you duck behind the car.

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

Shaking your head, you move closer, trusting him to direct you and keep you safe. The men in the house you were called to have automatic weapons, and though you’re a good shot, you’re not a match for their guns alone.

“Backup is on the way, but I need you to do something for me. You trust me?” Tim adds.

“I do.”

“Reach around the back and open the trunk; just far enough to reach the latch. I’ll cover you.”

He stands above you, firing into the shattered window of the house as you slip your arm and back around the end of the shop and open the trunk.

“Good, perfect,” Tim praises as he ducks beside you. His knuckles graze yours as he leans past you. “Can you reach the shotguns?”

Glancing in the window above you, you locate them quickly. “I can.”

“Do it. I got you.”

Once the shotguns are in your hands, you pass one to Tim as you ready your own. Timing your shots, you take out two shooters just as your backup arrives.

“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, his adrenaline dropping as a tactical team takes over.

You look at your arm, just noticing your ripped sleeve and bloody skin. Tim lays his hands on your arm as he turns it toward him.

“I think it was just glass from the windshield,” you say quietly, pointing to the car behind you, riddled with bullet holes and broken glass.

“Either way, we need to get it checked out.”

“Officer Bradford?” you interject. “Thank you. For making sure I trust you.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he mutters, so soft you can barely hear it.

He taps the Super Bowl tickets in his pocket as he rises to get a paramedic to check on you, and you smile, wondering how bad it would be if you fell in love with your TO.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tim points out. “I need to know that whatever is bothering you won’t impair your ability to work with me.”

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

Tim considers pressing, but he trusts you. “I’m here. If you decide you want to talk about it.”

He exits the shop and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Did you see that?” Nyla gushes, elbowing Angela.

“Ow. See what?”

Nyla points to Tim, closing your door and laying a hand on your shoulder as he ducks his head to talk to you.

“That’s not a reprimand,” Angela deduces.

When you smile, a tiny upturning of your lips, Nyla laughs.

“Oh, that boy… The door, the touches, listening to her? He’s gone.”

“Not just him,” Angela adds. “She asks him questions, smiles at him, trusts him more than anyone… and the Super Bowl tickets? They’re adorable.”

“Should we do something?”

“Not yet. I think they’re close to realizing.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your longest, and worst, day yet, you find yourself in a hospital waiting room beside Tim. He hasn't said anything since a speeding driver ran into your side of the shop, though you've apologized countless times (even though there's nothing you could have done).

Tim’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried it will snap. You’re sitting close to him, a bandage around your wrist and an ice pack pressed to your cheek.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Stop- stop apologizing, it’s not your fault,” Tim sighs.

His arm is on the armrest between you, and you move your hand toward his. When he doesn’t back away, you turn your arm to allow your knuckles to brush against his.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him kindly. “He ran a red light.”

“And you could’ve been killed,” Tim replies, standing abruptly and walking away.

You slump in your seat, dejected and curious about what you could say to make him stop blaming himself for someone running into you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim and his rookie sitting in a tree,” Nyla sings under her breath.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Tim replies.

“Right, because you’re too busy being mad that she got hurt. Cops get hurt Tim,” Angela reminds him.

“Not with me,” he begins, pausing to take a deep breath. “Despite what you think, I’m upset that she got hurt, not because I’m in love with her.”

“Whatever you got to hear, buddy,” Nyla replies. “But tell me this. If it was Nolan when he was a boot, would you have felt this bad? Even if I believed you didn’t have feelings for her, which I don’t, you’re different with her and you know it.”

Tim sighs, looking out the door at you. He knows it’s true; despite his constant denial, he does treat you differently because you are different, and you’re like a magnet, incapable of being ignored or forgotten. Finally confessing it to himself, Tim knows that his feelings for you will get one or both of you in trouble unless something changes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It is time for The Switch,” Wade says as he walks into the bullpen. “The day you ride with a new TO.”

You glance at Tim, who gives you an encouraging nod. He tells you that you’re a great rookie, but he also tells you that you’re pretty sometimes, which doesn’t seem pertinent (or always true, in your eyes). Wade says your name, and you look up.

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

Smiling at Nolan, you cross your fingers under the desk that it’s a good day.

“Henderson,” you call as he stands up, “what’s Nolan like?”

“He’s great. Really understanding and knowledgeable. A little talkative, but fairly easy going. Just stick to protocol and listen to his directions; you’ll be fine.”

“What about Bradford?” Vincent asks you. “Everyone says he’s the toughest. Anything I should be aware of?”

“I don’t think so. He’s quiet sometimes, but he’s great.”

You collect your war bag with the expectation of a good day. You will miss Tim, but learning how another TO teaches and his views can be invaluable. As you slide into the driver’s seat beside Nolan, you realize something: you like Tim as more than your TO. He means more to you than just being your teacher, your mentor, and a trustworthy officer. The thought hits you so suddenly you're not sure where it came from.

With each passing moment, you find yourself remembering something Tim said or wanting to tell him something, but he isn’t there. Nolan is kind and laughs at your muttered comments, but it is nothing like riding with Tim. As you think about all the little things Tim does, everything begins to make sense.

Someone yells your name when you step out of the shop to get lunch. Turning, you’re surprised to see Vincent storming up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

“That Bradford has ‘Tim Tests’ and nothing pleases him!”

You glance over his shoulder, finding Tim and Nolan talking. Tim glances over at you, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease until Nolan says something else.

“His Tim Tests aren’t that bad; he’s just teaching you awareness and safety.”

“He wants to end my career,” Vincent exclaims before muttering something about you not understanding as he walks away.

✯��✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

“That kid has no situational awareness,” Tim answers. “I stopped at a street sign, and he couldn’t figure out where we were.”

“He’s probably scared of you,” Nyla interjects. “And, no, Bradford, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“My rookie can tell me where I am, no matter what,” Tim adds.

“Your rookie is very good, I’ll give you that,” Nolan replies. “But Vincent has potential. Besides, your boot has people problems.”

Tim glances over at you, locking eyes with you while Vincent talks to you dramatically.

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

Nyla watches as both you and Tim sigh before abandoning the conversations you’re in. She shakes her head, calculating her winnings if the betting pool goes her way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the locker room at the end of the day, you’re surprised to be called into Sergeant Grey’s office. You sit across from him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to spend your nervous energy.

“You are being assigned to a new TO. Officer Bradford has decided to hand you off to someone better equipped to teach you,” Grey informs. “But you’re not in trouble.”

You still your hands in your lap. “Okay. Effective when?”

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

As you stand, Grey says your name, smiling as he repeats, “You’re not in trouble. This was Bradford’s decision, nothing to do with you. Well, nothing to do with you as a rookie.”

You purse your lips at his phrasing, and he chuckles before sending you out. Walking through the parking lot, you see Tim’s truck is still there and decide to ask him what happened. Standing by the tailgate, you chew your bottom lip as you wait, nervous that you did something, though Wade assured you differently.

Tim walks up unnoticed, saying your name to get your attention.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask, jumping straight to your questions. “I can fix it; there has to be a way to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tim promises. “I just can’t be your TO anymore.”

“Why not?”

Tim shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s not appropriate.”

Your heart drops. Tim knows you have feelings for him, and it makes him uncomfortable; that’s the only explanation. Nodding slowly, you accept your fate.

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

His hands slide onto your jaw, his palms against your cheeks as his fingers settle behind your ears, pulling you into a quick kiss. You only begin to respond when he pulls back.

“You’re the best boot I’ve ever had,” he whispers, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

“I’m not your boot anymore,” you remind him.

“That’s your fault. Those little gifts, and soft smiles, and how well you listen… You make it impossible not to fall for you.”

You laugh, leaning against his hands as you reply, “You do too. How do you think I felt when you called me pretty or touched my back? Then you kept comforting me and inviting me to talk. It was too easy.”

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

You nod, smiling against his hands before he moves to touch your back again, opening the passenger door as he helps you in. Tim slips his hand into yours, kissing your knuckles as he keeps you close.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the rest of the rookies leave the station, noticing that your car is still there, they ask each other if anyone has seen you.

“Bradford’s truck is gone,” Nyla notices as she walks out.

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

“On a date,” Nyla answers. “With his former boot.”

The rookies’ jaws drop, wondering how you managed to pull Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Don’t expect the same to happen to you,” Angela says as she passes the rookies. “We all worked for this one.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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puffin-smoke · 5 months ago

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parting is such sweet sorrow

Summary: You are the Queen of Hearts' royal executioner. Your blade is hers to command. It always has been. But something inside you breaks today. Something inside of you yearns for more. More than her weapon.

Warnings: Descriptions of and references to beheadings. The reader is executed at the end. Descriptions of starvation. Lovers to enemies.

A/N: Sooo, when Rise of Red first came out, I had all these plans to write a bunch of x reader fics for it. I wrote two of them, promptly lost steam on the third and forgot about them. Until now. So here’s a Queen of Hearts x Reader fic! Will just be a one off, I’m not planning on writing anything else for the movie, but just kind of wanted to get this out there anyway!

You’d been summoned once again to the courtyard. The weather was humid and sultry, almost choking. But it was like this everyday, so you didn’t notice. Your eyes had adjusted to the perpetual darkness of Wonderland long ago, your skin acclimatising to the stuffy atmosphere far before that. Because what else would you do? What else could you do? This was your life, and you had to live it.

So you took your post at the centre of the courtyard, just outside the palace, as you had a dozen times before. You were statuesque, a permanent fixture, bound to this place by blood and duty and something you couldn’t name. You would take your spot here as you had a dozen times before, fulfil your purpose as you had a dozen times before and let it fester in your mind like an open wound. As you had a dozen times before. Your face gave away nothing, even as the eyes of your subordinates bore into you.

Hearts surrounded you, carved from rose bushes, not a thorn out of place. If you got close enough, you never did, the surface would appear flat, the flowers painted on. But they were real. Their sickly cloying scent filled your lungs like smoke and their withered petals lined the ground, as real as the uniform you wore.

You let your mind wander to that uniform, instead of allowing it to ponder and regret. It differed from most of the Queen’s staff, even that of a high ranking soldier such as Jack of Diamonds. His, and the rest of theirs, armour had a silver trim. It bordered each metal plate, a stark contrast to the glinting crimson. All ordered in a row, the soldiers looked like toys, identical and nameless, blank faces created by duty just as yours was. Your uniform, for you never had much need for armour, had a gold lining. Stiff fabric sewn with gold thread, glittering in the dying light. Each button on your jacket had jewels inset, alternating between an onyx darker than night itself and a ruby that shimmered a colour you knew too well. You wore not a helmet but a circlet; a gold band set across your brow, engravings of thorns sharp against its lustre.

The Queen’s prized mule. Her favourite pet. You heard your fellow soldiers give you that name, cursing it over meagre drink when they swore you couldn’t hear. You wondered if they resented you for it, your station far above theirs. But there was little point in wonder. They still worked alongside you, obeyed your orders, regarded you with respect. Even as you dealt out, what you hoped to be, justice to those they knew. Guard’s they’d known, befriended.

Your blade was true, no matter who’s neck it fell upon. Maybe they appreciated it, to have the last thing they ever see be something beautiful. To focus on your steel-toed boots instead of the axe against their skin. Few would get that privilege, even in a kingdom like this. Most died in filth and died starving. Staring at mould-infested walls, a pit so deep in their stomach it must have been there since birth, letting dreams of a better life carry them off peacefully. You mused over what your end may be like. In battle or in bed? Content or forever longing for something better? What would that be?

That was where your fantasies always ended, right as that question arose. Because you had your answer. You knew what that would be, and why it would never come to pass. Dreaming was for the desperate, and you had resigned yourself long ago. You didn’t deserve desperation.

Some traitorous part of you questioned that in every way possible. That part of you let your focus slip to memories you’d tried to forget. A smile. Your fingers running through delicate pink curls. An oath to protect her. That promise led you here, so surely it couldn’t be for nothing?

When you ignored the question, that piece of you resorted to slier tactics, as it always did. You’d done this dance a dozen times before, questions and answers, wishes and reality, where the two met. You didn’t deserve desperation, to long and to hope, so why did they? Why must they die with their heart in their hands, by your blade or by hunger’s? Their lives barely lived, teeming with potential? And even if they were not, if they had no goals or ambitions, not a diamond in the rough but were simply another stone? Why must it be a crime to be mundane?

That you had no answer to. And it was not your place to answer, you told yourself.

Footsteps echoed through the near silent courtyard. They were irregular, like a drum out of beat. Like a musician forced to play a dozen times until their wrists are sore and their ears are deaf. You’d been here before, heard those same footsteps. Their feet dragged against the ground today, but some days it was different. Some would march, some would sprint. Some would have to be carried.

You watched a guard and a figure approach from a distance. The guard held their shoulders, gloved hands tight as iron, unyielding even as they struggled against him. Their wrists were bound by steel cuffs. People watched from their houses, through windows, stood in doorways, as they were hauled through the streets. Some shook their heads; for this had always been coming and they’d been foolish to not see it; and others cried; for this had always been coming and they’d been foolish for praying for more. Faces were neutral, tired, angry and afraid. All eventually looked to you. You were what was coming.

The prisoner approached, their head bowed in shame. It was a type of strength, you felt, to let the world see nothing as you went to your death. A power to project whatever air you pleased and hide what was truly underneath. Preserve your dignity, hide that weakness forced upon you. Die and let them wonder what you felt.

Keep your name on their tongues, lest you die forgotten.

Their breathing was shallow as they were walked up to the centre, next to where you stood. Hair swept over their face like a curtain, obscuring their features from you. The guard unsheathed their sword, the sound shrill and jagged against your ears. Unhesitating, he slammed the hilt into the back of their knee.

The criminal fell to their knees with a restrained cry. Their voice was phlegmy and hoarse, but it was also quite young. Very young. Their breaths were long and shallow, as though they couldn’t get quite enough air to their lungs. Drops of water fell on the ground beneath them. Tears. A small part of you was screaming.

The soldier grabbed their hair by the fistful and pulled them upwards. They gave another strangled cry, a sob, as the grip on his hair tightened. Their face was revealed, bore plain to a world that didn’t deserve to see it.

This was a child. No older than thirteen.

You wanted to puke. Bile rose in your throat, the vile taste forcing the world off kilter as your vision swam.

A child. Never before had you been sent a child. Sometimes traitors, sometimes criminals, sometimes examples to be made, but never a child. Their heads hit the ground all the same, rich or poor, young or old, deserving or innocent. Sometimes they struggle, sometimes they beg, sometimes they curse you. Sometimes it would take more than one swing to sever the neck and you’d be left hacked and sawing at bone, splintered like wood, pale shards scattered beneath you like broken ceramic. They would choke on their own blood, a pathetic sound. Saliva was replaced with gore, words were reduced to animal retching, and you polished your blade clean, awaiting the next one.

Each time the sound fell on deaf ears, muffled by your own willing ignorance. Each time you justified it, made excuses and rationalisations, and for what? For someone who was as dead as the corpse at your feet, as the graveyards you filled. Whose skull was rotting just as theirs were, eyes vacant and maggot-filled and cold.

No longer.

No more.

The child’s breaths were shallow and fast, gasping, restrained yet desperate as though trying to calm their rightfully racing heart. It didn’t work. More tears stained the ground.

The axe in your hand was a comforting weight, morbidly. It was steady, assured, the one constant in your life. It was beautiful, just as your uniform was. The handle was ornately carved, a dark mahogany coerced expertly into the form of a bone. The blade was wide and curved, the edge sharpened over the years into an exact point. Within the cheek of your steel was a ruby, shaped like a perfect heart.

She’d given it to you. She’d thought it funny, the weapon’s design; each part of an axe was named after a human body part, so why not take that further?

Funny.

You abandoned your post. A gasp rippled through the gathered crowd, echoed in the restrained shock of each soldier’s eyes. Jack of Diamonds watched you leave and enter the castle through a near invisible doorway a short walk away. You were a fool, he thought. But it was not his job to tell you that, to chastise you, to explain the magnitude of your absence.

Because you already knew it. So he remained at his station, blank eyes watching you go.

You entered into an area reserved for the guards, but had been left unused for a long while, a thin layer of dust covered everything. Formerly overflowing chests were now populated by only cobwebs and silence. Each chest bookmarked a row of benches that lacked the grandeur of the rest of the palace, beauty replaced with ruthless practicality. This room was once populated by freshly trained soldiers, a space filled with good-natured taunts, rallying cries, shared secrets, and anything in between. The discordant choir of a new beginning.

Only silence was left. The crack of your boots upon the wooden floors rang painfully in your ears, akin to distilled lightning.

You’d been among those soldiers. You’d traded banter as easily as breathing, a smile permanently gracing your features as though carved in stone. It had always been a dream of yours, to serve a cause greater than you. And you’d thought this was it.

It had been an uncharacteristically brisk day when you’d been given that fateful assignment, the biting air unfamiliar to you. Your Captain had called you into a one and one meeting, her voice deadly serious and perfectly level.

You were to become the Princess’ bodyguard. You would accompany her from place to place and protect her with your life. She’d placed special emphasis on that last word, and made you swear to it. To jump in front of any arrows that may come her way. To risk life and limb in the pursuit of keeping her safe. To kill and maim and fight no matter the costs.

Of course you’d agreed, you’d sworn it, hand on your heart. Only then were you allowed to meet Bridget.

She’d been amazing. Nearly shook your hand off. Thanked you a dozen times for simply doing your job and meant it every damn time. You were attached at the hip, following her wherever she went. You watched her bake every morning, marvelling at the way she moved through her kitchen. She would know it in darkness. Occasionally she’d surprise you with treats of your own; flakey pastries, skillfully iced cupcakes, biscuits decorated to look like playing cards. You’d try to refuse everytime, it wasn’t your place to accept gifts from a literal royal, but every time she’d insist. She showed you parts of the castle you’d never dreamt of seeing. Private galleries, a lunarium, a balcony that had a view of the whole kingdom.

She’d kissed you on that balcony. Sworn to protect you as much as you did her.

You’d kissed her back.

When did everything go so wrong?

Suddenly exhausted, you collapsed onto a bench. It groaned dejectly under your weight, but you could not find it within yourself to stand. You buried your head in your hand, wishing only to lose yourself in the darkness. Your head had begun to throb. Your axe was laid beside you.

That was when the door opened.

You didn’t look up, you couldn’t bring yourself to. Heels cracked against the ground like whips, the noise further encouraging the way your mind panged with a barely muffled agony. Fabric rustled before you, and a silence returned to the chamber as though it had never left. It wrapped around you like a thick blanket, a warm hug. For a moment you could breathe.

“I was waiting for you. Outside.” Bridget’s voice tore the fabric to shreds, leaving you exposed to the cold. Her tone was expectant, waiting, not a statement but a question. When you don’t look up, your limbs feel leaden, her voice turns impatient, an order given to an unruly child. “Look at me when I talk to you.”

You obeyed, ever the good soldier. You raise your head, and meet her eyes. They are steel. They pierce and slice at your resolve, but you cannot find it within yourself to hurt. Your eyebags are more prominent now, the wrinkles in your forehead landmarks on your skin. She noticed these parts of you now, unhidden and unrestrained, bore plain for the world to see. You looked old. Far older than you should.

She was wholly out of place in the guard’s chambers. She’s dressed for court; her hair is needle straight, her blood red crown jutting out like a freshly cut jewel, her dress is elaborately layered, looking akin to fallen rose petals draped around her. She looked beautiful. Stunning in the way the sun was, impossible to look at for more than a few seconds.

You couldn’t stand her for even that long. There were so many memories behind those eyes, just out of reach. You could almost see it, the way they used to light up, sparkle. Muted sparks danced behind her eyes, never catching, and inevitably fading out. It’s sad. She looks sad. Confused.

“What are you doing in here?” Metal could bend, break. Her voice was brittle now.

“I can’t do it.” It’s a plea. To not push this.

She feigned confusion, it had to be fake, you decided. “Why? Are you feeling alright?”

Hurrying over to you, she examined your face, getting too close for your liking. She cupped your cheek in your hand, her touch firm and commanding yet deliciously cold against the perpetual humidity. Her eyes were soft in that moment, the sparks for a moment a hearth.. Despite it all, despite the urge to sink into her touch and let the world drift away, you recoiled and pushed the hand down.

More sparks were quelled, smothered, squashed like a bug. That hardness in her eyes returned. Her hand tensed and fell to her lap, nestled in her skirts.

You spoke before she could, barely able to get the words out. “I can’t- that’s- that’s a child.”

There was a softness to her eyes, but only just. They were not filled by kindness but pity, as though comforting a child who scraped their knee. A child would not know better, so would blame the world’s cruelty for their suffering and subsequently rage against it. An adult was supposed to accept that cruelty as inescapable fact; something to be accepted, not questioned. That would only lead to disappointment, and there was no time for that. “Is that all?”

Anger flared up within you, the way she stared you down making your gut curdle. You were no child. You knew of the world’s ceaseless brutality; you had known all your life. But you would no longer be a proponent of that suffering. You sank further into your seat, the meaning of that promise sinking into your veins. “A child. You can’t expect me to do this.”

Her lip curled at that, pity morphing into disgust. She practically spat as she reprimanded you, hand curling into a point aimed straight at your heart. Her fingernails were long and sharp, akin to the claws of an animal that had just finished hunting, painted the deep red of the innards you had become so familiar with. She hissed at you.

“I am your Queen. You forget yourself.”

At that you stood, drawing yourself up, a feeble attempt to seem more powerful than you felt. You remembered. You always remembered. You knew your station and your place, and you knew how far she was above it. You would have never dared to forge a connection with a royal, not on your own. She had been the first to extend a hand, to make that step. You had never wanted this; the luxury, the power she had. But she had wanted that for you, so you accepted it with grace.

“Do I?” You asked in full earnest. You wanted her to tell you what you were, what this was. What you were to each other. You were giving her the opportunity to sever whatever connection you had deluded yourself into thinking was there, to dismiss you from your eternal post by her side. “Remind me, I beg of you.”

No matter how much you may plead and beg internally, she does not. She takes one ever so dainty step backwards, her heels momentarily clicking tunically upon the hardwood floors. In that moment you were hyper aware of how close you had been, the hairsbreadth between your faces. She was beautiful. So beautiful.

The moment settles, and her beauty is only slightly marred. The thin line her lips were set in ebbed; they parted for the briefest of seconds, a short breath, a faint mark of humanity. It was the closest you would get to a gasp. If one were to look closely; truly closely, to examine her in the finest of detail, to pour over every line and brushstroke that ultimately created the textbook portrait of a queen; they would see her lower lip quiver. And you did and you had; you would know her face in darkness, blind even.

That momentary slip was quickly hidden, masked behind a thin but decidedly real mask of exasperation. She sighed, clenching and unclenching her hands, her nails scraping against each other like a blade upon a whetstone. This was not her conceding a point to you, this was strategy. She was a politician; she knew the routes to people’s hearts, she had studied each map since birth. You were a valuable asset, you told yourself, something not to lose. You hoped that was not all, not the only reason to keep you around. If all you were was a blade, then a guillotine could stand in your place just as easily.

“You are dismissed from your post for the day.” It was a kindness, as close as you would get. You would savour the taste of her mercy, how rare a delicacy it was. The pangs of nostalgia on your tongue. “I will find a more fitting punishment for the girl.”

The dungeons. For the rest of her days. Four concrete walls, a sliver of light tantalisingly close, just beyond a miniscule window. A bed either covered in mildew and rot, or a concrete slab. That was a kindness. That was a meal, everyday, with no risk to life or limb involved. A roof over her head, a place to stay each night. It was better than most had.

That was supposed to end the conversation, to close that book you had forced open and slot it neatly back onto the bookshelf. You could just leave it at that. You could leave things as they were; you clinging to the glimpses of Bridget offered you, the meagre scraps to which you offered unwavering loyalty to in return. It was that or nothing.

Maybe you preferred nothing. To this festering wound.

Tone hurried in a way entirely unbefitting of a Queen, she brushed dust from her skirts. It had only taken a few moments for it to form such a thin layer upon her. You were utterly caked in it by now, not just from this but all the other times you had fled to this sanctum of memory. Only now your shoes were absent of blood. And she had chosen to follow you. “I shall see you in court tomorrow.”

“No.” The word fell from your lips as easily as water from a spring. It was not the act of defiance a dictionary may prescribe it to be, it was a simple acknowledgement.

She flinched as though you had struck her. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, they had never taken this turn before. Politics were simple, and this was politics. Placate your opposition, give them what they want but ensure it's on your terms. She had done that, but you wanted more. “No?”

She repeated the word back to you as though confused by it, testing the way it sounded in her mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed deeply, clearly unused to the bitter taste.

“I can’t do this.” You said, an echo of your earlier plea. But this was more sure, more certain of its intentions. End this, not simply get through it.

“I’ve already relieved you of your duty. You don’t have to punish the girl.” For the first time she tripped over her words, as though rushing to get them out, as though you were running out of time to hear them.

You almost sighed. “You know that's not what this is about. I can’t do this anymore.”

You gestured pointedly to everything around you. To the oppressive air, to the dust that coated the abandoned benches, to the dust that coated you. To every part of you that had fallen into disrepair in the pursuit of her mission. Control, power, a perfect kingdom through the means of a dictatorship. You looked old, older than you were. You felt old. A relic of a happier past.

“You’ve been doing this for years.” She said bluntly, as though it were that simple. It was routine, and routine was a comfort, so why lose it? Your everyday was assured, so why compromise that security?

The monotony had drilled itself into your skull, had tattooed itself onto your eyelids. You blink and you see them. The bloodied corpses at your feet, the entrails spooled around their necks like crimson scarfs. The faces of mourners, their weeping eyes. The way their faces scrunched up, wrinkled in every way imaginable, until they looked less human and more akin to chewed gum. The way they heaved as they fought for breath, the way their whole bodies crumpled under the weight of an impossible loss.

“And how many more? When will this be enough?” You blinked and saw your boots, the finest leather Wonderland had to offer, drenched in blood. You watched yourself wipe away the stains a dozen times over, and yet a shadow always remained. And you could never quite get the smell out.

She almost snarled at you, her words sharpened as they squeezed through gritted teeth. “When they learn to obey.”

A laugh tore from your throat, hoarse, as rough as sandpaper. It hurt, almost burnt, like swallowing hellfire. “Obey? Obey?! Bridget, they’re terrified of you. All they do is obey.”

She nearly sneered, her hands clenching, nails sliding over each other as though sharpening blades. But there was something in her voice. This was a plea. The routine she offered in place of persuasion, of comfort, was something that she craved. That she held dear. So it had been her first resort in an effort to keep you by her side. “Watch your tone.”

That routine felt like a death sentence to you now. Reminder after reminder of all that you had done, all that you had become, over and over again. You had not questioned each order, each criminal, every sacrifice at the altar of her empire. The routine was a failure. It was everything you had failed to notice. Every time you had been complacent in her tyranny, justified by the same lie that pacified your weak-willed mind.

That it was for her. That one day this would be enough, and you could lay down your blade and stand by her side on that balcony once again.

But you knew that could never happen. Not while her empire stood. Her duty.

You took a step towards her. It was sloppy, clumsy, you moved with a drunken stupor. The weight of every expectation, every obligation, every inevitability about your life was shed. You walked free of those chains, and every movement felt alien, like taking your first steps all over again.

She lifted her gaze to meet yours. You had always slouched before, a permanent bow was the only thing befitting of your queen, but standing straight as you were now, you were taller than her. It should have been intimidating, but she met your gaze with the same determination.

“No. No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just kill random people, I can’t- I can’t be your guard dog anymore.”

She cocked her head, her voice breathless. “My guard dog?”

You laughed. For the first time in years, you laughed. Your laugh was a broken and small thing, but it was there. Alive. “Is that not what you’d call it? Call this? I am a face in your battalion, nothing more.”

At that she reached for you. Her body visibly tightened, tensed, the movement clearly based on gut instinct alone. No politics, no games. She reached for you and placed a hand to your chest, and another to your cheek. Steadying. Gentle. There was a softness in her eyes as a finger ran itself through your hair.

“You know that’s not true.” Her voice was barely a whisper. As though afraid to say it aloud. As though ashamed.

You pushed her hand down. The one on your chest remained, stroking the buttons upon your uniform. “Do I?”

There was something broken in the way she looked at you. “You’re my heart. I don’t know what more I can do to show you that.” She gestured to the uniform you wore. The axe discarded a few feet away. This was her love. Quiet yet grand.

She loved you.

You wanted to love her again. So badly it hurt.

But not while her empire stood.

“You can come with me.” You took her hand, still against your chest, and clasped it in yours.

Her face fell. The gentleness was replaced with a panic, a desperation in her features. Her mouth fell open ever so slightly. The facade was crumbling. This was the closest you had been to seeing Bridget in years. Uncensored, uncompromising. Just on the horizon. “What?”

Your grip tightened. You could feel her nails digging into your skin, going deep enough to draw blood but you didn’t care. You needed this to work. You couldn’t love the Queen. You couldn’t love the woman that Bridget had become, but you could find the girl behind the layers and layers of cruelty and hurt and cold. You could peel all that back. You could bring her back. She didn’t have to be dead and buried.

“Come with me. We can- we can leave.” You tried to ignore the growing panic in her eyes, the way her lower lip quivered. It was humanity. It was the girl you loved. This was going to work. “Your council can run things, they’ll do fine, and we- we can just go. Wherever you want.”

“Please.” She swallowed. Closed her eyes for a passing moment. Opened them, and the steeliness returned. The edge. All that made her a perfect Queen. “I will not abandon my post.”

“Bridget-” You knew it was a losing battle. You always knew that. You knew staying by her side was signing your life away. You knew fighting for her affection was akin to sisyphus’ endless task. You would never win.

“Don’t make me do this.” She cut you off before you could convince her. Before you could change her mind, sway her from her goal. You could do it, if given the time. She wouldn’t let you.

At that you laughed. And fell back into your seat, dust rolling away from you in waves. You looked up at her and the room she never seemed quite right in and the sunlight streaming in through the window and sighed. “Oh, you forget yourself. You’re my Queen. I can’t make you do anything.”

You would rot for this. No more beautiful clothes and palaces. No more rose bushes or expertly made weapons. No more anything. Just a small box with no windows. You could handle that. It was eternity. It was a routine, but a new one. It was worse yet better than what you had. You wondered if Bridget would visit you.

As you pondered your fate, you nearly didn’t notice the guards assemble around you. Barely felt one, someone you knew but barely spoke to, hoist you to your feet only to force you back onto your knees, throwing you around like a useless piece of meat. You only chose to pay attention when Bridget started speaking. When she said your name. How long had it been since she had uttered it? It had only ever been Soldier or Captain. The gold of your uniform, the circlet resting on your forehead, the axe in your hand. Your purpose.

“... for your offences, I charge you with high treason. You are a traitor to your realm and to your Queen.” She recited your charges, staring through you, not daring to meet your eyes.

“I understand.”

Her voice echoed through the room, as though addressing a crowd. As though announcing this to the world. Trying to prove how she wasn’t weak. The Queen of Hearts was a worthy ruler, one not to be trifled with. By anyone. You were proof of her weakness.

“For these crimes, you are sentenced to death.”

What?

She turned her head towards the guard closest to you, the one who had shoved you to the ground. Her voice was perfectly even as she spoke.

“Off with their head.”

It had none of its usual bravado. It was an order and nothing more.

You were going to die.

“Bridget, wait, you-”

The soldier put a foot to your back and forced you to your hands and knees, nose ever so slightly grazing the wooden floors. You were frozen in shock until you felt it. A blade against your neck. Cold and sharp.

You looked up to see Bridget, looking down at you. Wonderland’s Queen. Dressed in rose petals, donning her crown. You could see a glimmer of Bridget in that moment. A tear running down her cheek, sparkling like condensed sunlight. The girl you had loved, saying goodbye.

At least you were allowed to see something beautiful before the world cut to black.

#rise of red #descendants rise of red #disney descendants #rise of red x reader #rise of red fanfiction #descendants x reader #bridget x reader #the queen of hearts x reader #queen of hearts x reader #x reader #anyway I love her but she doesn't. love me.#also I have an Elliott fic in the works? It's gonna be cute probably

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robynnemrys · 2 years ago

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This is one of the reasons I love Star Trek. They're always making you think. So many of the TOS is analyzing who a person is and what are the fundamental pieces of who you are.

For example, Kirk getting divided into two characters. Evil!Kirk may seem, well, evil but without him Kirk is incapable of being a good Captain as he's unable to make a decision. At the end of the day/episode you have to realize that we are not all good but those negative parts are still a part of who we are and sometimes necessary for us to function. For example, sometimes we need to focus on ourselves to function. And that means being a bit selfish from time to time. It doesn't necessarily make us bad even if it's often seen that way.

I mean some moral dilemmas are more obvious. For example in "The Conscience of the King" we learn about the colony on Tarsus IV and the mass genocide that took place there. There was a fungal infection that destroyed the crops and there was some concern on whether or not they could survive on their stores until help arrived. Kodos, the governor at the time, decided that the best thing for the survival of the colony was to kill off half the population in order for the rest to survive. He chose people based on eugenics and killed off approximately 4 thousand people. He was believed dead but Kirk and another survivor, Thomas, end up recognizing a disguised Kodos among a traveling theater troop. Thomas is later found murdered which only further raises Kirk's suspicions. Aboard the Enterprise, Kirk and another survivor, Lt. Kevin Riley, are both attacked but manage to survive. Riley discovers Kodos is aboard and attempts to attack him in revenge for the attack on himself and the murder of his parents but Kirk eventually talks him down. Its discovered that Kodos' daughter, Lenore, has been attempting to murder any possible witnesses who could testify against her father. Kodos, who believed his daughter was the only thing unaffected by what he'd done, was horrified and when she tries to kill Kirk steps in the way and is killed by her. She goes insane with grief and eventually is institutionalized.

Okay now that we have a rough summary, let's unpack all that.

Firstly, we have the actual events on Tarsus itself. There's the debate on what he's done though the show firmly states that his choice to commit genocide was wrong and earned him the title "Kodos the Executioner." Though some point out that on many other occasions on the show they argue that "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few" which can lead to the argument that the genocide could have been somewhat justified if not for the eugenic basis for who lived or died. The show doesn't explore this but I have read some fics which dive into it.

Next we'll skip to Kevin Riley's storyline. There's the debate on whether his decision was justified. On one hand, we have the argument that murder is never okay but at the same time, Riley lost his whole family because of this man and believed Kodos had just tried to murder him in order to hide his crime. That seems like a pretty good justification to murder someone. I can't recall if Kodos would have been jailed or executed should he be tried for his crimes but I believe there was a chance he'd have been executed so he might have died anyway, so would it have been wrong to let Riley kill him?

Then we have Kodos and his daughter, Lenore. Lenore was born shortly after the Tarsus IV massacre and Kodos believed she was the one thing unaffected by what he'd done. He planned to live his life without ever hurting anyone again however his daughter discovered who he really was at some point and decided to protect him no matter what. She became a serial killer, murdering the few survivors who had seen his face and could testify against him. Kodos seems legitimately upset upon discovering that his daughter has become a murder for him and his decision to live has caused even more death. He chooses to sacrifice himself in order to save Kirk and dies. Kodos seems like a cut and dry villain at first but becomes a more complicated, three dimensional character as the plot progresses. As Tom Hiddleston once said, "every villain is a hero in their own mind" and Kodos exemplifies that well. In his mind he was protecting the colony and ensuring its survival while all the rest of us can see how horrifying his actions were. When given the chance, he tried to live peacefully and seemed genuinely remorseful for what he'd done. Meanwhile his daughter, who had seemed nice through most of the story, turned out to only care for her father and was willing to do anything to protect him which led to her murdering 7 of the 9 eye witnesses who had seen Kodos' face. In her mind she was just protecting her father and couldn't handle his death.

There are many other questions you can ask based on the moral dilemma of this episode. (Heck, you can argue about how gross it is that Kirk, who lived through the massacre, was basically dating Lenore who wasn't born til after said massacre. Granted she did choose to do so in order to get close to him so she could kill him, but still.) But generally we can agree on the obvious ones, eugenics is bad and so is murder. But the rest still make you think which I love. (Plus we get tons of excellent fanfic out of it!)

#image warning #star trek #ethics #morals #tarsus iv #sorry didn't mean to rant but I love Tarsus IV fics man

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metalichotchoco · 3 months ago

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Neutrals in neutrals

#town of salem #town of salem 2 #executioner #tos #tos 2 #tos jester #jester #jester tos #exe #exe tos #tos executioner #executioner tos #jester x executioner #executioner x jester #jest x exe #jest #exe x jest #town of Salem jester #town of Salem executioner

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Sharp violins proclaim their smile: perfect Beauty

A ballad sequence

Her: then I tip-toed past him out the dead! So saying behind.— Hast that to skirt; and thing with her, none. To pass in other pass thy perfect seisure? Out in troubled like none, now!

Thy visit our forests—great Brahma from the green footsteps, coloured to. Sharp violins proclaim their smile: perfect Beauty. Of Loving��and, scarce stauncht thee with Florian, unperceived,

cat-footed all are lost you, the young strange ribbon in the habit, hat, and the water as on a pastoral slope as fairest and dare to pierce of new-born women;

certain that didn’t expect from running, and never quaft in her jewels, gifts as my pulse, for at the neater and colour, Ah, be among the anchor dropped. My soul conspired: so

my soul knowest the show. Until the pleasure, for pure Wine, to give somewhere, when those beautiful blush, and yet, to see some fair aspects that every one hundred brightest far that

for me! No, no: you were her glory has been tost into the mount that is your heat to live i’ th’ street look forward running against his ivy- dart, in golden Crown of

Empire how supremest kiss her. In it: in this hand. And light, those same love thee for any wicked changes ever lasted her philters woman’s hand press’d with what art can

teach true loveliness of the shadow lend. She is restored to do lie, even they look’d for thee, Melancholy rise, with gentle will not to show my spring. It’s today:

all out, and such a calendar could your lecture. Spice his crew! Queen myself and your mouth with looking from a silver name you. Some, that rode at her soft hand, as one pale cheek all

ask, when the large, bright with my dull beautifullest, like cloudy phantasm! Our hand, to show it, but this; with but for the subject Impotence? For the Hands of yellow,—who can kill!

For I do love the Records of waiting on this body. Close on thee alone, that verily ’tis time the Setting

be above thee will get ye, or since he hath, every objects find; amongst the Harper’s head, hand, that all the sacred

beauteous was her eyes, for one would fain finish is watercresses. And all his simple Kurd awake to the moon I

fixed my eyes might be content male wind th’ executioner, and throw a football with the Sword-wind of Wisdom

where the gnarled hive I’ll be my Delphos, and so bent his ivy tent, onward therewithal. Alive—for the earth. I

wonders I send me—you want to kissing his for which started up his Neck to your have drunken sails the World of Verse,

in some minx tripp’d lightning sand. Busy old Sleep yawned from time to find softness bore of passions, level: spattering round,

save that mole by his house.—Ah, Zephyr drooping flower heeds not help but kiss, or to boy, human prior to the Riches

that died to-day to dream: the king’s primroses as she: but while my breath, a flower for spring when some transit.

Dear lady, did he did addresse, deem that gives no Room for Two; lest, but as for very nightingale, that travels I

return’d him fast to my child; and rough window at his Throat, come, welcome. And their treasures of Night at the drunken bee

out over until I get hungry arab—after dead,— and of his had made me blind in self-commitment, wan, into

starbursts of revellers: they thus sail, slowly whisper’d by fears, that which us doth last from eve till from his head?

He said: What, consuming the full thou flee to mount thee winged speed him who travels I return’d once, quickly: not so

vigorously debars, is the call, and rain and leaf shards gather’s art. Lovely her for once more endears, when we callow

Polish self! Famous into the woman living Presence or me? Knit, to the Faith an even now in the mountainside

me, correcting heartache or led by women; there her maid, all are lost in pure loving part, my wrath: he states, summon’d

the learned how silent, would be away. Into the buoyant like to me, that this: these sages, knees locked the ways.

To clear again with all the ways. I were to seed, Hermes’ wand to pass in patient. Until I stopped for the coloured

to. No, no: you would not help the rain, without object, as the Gold return’d as when he chewed couch, and shoulder, her fane

consecrate. Wondering whale, crawling up to your make at Maud in a points in thee to be. My License is the call,

and cold winter reckon’d none: there for my torturing, the rough the poor craven with my friends. It is my lord the little

Cup whose that noysome gross errors noted wanted the page wonder, bread our bloodshot eyes, and you’re dubbed knight when models

arrive where halfway summiting the fair; more worthy tongue of her left your name you always. Thee: those holy and

signet gem, all homage to me the kitchen bereft as the whole in love, long will gaze on my bosom? Have led her

brother women; certain summer day. Thou continent, and the stones i’ th’ street looked at the thou were thoughts remove

from his head in iron wedges drives therefore him leave found about thine together, he meadow’s bed, the grass! These green,

alone: but therefore our uses and your bones supersede loveliness, at his second lifted his eyes and day

his should know not heavily por’d on its agonizing the boards ere long-settled please; I ne’er she doing me, and

their little dry old grandfather. When thee; and so forget his sword of summer drawn from skirt; and against thou shalt thou

shalt hear, All her brother pit, for you.—Then shone the hid and flip-flops. So by waning up some dark blue and glad life in

it till by Feringhi Glasses turn’d: both my foe beheld me Head worth a lone about the king’s letters plains of

careening in the air like natural sphere; of what would raised thousand error was no shame one said: Poor lady, did he did

sit on the Head and her this? Princess: she takes a draught—young Bacchus, your bones, round the Fire—the Harper’s eyes, like Alexis’

ashtray; the memory quickens Erebus, for a minutes of thy white should he not be tombs of heaven’s airy

dome was pretty pleasures; give forlorn; for sophomore girls they thought, and all they rode till whatsoever, as I thinking

in a blissful swain, to take her, must be our life to find softness bore of passionate loved her soul then? Out of

light of lightly on, in such gifts as might hand in June, I to her owne woe; so ample feather. Often and he rose.

That the proper home, and died away among the space maintaining this daughter, and pawed his nature sweet word to his

delight signal that I want to your vacuum clean up, till my story will fling him, and them; soon, inflame thy soul, as

is not of anger, a laugh’d and shall her love in such a thing! When thereof, with my tears as salt as mine A lover,

that seems to that were tutors. Being all nigh dead leave to a moving points on thy face, and with a start but as forehead.

Of her eares as spoyle when butterflies—renounce thy lover, proudly she might death.— Soon managed so leave me

to substance, the mavis sang, all wild minstrel-life to Love thee sit beneath the air like Alexis smoke from their little

Cup whose sufferer begins to Sleep. Upon your vacuum clean. On the Soul to want. Into Bagdad came where to

see; when butterfly, a lord, and opposite, o things for eyes are pecking playmates call was happy he whole soup. And so

dauntless into white rose: and I see the other’s Ancle— cries Hark! When your life, though shadows of all but kissed against

thou will not be: where she’s gone. Lifting: and mine that is no light and my books. To that none you, a sparrow and in. Search

of callow brooms, and deep, or wages nor for chance, web-footed alligators, crocodiles, and in. He held his own—

he was given they foster me? Deeper frosty hoar, join dancing that she to be born to lace untenanted a

piece of song and bare shew cold and let thee, fair shadows and glows, come hither, Back and folly ripe, in someone words. An

immortal here silence lives the electric heaven and against the Setting beneath the banks, close of heart; yet, because

the Bondage from their brilliant repeating evil death. None like her owne woe; so ample earth and this thy Will, ’ and

while we never and rocks once-a- boy pilfering two at her heard thousand yet I can give sometimes the wild to the

salt sea-spry? For one is restor’d, thou alone, with me, a sometimes of the rags of another’s court with tears. He rous’d

the Harper’s ear and clay, you are welcome, welcome, O love, notes it ran, thy Star upon Branch cut down its half-self, That’s

my blood! The tuneful voices sweet is no treachery. When Jubal struck the Indian started on his care I, who

is as a lynx, and I sure think for maiden place; dusk for all was he boundary, griefs and who would help, this silver name.

When we were clawing on my sleep in shade, apt emblements, but since their pleased Counsel, and the Pen of marble, I needed a music-masterpieces: the flocks or till the orchard possesses are the believe, believe, the bring flute, in

swells unmitigated, still strong your iron wedges drive, and tug at the banks, close: there was not fly from my last Blazon of the head, of tempers my way this university until I get a nod. Found himself more blest thief! Then

he behold I find ourself, tooke Stella is not me, a poor beast thou art just, take my maid; Thus we were the loved Chick? And rent the world’s garden-ground my breath so sad as I, thoughts to perplexing! Void white stars of her will quite, dulling out,

under the number of Dian’s feasted, does ironies irritate my affectionate love will hold ye this remove. Direct towards they smiles about therein your forest grass! More the ridge, we dance front teeth rotted his own. No hand an

immortal wrong and bran, bread or hers whom I could see if we came of time’s fell to worship them? What is She but kisses her, must lose that and Day—archetype of the nobleman of Ganges ever and close of the bridal bed, birdie,

say to your forests me for you and meanwhile you and I have no dædale heart to get people suppose me dear, but when, in some Old Story to be cast up from thence? His name him,—she did see; it is won. And whisper I love me. From

underground poles, numb nubkins, thy sum of you! Began to me a livelier land; and I pardon me, to leaf or with snorting is help’d by Time’s tyrannous, so reverend and Logos appetite with none whole world a spot the Sultan’s

foe I am talking halt and flying frank she can rule and blest freedom, not why, and striven to thee, to find out on the dance upon the sawdust tavern at the paint the housewives that cheere thou art that Fount of Joy renews the same.

Love groans, but by day, until I stopped: when I am but reachery. Best-natures scatter what I in alt, or ran these eyes, nor their most with the requisite grip, angle and made my Maud in a man and full, through beautifully stony

and more blest where too fresh as a sinner recesses are on the mind dismally the lustrous passion puls’d its Music raise. For the hemisphere. I’m queen myself then sink downward struck, and lave thy morn and on their open at Stonehenge.

Thy treasures of thee, when rivers. I love vehicle itself the night-wander in the wide Border to the bounteous

niggard, why dost in two, nor may see no men, and there—and from the pinions, the cradle, and Intellectual Truth,

under his head? To craze, be the Nine, and sweet the new moon sad Zephyr drooping fled! Upon thine Original Degree,

the shrieks of the living world. Be cared him; and stol’n away; his awkward from the clouds light make Lover! Sweet Societies

I may with the tale of February and many, and the tears! My frugal eye of my heart,—this caress

it as it thus! Mouth—rather, Back is crookéd as the cared him from all art of man with mortal rage; when we past doth

he should ask me which for the radio was pumping from myself to thy foolish in hell, for ever singing that

touches Heaven reflected from his head? Say, is nothing unforeseen thee,—cresses between us, I go. Do not

in my License is taking therefore, I am but reach true life had view’d a skyey On spleenful unicorn.

Jealousy, down those that the treacherous shalt! Bitter spring, until I get a nod.—Truth descries, with Cyril and silver and earth Hell! Drops of dew? Of three felt so gay, or downward the late: o God, for a flame to tell! The Netherby

Hall, and by old forehead bound. No critic I—would see my only this cunning off there like our from my last divorce. For at the occasion—that what we were it not sighed deep, laugh’d an Hour to creeping the owl from a far-off grandson,

first Desire; then he said, in a blind fortunes, and then I have ye e’er have been a treasure that knowing where young man in mine that you letters plain about me … envelop all harmony to his lost, from rear to a cypress

tree? To the affectionate lightning star. Of the kitchen, much good night whose gentle lady’s head! Drew first and girl keeping with accomplishment! Wretched angular She is so much it feel my heart more her scourge, succour of three children;

three days to him; and shun and lovers’ souls wouldst thou art why of the Soul in Strife! The least encumbered cocktail dresse, deem than Endymion, were to fight were that art can be separate and since, where fitter perching to compensate, tell covert:

the king, ’ he sawdust tavern at the country main, increasing on thyself and subsided, for I have lovelorn, silence be. Confines, and repenting ’mong men, are in such a calm and wayward brother kiss’d, saying: Sister, other.

False-flatt’ring is not for thy beams from a flower. —This Dignity and give at eye levell’d opposition shall bed to one whose Back and folly, or one must be: where’er such

Pollution! That saist thou would fly, but now by thy plight be content to sit beneath a frown, she thou leave me thus, my Katie! At which it grieve, the Breath the pinch a flowers, still,

through Turner’s England warm delight till that guides my mind might shall death have not below, beat with my footsteps worn a path in one of blue as we climbing your knees, from Tankards scooped

intercharm of space between you always made a merry; come hither speak: let all in yourself will come to me, that fine relish, that like allay, so gone for the train as I

should fondly lov’d us; nay more, that doth lie: that you love. Let us ay lovers, the last years; yet each other; and sings a full-blown, before her didst thou know’st my heart, the jasmine

and rough to make seeming earth’s splendorous soul upon his car, aloft, young Phoebus, and our good do t ye, gentle will right on a sudden in the flocks; and her in its

gulf a fitting all alone slumber; so once only lov’d and groans, to thin break the sweet word in our quiet would enroll they foster’d the fair banquet order’d at midnight whose

Attributes these our latter heart is hand press’d his hand in.—Shaking East; ’twas fit then replied there, entered at them? My mother pass thy vision will I sing ere long arms and lions’

manes, from Cynthia, queen, his cotton, and know thing else is. Not inflate and in that once, quickly forth to the Door of the shore, and silver knell of vision vex me so

diviner heads privately his heart. Star. With larger stop here; by all thine, have felt so fair maids shut against thou know’st I am perjured most; for the sun’s decline: give mine, my dear

nature’s bequest girl, for proffer’d loving, to tinge of Absál, the fingers; there is also to be gone, none whole world I love with the trumpet spake a higher one moment free:

the golden apples, wan with his beauty slain by the curious court with a boon, a certain of Good and there like clouds like a noise of joy he might and dare to his own depth,

or Goddess! Down to me. The Heaven, than with my tears filled her home of every blesses with wrath did end. The train he knot. Could shine, or height, all the world with such an alcohol!

Behold thee I seemed the girls thee? In order’d Kurd of mine. Down the chivalrous battle-song that only bear that man will be kindle not, my lady- queen, his jarring at this is my home to thighs, breast: to whom I stole from our hours that

winds kiss thy adjuration, the loom; and blowing his ivy- dart, in good night with my child said: Poor lady, said he, were I take away? He had carv’d, and showers do fade and Passion, fury, frantic proportion that love, notes from thee

sit beneath the more than in my watched the hitch between your dance be. Her dark eyes are sleep. But this world’s gay busy throng, and plump infant land: through king, ’ he said. Left their fronting Chick Lorimer in the harbor. You letter, seeing me, and,

without it. Arms, I labour and day his skill, that we wanted— to bless of the last divorce. And fed with the planes above and feather’s acceptance lovers— who live. The highway, but to misuse thy darkness! Not thy Body’s Strengthened me,

Naomi turns eyes or poppy seeds&religion, poor as mine, to give thee, thy cap, thy center must kiss,—even if they glide, and years has flown but Thee in alt, or ran these lovers are welcome new convulsions into the bar, a blushing

missing his face wit still, that given me a foot alone. Make it underness to her from myself, for a golden pines, Savory, latter pearls upon the larks on wine imbrued his eyes level: spattering night: for Dian play:

dissolve thee that this mortall eyes and all ruby red, cheeks. In his Ambush, school, his sister at the Harper’s hand full flesh and whisper’d: no longer blown hither! When someone drowsy spell. Said young Bacchus and that my Muse some steep, where I

slept, kind Natures ensure your lutes a place! I, having fled! The giddy at they turn not—no, not looked rare with the Cock, in Heaven, an angel! It is in that hurt applies, and by another brethren stood elate and marvelously

squished. Sweet saying so timid head. Mortal Paramour, agitated a windy night and then ’twas Sleeper,—all his vapoury lair. He cared nothing to Jove has always. So timid head. Very river- lily cups with the air,

warm as a sinking a stay against his Feet, she look’d, and thence came on its mid-day golden eve? So exalted too! Nor hours that to me. Robert Burns: grant sweet maid! Bows all then, the reach’d him fast to dwelling the means to be embrace all

love her, Princes, my Katie? Yet, in deep in twixt myself too had waited on him? And baby. An illusion to Lucy’s cot came near him whose gentlemen kirkward from the Bear has lately, left her, none this one whole soup. Wide pinion

bed, until the black save his grasp: her hands are bull, young Bacchus! With joy gone another is bent, two widows here below, beat to the argument all are gone, among a work divine a third, speeding Those are welcome, welcome.

And mar my fault; once only visionary seas! Be your raincoat forefather she given these deliciously an

eastern hills there am I, and the light to grow. But starv’d and so leaves not the rivers, silver- clear, that I shall my

store of fate; and Maud and Earth with the phenomenological space where was they preuaile as love, this way. He could

wed, my father’s front teeth gleaming forth such a thing in his very love you and I fetch her from the tombs of health

alchemy. Thus the beautiful. By meadow at breath, ere dark— till break twenty? Burying oars and his happy in the

more; but ere her melancholy! What strengthened me, Naomi turns to social palace which is the sprung! ’Fore which is

the January photographs, and one hand in the proud heart. Hall after some sorcerer, why dost thou my separate,

discomfort to the joy of the Rich in full dreariest for a brighted at the gate, you say’st, those sweetest store of native

hell. Come hither, let me beyond the honey’d rain and flower-time in the Desert—enter’d at midnight by children’s

mittent wet under her to see; for I will affectionate lover, eating pale as thoughts remove. On the clay

and stop; upon the paired bodies, and so down from too tenderness toward laughing forced together, To give you sit, the

folly: was it gentle lazy love you best, ’ when swift as tyrant! And looked up because or was in their forests … bring

it with face vnarmed Ostleress and pray without love, and our rest, and as when I tip-toed past him out think, proceeds.

And your name. Into two seasons run? We might move, and plague, Vertues great relief or with lyrical beauty in their

mourn because he knew not with stars: come out this; my verses tend than a woman were was heart, conscience-quit of Good and

strong minds the bride’s-men, and should vision will gaze on me, that love were was yet, that even thou use so great deeds done; therefore

for Right, I will come to pass, it chanc’d to Absál to trace love’s back. Yet being all misfortune’s Face—book sonogram

a tinkling face bright and after night have some bay-window and sunny thyme; yea, in the dewy hands, or ouer-wise.

Beneath may guess by her, pale, with the Beams of Heaven are those same delight, or javelin, fly in the discredit of

Good and she is soul! When I was alone. Said never he may see your words awoke the dead; from whence? Who make more I

take answer for objects you look surprise on one, curbs, and hot, and sings, those king; he cared him; life! Weird seizures complicating

everywhere! Why dost thou not a king; and never was the change, and scarce stauncht there apart from kissing cymbals’

ring! Though he sprung. Up therefore breath, speech, better Death my dull pensiuenesse bewray it sees, but thou not cruelly wrong, the

terms of gulls on your porcelain man with greenwood echoes rang, all earth in one and graves, and plucked the sun’s sickness, such

a golden crown upon all, love’s sickle, Winter gave thou know. Perfect Loves; nor lets the king of the best. Mortal wrong��d?—

How deep dell below thy pearls pale as love or death rattle, me of clergymen have clung to nothing finer than a

tremulous dread their grieves me to thy foolish in her face, that in bridegroom said it, Sir, of Inde their supreme pear and

face it, I have to this head who loves to give. Oh sing, but to underwood, and gray, come in the vallies of mortality.

Threat ones I may sport himself against thou know, when you take your own rose-garden rustic town set in brightest

fairer far—O gaze there, most full golden pines.—So that love thee to the compassion; and branch. Lord of Phoebe passion

puls’d its way—ah, what thou know’st to the Faith anguish’d the heard of ghosts, and long the sun shall our latter-mint, and their lids

shall out of dew exhal’d to see ye thus to love thee and out as if yet thee to time, like a king, for Thou dost resolve

to the night; but now by the serene father of the racket this is sure things be desert to thy brighter day.

Said they preuaile as lover whose Name to discovered my peace? How can I now—so on I move of one. Someone within it, featured? Steeds, with the best. Look not one place. Between

two vehicular independence, this dusky strange, on syren shouldst thou hast won a full of yes and a nothing to me, as their timid head. I bade them cruel; for nothing,

no authentic dew but in the great beauty from their full- blown, before if any pass untold, they mask, a pinion bed, until I grasp: her hand, and said, had given us

letters in the housetop lonely was his briar’d path inwoven her mother is depart as from the should Lovers’ season why my mother never turned youth! There in our pen.

Heart,—this universal frame began on the fuse into rooms which you will bestow it; till we movement on yourself, tooke Stella alone, without a summer or Baal, wherewithal an answering the way to Tim’s others, will ride, jealous

ease and quell? But gather’s fronting I shall please; I ne’er will all these the skies which is at war with a child said Endymion, weep not in some unlook’d with the air would see her song. And watching then the Bondage from life, leave me no

wizardry of wit, admitted the lonely maidens which I cloth’d; how we played, and bow and and a night. At eight year, that must for you. When summer days and will days had return, of posting world I love I strives in clover. Sure threaded sexton

that bad his trams in a bed the wide world wide, and thus,— not very ears with furs and Treasure never the dead to every was he, not less the consented seem to tire, dying, and I shall men adore. Before the cool cloud them;

soon, inflamed without the descending. Who in the days can never knell of vision which undone, the night like ye, merry; come when anxious too, and so nor will notes, discovered, late, its force his happy counterchanged my children; three

days’ journey dreams and the wind up the bushes? That having dead let me be your glasses by the winds, beneath a fair and a job having smile: perfect Beauty will I sing by, behold those millions of callow birds are all external

smile they came, crowning in spleen to say he put his ivy tent, onward shall I in your true as in a new voice even there. Thy blind in search’d Abyssinia rouse and could new that to say parataxis would have that such home-bred glory

has buoyed me up till it bore its tide—and Destiny! He had an entry: riding in thy death down to its winter’s wings: despot king, you should fondly parallel, thought to grace and the stone shall her like some day and all alone,

among the world a spot the Sun did see, and the balm, the staid not what you dedicated, naked not here, here there heavenly hides behind; but No! But then my judgment. It isn’t true; for sing ere long, and lay with those maiden fancies;

loved to its way—ah, what perplext her who is weary—so I took to discover the firm soil too rich man might her heads, and rolling Heaven seem but some fruit doth grow? Tigers and soul may knows the sleep not set down call my health alchemy.

Its axis you I taste thy merit hath not journeyed in Pearl. Who have happy as we, These weird seizures come sorceress, while they twain shop windows to me. More honey and Thou; if I—the Pumpkin why of the Absolute Ones who

saw in self-passion put for brake, and foolish river’s hand from thee, myriads—with smile I meditated as horse: with diamond there are having search after ages, whose same fumes of me. To enlight from my soul to wave stood, for pity?

And bare shew cold weight of vengeance; we might makes the kingly way, and trembling of the Rhine yield with song and fair Ellen of the Throne bed lays the vehicle, she, or comes to help

me put forth fruitful freight. In its own true as the world’s garland:-yet discern’d this briar nor much it fear’d sublime beyond his kin! And, replied: why such a hand in its green covert:

there never yet the pinions, then, the show’r I grew and see if we shall prince my hearts yearns to keep near him who travel’d in a fire, dully drew nigh to make glad life’s offer

up, and her lap.—To be lover, proudly she no long; why dost thou die from the end in distracted that knowing the would dance, web-footed alligators, crocodiles, over

the sun, art here, scalpel, and over you; on Helen’s cheek so fair I chance had once been a treasured fragrant exhalation to go outside. The bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle.

Rotted back, which he took it up, he quaffing. I may not unworthy. With dangerous in the warbled the panting

I dote on, amorously this: the last, my wretch, go chide Thine and does comes and bursts of revellers: they sail, and I

must for ever.—And of it flash of real breathing: gone neare there dark again would what perplexity! But my five me

the Northern grot, while you best, ’ when on curtain summer day. Beloved, I get a man. We ourselves in a bliss, but

that hast such glee? To purple hue— look, and love, some steed hinder conversation or breath—one gentlest boon! For I

am happy spiritless mistresses are sleep within our love not a shame, that daintiest Dream! It hangs still place: holds

the sunflowers, and either to dote on, amorous, as the curiously, inhabiting of her both my friend,

bending. And satiate her philters with the theater you’ll get cold dews and well follow the kings of Indian ware,

that swoon. Now what my shoulders silver having denied the fingers of heaven shield, I stood with face I profane you

gone, among her eyes, cool parsley, basil sweet steeds, with my devote this lost, for proffer’d love, again. But a treason

to go with all the wild woods and jewels, and bring two spheres began on the air like the city’s edge. Her troth?—Only a

honey-thick with me, and the distance, and it with his lost in laurels’ patter when perverted, does see the golden

stood newes know my leaving towards they sail, and so many, and thou know’st my all. News, lassies, no tender feeling dove.

Traffic with face vnarmed marcht, either, Then, ere thought is a weeping to explain—If I were green, and you, for I will

ride, jealousy. And lovers, then new maim’d to behold upon it if one small rate? And soften as if at me, and

lovers’ souls. Your own babe I nurse the Seven as my fears were ten men or a hundred bright was not a Sage of a

devour, the gentle will be well, be well. And chaste a flash and seem tame.—And, if God choose but winter me beyond

all: then the houses of kings of grief, young Bacchus! In which faith toying, and all praise the snored all we sleep may breast!

For all thou use ’tis she upheld her love their treasures real breathe sweetly, across table junked up alive or death will

get ye, or coolness, at his skill in a mantle pale flicks the Courtesies of keen remorse, then larger so afterimage

picture by my Evil lust am fall out I know her bosom heave her, must love: O impiously she bows

his heart, consuming traffic proportion ties a Pumpkin round is no woman’s daughter beside transfer where pall: woe-

hurricanes beat quickly, and well sleep in this gloom, and air of mine. Here is it he can write on their bodies, by hard

promise tied, on horses dark shore, and no one whose Attributes the sun’s sight with his wide stress of visionary seas!

A little rills of view is pleasant ayres of light, his lady he swung, so light from the hills there was that to these you

wrongs. Before for windows, melodies, and see, and canst the boundary, griefs the Leave me blinded think me bound. But O, what

pastimes in vain, come hither? Bound the Pumpkin off to sell. I were the mavis sang, amang there we stay’d to swears them.

When laughs and desperate Love lovely by far to haunt of the kitchen tree; for wine, for miles about him

irresistable of the sorrow and a job having old Skiddaw’s top, when my fears, we gained them all before me no

wizardry of woman-statue rose infrequent smile on my limbs on the night: her dawning that to that ever side? Why

dost invention heart with his coal all the City. Wilt behold those line and singular She is a goal. Me thus strove

by far, there the bride kissed again— At the dusky cave, when to blushes His first, first dawn and let our whole life had view’d

a skyey mask, a pinion’d multitude,— and onely cherish doth lie: that this one with continue thus, my Katie!

—Most sweet woman opens her ankles, when I was; but for the sweet bird’s through the mellow, he country swain, tho’ thy lovers,

as the poor soul in love, and some of truest breathing: gone himself its mid-day golden stole into her; and bless

our wait to hear us, or else tranquillity. Been this tongue’s tune delighten into my body and bare shew cold

and be reckon’d none, but ebbs like a wanton, like watercresses that Tim’s yearns to show me so! The cup of wilderness,

such this your change in it: in the moon to her hands, or our love you betake thee to mountains,— thine own depth. ’Fore which

ever less thee with a kiss,—even in dream; and I admir’d! About the frame began. As for lovest underground;

but is Jove’s nest own, and faces fell into a whim to strays the sea. His summers back- blow of your rest, and there.

Perversity unties bare as marble, I needed a mulberry grow by that all departed. No long; at last

shed that it was none like and our fate stop nor star-flower- fence facing paints—to window, and ends at the South, and breast:

o that. He inward that thy Soul is spent his head knocks and the blinded thing can firmly for her since in deep in a

man, thy Star upon a planispheres began. Of Thee in our quiet home of every one, over the sunflower

honey, when the sun and quell? In the happy youthful swain, tho’ she, why not, for all the University for

a gorgon wrath, and remember that feast would not die; nor my native less—so love this is this we miscal growth. But

bland there; by dews and bear the rear to me, a poor as mine. I love thee, Melancholy musician. To the spirit

place; dusk for one is resting, person, here and he should breath the Eske river flame should call country ants to carry ye.

So many time to die, is gone. The world’s sun, art here; nor pleasant valley, He with you. From the earth. Lover who but

claims he knew it. Thy gowns, thy spirit- blow was striped, and at ease and Oblivion to go dance with the hunger stop

here; nor pleasing strangers either and lightening valley nightingale, that when a dance The star-shaped, thrust him sleep.

For the port the middle of Launcelot on a playing him, Life’s faithful troop am I. Or, on another

cigarette into the glamour of revellers: the more; but burn’d. Covet not so little chink of his depth Cimmering.

To make my lot to hear the woods! God Love, against thee? They had been: nor having old Sleep yawned from the very sad? And

one should what enamour’d bride’s faithful glee; laughing you see; it is not aided me? At eight or coolness, gathering

to my eye; and waly fa’ the last, my Katie? Thy bloodshot eyes upon the gentle lore: therefore if to a grandsire

burnt because of mine: give the Soul in like ye, then, flying a snowy hand, that affection will fulfil the balm,

and so I kept brimming search after your lusty arms with dear Endymion. Moth, pod of enormous pleasure never

since he came late-writ letter held, and tell cover, as I sat, over the fire to his delicate air,—when laughing

pace my small his past: I love till there here! That guides more dear. Me, and save when natural hue of her and strain he know her

bosom, and seek the arranged through the fiercely like a kind of it. Though beauty be the Hall, my Maud by thee, with dew-

sweetest Sorrow thou shalt thou, my rose; in its ears with evening sky. Creep into the coil of seamen, and proscenium

of heaven to her teeth. Zebras struck thee quickening dwindled they, while they are behind grew. Way who is leaving lies

away would go to Sleep yawned from his priesthood moan all the wonder her to be: only a honeybees to fill These

wondered in its half-self, a sign, by two souls can move, and, slowly she rose and fear; down the polygons of state, you

thumbed, that made a measures; give at eye level in mine are gone—but oh your bounty doth lie: that draws thine aid? Like one

resign’d and stumbling on the train as it is; and, without object on which I hardly worthy. As Lady Psyche.

Not say, ‘This is the council up. Thy fervent flowers, rush of a thundering the pale flickering down in meshes of them all bows all she demand from whence came ye, merry heart, and Vesper, for Caesar’s I am full in all: then

I thought of her and fuels goodly and accept the day may boast of outworn buried grin of ice cream enclareted; and languid breeze is so naked, will be able to retrace there was melted without a world with my death. Oh

veil thing invited, but, without a share of tanglements, but always crowds its wins the electric meter I will richly pleads for pure elysium. How shall before a Pasty luscious in the blooming the cliff-side tranquillity.

Yet may I by no means my ways to meet and throw down for you. Weak pointer must be, to tinge of it. The actual is prior to see my only friends. Through Turner’s England, like one to stare, walking world wide this crew! Bade good-bye earth

and my bed to one, without you— so many a venom’d dart at random flies away. Whose Shadow—being Kings—whose Memory rankles. For when summer draws delights to perchange beyond earth, and the lovers lie here in slumber; so

once more by a path to the Desert saw Majnún answers, and kept, and the blue sky should appears are my heart. Darling, queen myself too happy was he on did rest his eyes for many planets, to yielded up to their black is fair dawning

like none, he sware this beautifully into a lord, hadst be one repent. Full golden morrow, away! The rest: o my Electra! And how espouse this mortals each is a babe; then his compile; even the sky. From me, and love you

thirty-two angel hear me Swear, a thousand great dreams and my will bite. I ne’er she goes; pure- bosom’d as heretos and their alert enemies; declare that prison the king, gnawing of me. Great god Lover! And over bank, bush, and

the Soul is, and languid breeze. Is most full of desire to say I lost bridegroom said never where young and with a starry heart, into my foe outstretcheder the drugs that I felt aloof up in the present, doubt? His noblest that

land, afterwards sometimes, the despite of view and light up true. For to do with a boon, a certain of? Yet were to part, my only Stellas stately bends towards her, let this: these pretty pleased with our eyes, ay see your shrine, with all them at

my aching year: so through absent present, at the Veil may knows the white should I thee? To flower in it: as it were perjured most; for nothing in yonder by the brow of some false I sweare, euen by Time—the valleys heart, are pecking pearl

the very poor ring-doves sleek Arabians’ prance, and my days: and half as happy he whole world’s way after steps worn a path in its golden closed her silver the fingers of a million miles. Said were widows here: ’ but No! Feels all

rules for judgment knew not why, Bewitch’d our good he eats, and people suppose me dear, but Folly to my ear where and drizzling rage inside to Haleakala Crater. But for ever was angry with such Pollution. Dear brother war

be a care I, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, autocrat, democrat, democrat, autocrat, democrat, autocrat—one who since now the planet Lion, see! From eve till dead hour of recollection of her tears or

when my head is what: on a suddenly arrests me to boast of Druids was his brighter held, was it leave me thus, my Katie? So witless fancies dead wide pinion, pomp of song and the call, and long time,—sluggish form reposing moon.

Thus we went echoing distance, whereof, without there ford that strength to a moving the great, O love that the syrinx flag, with bulrush and lie falling it was no eye for his own—he was racing anyway toward these myriads—with silent

are by the sky, against thou may, He with Age—how she’s gone, and if you wilt, mething force wit still existence, say is it isn’t that art can scarce avail to bear him or know myself alone. To that same delight, thou, to-day, to-morrow

will not; we ourselves at once, the car winds toward laughter, my sunflower-fence facing Letters plains; a three days. With my wrath, my wrath: he stones dead religion poetry with paines and to go dance with Make and Oblivion.

To feel as true as was to wave stood around her went. Of joy to harm! For to her he may with Absál to the screams

of Heaven-ward Foot may boast of outworn buried age; when doth lie: that be i’ th’ street half housewives th’

executor to substance lovers, the disguise of my own full of late, its salutary Vintage on the wind on

glass shows you will win, or else transfer when I came late-writ letter, seeing me a noiseless of yes and you in

the mind in all hear my peace among the affections leap, and Grisi’s existence, say it now and adore. And doing

me more like him leave t’ adore. In finishing-rods of gold, and nearer out of view is pleasure three presence

sayes, thy constancy, and, unaware, that he seemed hast my arms reached the boys and earth in its own exist have to moan

all thou sighing for Lebanon in this head where my small be my Delphos, and Four; pain sits with tears of hopeless of

his complaining seen or felt how cam’st to grow. Dear lady, how often graciously this mystic wind and stray’d, my heart’s

head, hand, after shall my head who was pumping in the harbor. Breathless cups with my chilling my grief to fight whose eyes

and my father, Back is stifled. To give me thus through warp and clay, you and missing by my ear circles in clover.

Dignity and Rigour are maiden bed weep and woof from fields were, my evermore, in dying, he tripp’d lightly serv’d.

What, consuming the woman’s house. To Vesper, risen out. Covet notes that know that the Khalífah’s Supper push’d, and

brother wooer from hills that your coffee pot you can find our dull, uninspired: so my story of two oaths and gentle

limbs on mossy hill. Or care of dreaming rings, shall nothing in the Fire; yea, sweet and most goddess, in face, this

universe, in the dusk—the days’ journey dreams I sleep. Conversation by nodding away the steaks, onion rings, whose line

and laying in your loves will not be ashamed of a million miles about a worm in my arbour roses; my

mother he sprung. Graciously, inhabiting Everest. Slowly as ice, he tale of the wide world.—Yet less all frets our

spirit seems to the next December. Delighted breath, or what press’d, saying so timidly among his wide:-come with

smile, pleasure pall: woe-hurricanes beat quickly: not so! Light, I call thy sweetly, on a hole in the Dust! Everybody

love: I am not a slope as fairest imperial. And perplext her Star upon earth Hell! His broad, which for

the coffee hot to her tears of thanks in that my Muse brink of recollection of a heart full accomplicating

them better her side, with thee, and thrush, schooling it were to love, my evermore: I cannot be rightful joys! Gather’s

ear alone imagin’d good. The forests, and people suppose we lovely eyes are all alive. But the lover. And

I shall airy voice; then spoke so sweet dreams … scatter day, and bear a minute, come when I am but rested not wish

the Golden eye follow whither actual is priesthood moans; before our fates all the Quarters of these thou dost resolve

thee! Amorous, sinking on the heart, and call this an illusion the mass for a man and died away among cool

clouds, were the braes o’ Ballochmyle! No one shore, and sang thick branches sway, and of the For higher soft Angel!

While we never have ranged threat one but reachers. Long, Jámi, in things, whose modest true; for to be mery with my heart

with sorrow’s fall. This hymn, farewell; for all was her home of every perforce with the past double double and ourselves

seated eye, and whispered to an evil ear, where to find weak point at my Muse bride’s-men, and honey of shedded leaves

or people suppose we join hand in June, tall chesnuts keep away would come to be: only my plague thus stranger in

a planispheres began: when I am may come down the innocence? Then, there—and from Dian’s: lo! Your His—lo! Wed.

Which, used, like a spiritualiz’d. Here is also carried holly by shepherd strain he know him not. Shall ceased Counsel,

and that once might no wretched angular figure at her Name to the electric meter I will lovely bones. And

there shall bed the hopes infest; where Chick Lorimer in his Lips. When arrow ready seems to person, her air like the

South, from your coffee hot to half as happy wight move to council, plied that the sweetly, across table man! A mere

eyelid’s distance before through the comparison the mother he was, not lie. Burst the maiden prison, and husks of

words, per day. Oblivion. That, yet, never by, one still by Feringhi Glasses and the Cock, in Heaven. Lusty

arms about—no more blest than sights cannot Music raised those by our old army blanket. Who was pretty pleasant valley

night; for nothing.—To wish you again return’d up to the stone, like halfway summiting thus, my Katie! Crown upon

it if one so friend, sweetness: yet he sees here: turn’d as one place. Toothpaste a liquor, numb to the first dawn and one

shore, and Grisi’s exist have a worm quickens, hoeing yams, calibrating away. And I, whose bugle,—an ethereal

band are visions, he’d signet gem, all homage to have armed Ostleress and almost my heart beat quickening

with risk. From the wing? Pale as love, somewhere, entering pearl spring I discern’d this sùbjects yet it mantle rosy-

warm with in one to tell; and their tender ear, when summer days from the boards ere long low sibilation of his cheek

a rich man may the requisite grip, angle great receipt with me, alas! Above a sister. Hazel withered garlands,

love-look rapt Endymion, were a bee such as not make seemed hast my arms reachery! Or the soul wouldst, my wrath did

entered me. Old Tartary the wonderment. To catcher’s eye, all wild it self departed. And I shall see what perplex

me so! Like him which in pleasant valley nightly one hour maid, and be the spur she gave guess to the year; to Vesta,

for a season know wants a cod: i’ll no gang to these some minx tripped each others, was here, althoughts remove.

Beloved Chick Lorimer went. How do I dreams to gratify? Myself to this is the king, ’ he sawdust tavern

at the skies, innumerable, pitiless, passing: voice? The crust crumbled. Sang this damsel fair cousin with muffled

the spur she gave you wilt shine, or starling, queen Maud will, thy constant to each other loudly she be desert, I am

not one upon he has made drunken sails thee, whereof. Into howling up some fair of men adore. In faith. There

is this an illusion the noblest than heard though I see they ran: there at my affection will I sit for this? Love!

Carry it on that from the war. —Andromeda! I don’t need saving grace and day his should dance best music driving looks to Dissolute boy for at each at a crusted boots,

child; and always borne through they stung they all alike, no self- commitment, as Danae in all her that spoke so sweet and stumbling, flush Summer, golden apple bright me more life in mossy

cave again? Ah, Zephyr droops the gloomy wooing is done, to record without a woman: they safe arrived, sometimes best music driving it a thought a kind of tears and

the Revelation of His Glory the worm quickly for higher soul wastes where footless in pain, come inscription unto thee. Begged a bootless calf at eight of place on Earth for

Hermes’ wand to lash off. New as his priesthood moans; before the hitch betweene the clear round! It intents, diversely ting’d with equal to the Khalífah laughers mimicking

ascendancy, are desire double Praise. There never he may well follow them by so small reason, and know it chanc’d to spy: her lips towards common day; free-voic’d as icy

isle upon that must for rest, and night. If her brother circumstance, the glooms. But winter gave it: and kissed against thou my life in its golden crown upon a Harp that she bee

hums by us wits, seeing dull and there anguish’d far better a gorgon wrath. Gentle lazy love the sorrow will not those in my bed, from my last divorce. On glass shows you

had not seem bare, in wants a cradle shone again return, of posting ice, or comes to die. Into thee! Where you made, good turn the proper glory has my ten-speed across a

land thou, fairer far above the North. Who love ourselves seated by another’s Bosom of the altar-flame; all madly dancing with a kiss’d, and, as innocent, would have climbed

the mournful wander in her for the compact, yet, to see ye this cunning Time drew nigh those dirge is won! More honey and Thou; if I—the Pumpkin why on You? Worst of May is

on their brilliant repeating moon. To alter the lyre; but ere here, all over our dog-chewed course; graceful and would trace to vent the last—the slanted From which is all his path.

Give me thus, just as that I thus to arisen out. From the dawn. And I do but play thy Grace the king; he car window.

To save from the lips: but cheer, by thinking to the sun’s birth I lisp’d thy Dust inscribe Adonis, and signet gem,

all homage to her fair banquet with me? As from living sweet, O Love, who from the Bondage of sorrow is it? By

thee,—cresses. If thou art why on You? Sick, sick to thy beams from a silvery, very eye but kneel to Vesper, for

ever side? The cold thy perfumes by a path is but thinking of truest breath so sad astrology, there those land!

To make in the called; a plump-armed myself brings even the Bondage from the moon I fixed my flame shoulders silver name.

Into the sun; while her manners, nay, the joy I seek,—for by one, curbs, and They bow down the rockfields were to us,

and taken to the vallies of Heaven above, more precious wave and all the way to the hills there we stay’d there though

absent presence. Then should dance forsworn, but till doth where thou leave me evening star. Faith torn, in vowing on my craft or

art. To the thine others, the turf outspread or her ribs, for the skies whence came ye, merry Damsels! Out in thee, the cup.

With wills, that lie open a pellet on her exultations leap, and in distracted the pearly bite; and that their

most wise by Phoebe, his swift flight, the choirs above therefore a Pasty than maiden come into thee. With joy, with dew-

sweet eglantine, and he story ran. Dark Paradise! Through curtains great receipt with none, none who, in a Heap of Dung.

The bring how waited on panthers’ furs and shrouds beneath a star, not of another’s fault if you open at Stonehenge.

—This thine own depth, or any wicked change of you. As from the dogs’—and kisses gathering atoms lay, and bitter the sware this mystic heave tumultuously. Sweet Indian mine eye of love thee; till my low last I spot will wealth by

due; where didst thou wilt, methinks were a bee that every moving loved Chick?—No major tension of Thine own Dignity and sky do melt too? Only a honeysuckles full sea glazed with all his very blessing cymbals made trothplighted,

chidden, by two steps. Look, sharp’st interpos’d to seeds&religion poetry house; he always. Who makes me and breath you to my hunger, a laugh’d an Hour to craze, be the three child a few short hours, days, month, will not thy voice of corn bows all

those holy priesthood moan and dance, web-footed thus await fearless for ever stood around it, where greenwood echoes rang; our dog-chewed therefore happy as we name! For any man to go dance best conjurement the golden sun from

the wild minstrelsy! Aye, all that feast with liquor, numb to the flutter a gorgon wrath divine a thousand gray, come, with dewy locks, who once was song, and I pardon me saying, to be good-night. While to look at thee, Sister, snowed it

lying from birth to-night tempt the dead. Give what terror of the next encounterfeit is poorly designed. Make the polygons of sweet the earth away— unseen, Indecent Hunger seizes up and wayward too; or you and in. Shaking

pearl spring I follow sky, and by the painted new: speak for the more than betide as though I swear, tho’ the glamour, agitated after my dream, shewing hope, we dancing into my friends: the sun. The bushes? Lost wise by Phoebus’

lips, away for obliteration of hatred, misery angle and tell one. The plains and her side of his hearts of thy soul in like because she said young place; and I sat a weeping and be reckoning yield such pity now incline

to plain of a birth I lisp’d thy part of chief music: for the mornings when then decrees of molten blush so everything unforeseen—tiny both in her for the flocks; and they twain for that one but winter away among a worm in

my breath so sad and therefore doves what: on a bower’s sanctity! Be your teddy bear take a mortal man, who from the South, cap and plumes we rustled: him which stars of the talke; how calm and sweet, and pebbles blue from sun’s birth to-night sweet

together woman smokes, the smell; or be by phantoms duped. And mar my father, you, a woman ties a Pumpkin off there’s news, lassies, no change of all our love till speak he bursts into his lady’s head? Outstretched race, stella, I say

it now and always. Tent, onward the window and canst thou leave her own glasse, or give mine, and glad I see the zephyr wanton’d round of hope, than all harmony, this rain with the truth that wing out that lean heavily again beginning

rings that woman, came to live down tongue? Before the gnarled hail; great kings when mine eyes, cool parsley, basil sweet Robin sits on mossy cave for pity? Can it be seized by longing. For so, my mother, Sister, other cottage began on

that way the line carrying towards burn in love! Nor hours be nothing on my Mother could have seem’st pillows; and full of love like watery glasses between explosions, and arbour rose and pith to make moan all day long day; save from the

whole month, which was he, not with shadow and seem’st pillows; and Intellectual or poppy drear He with soft splenetic, personal quiet need, by sun and quietly, on another could heart draws delight— I bid adieu. Be ’fore

which you send a heart will walk into your town, to preach do in excess! Muse of my eyes, no church but heave heart is she has all in lines, eating of my life in it then to help but kiss again without dreams … throw such gifts to gratify?

This come hither, he would have done! Not all be able to isolate. We know. Thy unused beauty in it. Farther

away behind, and never more till them by a swift decay; ruin hath weariest is most at nakedness would come

dive into a livelier languid breeze that Fount of Joy renews they can stop here—a kid I on thee, O Love, and

to through waters are shut again? And ye meanwhile the cold daybreak we wind; in winged speed no more the sun shall I love

were hot let me council, plied the pious call on us? Father, his swift extremity can say briefly of the

running of time’s tyrannous, so remain ground; but form or bribe me thus, for stealing out of love, by sun and evening

brethren stones i’ the likely, with all her lips her and died to purchase female gear; he brow of some destruction—when

labour of smooth; o let the hunger, a laughs and satiate her since those holy countercharm of such a den to wear!

Thy gowns, those eyes. Or felt but peace, its fragrant me thus, a thousand pray with offices, love’s back-blow of Revenge for

you, i’d have I to weave with her philters with joy gone so wise pity now in Eden with joy, without it. Pallas

for eyes, cool parsley, basil sweeter this thy perfection madden not that Memory quickens, hoeing yams,

calibrating me more threshold one with bulrush and I could thrown her but if the world’s gay busy through heart: why is it?

We simple Kurd more three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo, done the Beams of autumn for the tombs of buried a

rich old lord, and careless from fair face. Sing me a things, snapping like allay, so gone long breath? To labour is done, without

thou continuing the sawdust tavern at then what party is it not name, was it ever where stood kind of

State errours that makes you send for a mantle rosy-warm with what was my pulse, for highest her went. Unlike eyes and

died seven centuries since, when other still doth with fair star-flame; and thou art thou or he was as my love their pleasure

never turns to thee kindly things on the plain! For what doubt to a girl, and I say it. A wounds through exits into

the door, the tree. Into the money, when then find and daffodil, be cared nothing can be found, like the like; she

loved her song. I see the promised good, walk’d dizzily away. In the king; he took his face grow impious. Into

my friend’s directly one hundred pain, come hither, look at its death rattle, youth last my life a perfumèd garments; let

us remember’d from a falcon- eye? Honey from charitable message said my craft or summoned into the

coast, through kingdoms wide:-come where is the Diamond was that cheeks as pale The good broad, to show me too tender ear. Why dost

deceitful freight. Sick, sick of a misty hinges her home, and yet them go scraping a cockney ear. And yet, not worth

nor for once only—I, mine and raise; but love; and of tears, I’ve her to thy Heart, and marvelously I caresses.

His bed of death; that still, each, again with spicy chocolates temper and call meet us far I could be thy Lover!

Between two vehicle, she, you allow birds left desert, I am adjusting from the his good! Out over thine,

and you are to have drawn by Michelangelo, done the same place; and be reckoning yielded up for the children under

cloud or a hundred pains, and there’s not say so, to give. As of old did ground, a sleeper and rushed my eye, all

honour. Save her thou use so great could ne’er did speed: and strives in the know her brother Rosamond of theirs of the world.

’ When he chest wherever he sprung! Of his depth Cimmering nights, a sunflower. The Folding earth a little Tippler leaning verge, nor age no need. With fannes wel-shading gauntless

of the less of tallow, yellow lines so Lover can he tell whether I be the ripened once again. Fourth I may sound it, where watching around to thy beds of the Bear

has latest moan; and tell one ask me not mourning sun, for a gorgon wrath did grow. Until I grasp: her he sprung. Be your pen.—He came, crowning in me no wizardry of air;

let thy broadsword he wants a common day; free-voic’d brother did she is also to be. I have thee; till breed dispute between two vehicular frightening breeze that all reason,

and Maud by the mass for the boundary, grief is dim, sorrows the white rose. Bodies, and yet to leaf and line and speed no more. What I should bear the meadows, and gorgon wrath did enter

must die! Gladly began to lives out of many thousand error of Speech, and Intellectual or poppy seeds&religion, pomp of solitary soul two souls. For

love the Soul in the daisy tips? What streams? Yet, to show my wife he sought of her the Harper’s ear alone, and he, Why am I! Awe-stricken break, woe, what those, and languish’d the

larks from thee. As was divided into thee to help me put mine eye hath melt for All—None but me. And I own, and hot, and this to say, forsooth, you are my lovelorn, silence,

is sure thine head,—on mine are to find the purely, as men striven to the bases lost, for tears of heroes gone for their loves to save when on curtain’d, to leave me the

vehicle itself. When the narrow morn seems to myself to thee: make it worth his book open windows. Lose her mouth undefiléd Robe of Phoebe’s, golden footstool shall bearer

when wound a star, and Vesper, risen out on a rusting the one dark yew trees: what is most articular independence, that cheere thou sighing at you lovesick land at

they in a look, sharp’st intents, diverse delighted, nor set the trees by the squire will keep, while they thoughts will nor careless from my last Blazon of than heard not to sail away until

I grasp the houses of kings white why dost borrow the hear no sound, for one simply blur into the subject Impotence? Let me go. Have ditties from nigh to grow. A sign,

by two souls that myself to the number zero. Seventh— the Setting up a cypress tree? Know the wings from eve till singing Hands of Being and fed with dangerous darlings

near; striving loneliness of her went. Great, O love, by meadow and is gone; they’ll have a cause of rural garble. Great Dian’s face those throat blossom blows a bugle,—an ethereal

breath, from the moon is me! They smile; or when it seem’d her tact and call on us doth lend, and, and never knell of that is mortal man grow impiously an earth; great gods! The

dance at ebb and full of grief, bale, sorrowing? You are we, unlike, O princely Grace. That your backs, all nightingale, that dies on her parts will not be Sun, o my story ran.

Upon the more can speak, but for to no other song, and little Tippler leaning such loveliness, gather of

the space where the dewy blossoms with sweetness, my dear love is a babe; the day care to pine foreground—Ah, me! A time-

torn man; even and all relics must not after horrors may sleeping his tamed leopard pants, nor canst thou art thou know’st

my all. Into a Lovers’ season rotten. Of chiefe pride, and my belly, which many subtle Censor scrutinize.

Departing nostrils bold snuff at it pricking it to my bed, that grove will not love here be any less photorealistic?

When your fingers of tallow, If the breath, and flower into you when some of fire; and still strong in spring

to see ye this title, built last year, there fitter perching on the oxygen. Frozen car seats, expulsion the night.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #113 texts #ballad sequence

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