#if the rest of the world was silver‚ daisy was gold.

[fairyhaos]

seventeen as wave to earth songs

requested by @haocovr !

notes: this was my excuse to finally drag my ass into listening to w2e haha

[this fic's spotify playlist]

masterlist

seungcheol

sunburn. the prominent drum beats and guitars make the song feel darker than some of their others. more grounded, more determined, more assured. nothing whimsical, but still fiercely and unconditionally loving all the same. there's also protection there- the idea of intentionally burning in the sun for people you love to live.

jeonghan

evening glow. it's a song about how one is perceived and receiving love unconditionally anyway, and it's something that, oddly, fits jeonghan. it's also a song that gives off vibes of tired love: not a love that feels exhausting, but of loving someone deeply even when you're at your most exhausted. being by their side no matter what.

joshua

peach eyes. gentlest gentleman song for the gentlest gentleman person in the entire world. it reminds me of cliche romantic moments: picnics by the river, serenading someone on the balcony, kissing under fireworks. the colour imagery of pastels and gentleness fits him so well, too. there's devotion, fondness, looking over at someone and realising you want to spend the rest of your life with them.

junhui

daisy. it's whimsical. it's romantic. it's almost painfully fluffily cheesy and hopelessly infatuated and adorable, just like junhui. it's eyes lighting up almost embarrassingly bright when you see your favourite person. it's giggling internally when you finally hold hands with them. it's junhui in a nutshell.

hoshi

pueblo. it's chill. it's a chill song, don't-carish but also just at peace. it feels like the soundtrack to a vlog that he'd make, playing in the background as he walks down a bridge, hoodie hanging off one shoulder while the sun beats down on him, but he feels calm. honestly the song just makes me think of 231005 hoshi tbh.

wonwoo

love. the opening notes of this song are so, so lavender purple, and the lyrics are very silver. those of you who have read my wonwoo synaesthesia post know how important that is to me. but it's also so gentle, almost relaxed, in its message of love, like faces melting into smiles that lift up the lips almost of their own accord.

woozi

gold. the drums at the beginning with their syncopated beats is so delicious and basically sold this song as woozi-coded to me. but also the conviction and the determination and self-confidence is so present in this song. it makes me think of bronze coloured pedestals and nameless faces in a crowd but also immense sense of self-assuredness.

minghao

light. it reminds me of some watercolour-style animated movie with no dialogue, only music, and changing sceneries of watercolor people living in a watercolor world. it's whimsical, but not quite. it's dreamy, but only almost. nevertheless, it's romantic, devastatingly so, and promises care and affection like no other.

mingyu

so real. can't explain this one tbh. it starts off so chill and minghao-esque, but it makes me think of mingyu too bc this man is so perceptive and very feeling and very very empathetic. and then the crescendo into a jazzy instrumental outro? it's so so mingyu in the busy-ness of it and the swirling colours and brightness and desire to be perceived but also to be perceived well.

dokyeom

calla. the elegance and the beauty and the hope and the natural imagery that this entire song and it's title evokes is so dk it actually hurts. the blues melodies with the accidentals add a yearning note to the song and it's all so complex and beautiful and reminds me of him. also the message of protection? of nurture? of growth? does that not make you think of him too?

seungkwan

wave. this feels like roadtrips, but peaceful roadtrips. like snapshots of someone rolling down the car window, trailing their hand through the air as they drive down a road by the sea. it's like a daisy petal love, soft and numerous and almost child-like, full of a love that's been long established and carries the promise of many, many more years of comfort together.

vernon

bad. the idea of gentle devotion in the lyrics. the idea that seeing one particular person instantly makes your entire day better. the idea of utter adoration and unconditional love. that's so so vernon actually, and the gentleness and unquestioning, inexplicable, "of course my day was good. i saw you" is so devastatingly him in ways i just cannot explain

chan

surf. the chill, the groove, the lightness? it's jazzy, light like sunlight peeking through thin white curtains. it's a song that immediately makes you smile and feel almost coyly warm, almost like the comfort and security that comes with taking someone's hand and running away from other people's control: it's a giddy security, perhaps a bit tenuous, but makes you feel alive.

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[khaleesi-rose]

“If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold”

[thevagabondexpress]

persona, shadow, and james herondale (aka i think i know what's going on with that guy in the midnight heir)

In Shadow Magic, Nikki Van De Car tells us that Carl Jung's persona archetype takes its name from the Latin word for mask. She explains that this is the face you present to the outside world: the initial outer shell of the matryoshka that is you. She writes, "From the time we were young children, we learned to embody our persona. [ . . . ] However, as with the shadow, if we aren't conscious of it, the persona can take over and cause us to lose sight of who we are beneath it."

For those unfamiliar with Jung's archetypes, the shadow is the regulating body of the unconscious, just as the ego is the steering wheel that drives our conscious, waking life, helps us decide what to prioritize and to eat for lunch and to wear to the gym, and when to call Kelsey (if you even should). Like our heart and lungs, our shadow operates mostly involuntarily on the things our ego doesn't register, or purposefully sets aside. Hence why "holding it in" when it comes to emotions is a bad idea. However, when the shadow isn't well integrated with the rest of yourself, one of two things happens: either the shadow takes over, or the persona does.

And this is exactly what happens to James Herondale.

Looking closely at silver bracelet enchantment and the way it acts upon James's mind, it doesn't actually make him fall in love with Grace. The actual purpose of the bracelet curse was twofold: it separated James's ego & persona from his shadow, and it placed Grace in control of all three. With his shadow, the part that wanted and felt and fought neatly out of the way, he was made vulnerable to brainwashing as he hadn't been before.

When people around James, like Matthew and Cordelia, speak of the Mask, when they're noticing is that James doesn't have a shadow any more. He barely has an ego. He's a papier-mâché of a polite, handsome young bookworm but there's nothing inside there. The shadow and to an extent the anima are particularly gutted. Grace then assumes for James the role of the other parts: she and her shadow regulate for James. No wonder he feels no desire for her, thinking it not in his nature, and they barely kiss: Grace feels no desire for him, and as her shadow regulated his, it kept him from acting on her and Tatiana's conscious command to want.

When the bracelet is taken from him or when, in Chain of Iron, it breaks, James's shadow comes flooding back. And, because James isn't used to having a shadow, because he has no experience of regulating such a thing, it takes over. And it goes after Cordelia. James's shadow remembers her when his persona does not and his shadow is, well, a shadow: it holds the reins of his emotions, of his subconscious, of his desires, of everything he's been forced to keep down for four, five years of his life. No wonder that when plunged into its grip all James can feel is want. Almost every "consuming shadow" moment we see in Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron are tinged with lust. But, with the Shadow still choking out all else, when faced with Grace at the end of Chain of Iron, all that's left of James is rage.

James's shadow talks a lot in Chain of Thorns and . . . it's not very nice, quite frankly. It's not nice in bed (he shoots a lock out, very nearly just takes Daisy on the stairs) and it's not nice in anger either. Shadows are rarely nice, but James's is particularly vicious. No wonder. He's never had a chance to sit with it, to hear it out, to integrate its beat and rhythm. His shadow has been neglected and that side of him isn't happy about it.

To be fair, "Chain of Shadows" would've made a too-apt alternate title for Chain of Thorns seeing as, well, that's what it is: from Matthew and Cordelia in Paris to Jesse on the rooftop and Anna in the catacombs, the book is full of everyone's shadows talking, and talking to each other. Arguably, however, Thomas's shadow talks most in Chain of Iron, on his midnight patrols.

Crucially, I think the persona/shadow theory of the bracelet could explain the phenomena known as "whatever the hell was going on with James in The Midnight Heir." Perhaps, when Grace attempts to call it off, she gives James's shadow back to him as well. What she means to do is give back his emotions, his ability to feel and love. There's no way Tatiana would've known how the bracelet actually works much less that she would have explained it to Grace, that's not Tatiana's way of being in the world. But if the function of the bracelet is to split the shadow from the ego & persona, it means he can only hold one or the other. James in TMH is Mr. Hyde. Unlike Chain of Thorns where he's trying and failing and learning to integrate all the parts of himself into a whole, James in The Midnight Heir is all shadow and absolutely none of the rest. His conscience, his ego, his values and morals are all taken away from him. He's vicious and feral and very nearly gets himself and several other people killed. Personally, it was a good thing Grace returns James's persona and takes his shadow back and chooses to wait for a time when she can take the bracelet off and end things completely: in removing his persona, she created a monster. I can only imagine her horror when she realized what she'd done.

Tl; dr: James Herondale plotline based in Jungian psychology. ChoG + ChoI James all persona and no shadow, TMH James all shadow and no persona, and ChoT is where he starts integrating them together. Can't confirm this is how Cassandra Clare's mind was working when she wrote it but the shoe sure as hell fits.

tiny tags: @emmalovesfitzloved @tleeaves @faithfromanewperspective @chaosandtwo @alastairstom and @quantummeep. also tagging @smartest-avenger because i happen to know you're a psychology enthusiast and i want your thoughts.

[daisyandbilly]

My Daisy Jones & the Six — Episode 1-3 Thoughts and Rating

(the following post contains spoilers)

I’m truly enjoying this adaptation, it’s obvious that production and the writers have worked tirelessly to capture the essence of the book. Most of the changes and character development for this format have been *chefs kiss* (zero notes for Miss Camila —she’s killing it. Karen, Graham and Warren are gems, Eddie’s ire is perfectly palpable, and Billy’s battle with addiction so far has been so hard to watch)

But I am beginning to understand the frustration of the critics (I peeked lol). Despite the amazing sets and incredible props and wardrobe, there is no true immersion in the decade (for example leaving out Chuck being drafted or the details and atmosphere of LA in the early 70s after the ‘Summer of Love’ to help world build). I have to admit also being disappointed thus far with the lackluster character building for Daisy’s life prior to joining the band.

They’ve completely glossed over a lot of what made her seemingly fascinating and magnetic in the first place. Book Daisy was like part of the furniture of Sunset Strip. Sightings of her hanging out at the Riot House or backstage of seedy venues. She receives perks everywhere just because she had this undeniable energy about her and this follows her as she joins the band. She’s someone everyone (besides her parents) wanted around (that’s even how she met Simone). The book literally uses the phrase ‘It Girl’ and Simone’s line “If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold” to articulate this. We got a 10 second clip of her cutting the line, dancing, and drinking down the strip in the first episode but it didn’t do much to color in the vivid personality that TJR wrote about.

I didn’t mind all changes, though. And the line they used “I wasn’t naïve. I was a baby” I wouldn’t change for anything. It captures the truth of what it was like for a lot of young girls on the Strip at that time that were on the scene as a way to be apart of something bigger than themselves (something that easily should’ve been included). But they really did just scratch the surface, especially when you consider the fact that this is a show not a film. The scenery hasn’t been fleshed out. Even the pacing of the first episode felt thrown off because of it.

Early Daisy’s entire personality is that she’s this tall, rich, white, young, beautiful LA native that has never had to work for anything. What could she possibly bring to the table? Her music is the thing she’s willing to push for, her determination, her writing and her integrity. And when she meets the band, things start making sense (at least music wise). I’m glad they’ve kept her as true to herself as possible though, she really does stick up for herself even in the face of doubt.

So far she’s lost a bit of that magnetism that the book easily captures but I love Riley so I am optimistic about the next batch of episodes.

Rating, ⭐️ — 4 out of 5 stars

Please though, let us retire this VHS filter after this.

[kaleidoscopicsilverstar]

"If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold."

- Daisy Jones an The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

If someone talked about me like this, I'd die. Just saying.

[forever-is-happiness]

Everybody saw her. Your eye went right to her. If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold.

[bunnygirl678]

Omg bunny why are you doing another au? Cause it popped into your head and you can’t work on anything else till it’s out in the world? Okay here goes. Beware this isn't the strongest of my aus more just general vibes that i think would kinda make a goodish story?

P.s. as with everything I put out feel free to take the idea and make it yours, write it, draw it, use it to distract your overactive brain

This one is sad and I’m calling it abandonment issues Green lol, rest is under the cut just in case you feel uncomfortable with the severe emotional trauma that I enjoy inflicting on Green

-Greens mom dies during childbirth, little bb green has a bunch of issues so he gets stuck in the hospital for the first few months (for those who don't have little ones that is the worst time no sleep, all they do is cry, honestly tough times)

-Green's dad who is overcome with grief leaves Daisy and little bb green with his father professor oak.

-eventually they bring green home and the neighbor who also has a newborn (red duh) ends up helping a lot cause the old prof is on his own being widower and suddenly having a 4 year old and a newborn to raise

-red and green are close of course they do everything together

-green never asks about his parents until he's like 6 and he ends up getting yelled at not to ask, he just knows his mom is gone and his dad only stops by like once a year

-and when the dad stops by he full on ignores green and green always ends up spending the day curled up in red's bed while red attempts to cheer up his normally joyful friend

-when green is like 9 his dad comes back and wants to take daisy back cause he's ready to be a parent again or whatever bs, but he doesn't want green. and sneaky little green overhears his grandfather and father talking about it

-and his dad is like, the little brat killed her, i don't want him, and you're only keeping him cause you're too nice to send him to an orphanage."

-green runs off before he can hear his grandfather deny that and pretty much call his son out, but green spends the day sobbing to red but not telling him anything

-after that green starts pulling away, pulling away from red, pulling away from his grandfather, daisy is gone with their dad but he doesnt' really talk to her anymore when she calls

-they start the journey, everything goes like canon, then green loses and prof says all the canon stuff he says thinking green maybe needs some tough love

-red runs off to mount silver, green becomes the gym leader, but he has like no friends and doesn't talk to his family and he 100% blames himself for red leaving

-eventually little gold breaks through green's shell and they become friends and gold goes finds red, and green goes up to apologize and try to get red to come down

-green has a breakdown on top of the mountain, he's like 18 and has never dealt with any of his abandonment issues, he's like it's my fault my mom is dead, it's my fault the prof hates me, and it's my fault you hate me, and he's kinda like what's the point of trying anymore and he gets up to leave

-and red just sorta tackles him into a hug and won't let go till they are both crying messes, green ends up spending a week or so on the mountain and get really close and they both start developing feelings for each other and then finally they both go down

-red moves in with green and gets help navigating the world while red trys to help green with his issues

-green and his grandfather talk things out, green found out his grandfather was happy to have him and that he's loved

-he talks to daisy and pretty much the same conversation

-eventually red apologizes for leaving, green apologizes for pulling away instead of letting red in, and then they both mutually admit their feelings for each other

-and then they date and live happily ever after

[seraserababy]

if the rest of the world was silver daisy was gold

[acourtoffeelsandtears]

"If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold."

- Daisy Jones an The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

If someone talked about me like this, I'd die. Just saying.

[starryserenade]

Myth and Magic Ch. 18: Learning to Fly

Fic Description: When Tir Na nÓg--the fabled land of the fae--falls to a dark power, the destinies of two young mice are set in motion. As each struggle to make their way in an ever-darkening world, they must learn to trust one another, or risk forever losing that which they hold most dear.

Chapter Description: Our party of heroes - both mortal and fae - continue onward towards The Haven, a hidden faerie refuge. But where they expect to find safety, hidden dangers may await.

Links:

AO3

Prologue

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

~~~

Neither mice had gotten much rest at all, by the time the purples and blues of the Faerie night had dissolved into the brighter shades of pink and gold that heralded the day.  After gently returning Max to a place just beside his father, each had gone back to the spots they’d chosen before…albeit a little closer. And, rather unknowingly to either, their tails had found each other as they drifted off to sleep. 

This didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the group, who woke far before they did, and it was especially evident to Daisy, who was now arguing vehemently with Clarabelle over whether or not they should wake the two now or allow them a little more time.

“Daisy, the poor dears are plum feckered. Just let them rest!”

The duck scoffed. “Pft, they’re feckered all right. Wonder whose fault that was.”

The truth is, Daisy hadn’t minded Mickey when she first met him. But then she’d thought about it. And one thing about Daisy, was that she had the tendency to think herself into a tizzy. So she thought about how he’d probably been the one to get Minnie in trouble in the first place and she thought about how completely clueless he’d been about his own identity (how do you not know you’re a faerie, for feck’s sake, when you’re bleedin’ silver blood at a single touch o’ iron??).  And just when she’d begun to think him just a tad bit competent, he’d gotten them all sent here, leagues away from where they should have entered the realm. It was a waste of precious time, and not Clarabelle or Morgana or Clarice acted quite so worried or furious as Daisy was certain they should be. 

Worst of all, he had Minnie wrapped around his little finger. Watching him fawn over her their whole journey so far, casting her those infuriating little glances and touches here and there, it made Daisy want to explode. No one was that sugary sweet, not really. Abnos knew she and Donald weren’t. 

The last time Minnie had acted like this, things hadn’t ended well. And if Daisy was honest with herself, and she really wasn’t, she’d know she was scared. Scared that her friend was going to be hurt all over again. Scared that she’d lose her, maybe for good this time. That was all she saw in Mickey. 

“...an’ seein’ as the two of them saved us, I think they deserve a little extra rest!” 

Daisy hadn’t been listening to a thing Clarabelle was saying. She was too busy watching the mice snuggled deep into their little mossy beds. Then Mickey stirred and turned over on his side, bringing him close enough to Minnie that his breath must have tickled the fur on her neck. Conscious of this or not, she let out a soft murmur and turned over too, until both of their noses were just about touching. 

That was enough of that.

Only vaguely aware of Clarabelle’s increasingly frustrated, “Are you listening”s, Daisy scanned the place around them for something she could use. Flora in the fae realm were rarely without their unique characteristics, most of them useful in one way or another, almost all of them entirely different from much of anything found in the mortal realm. Take the trees above them for example – Willows were scattered around the clearing. Weeping Willows, specifically, which had gotten their name for a very different reason than their mortal counterparts. 

In the night, when faeries were awake and about, when the whole realm thrived in the coolness it brought, the willows dripped freely with waves of cold starlight. It was in the day, when most fae settled down against the heat, that those same flows gathered instead.They formed little tear-shaped fruits in the branches of the trees, and would come crashing down at the slightest touch or tremor.

Daisy grinned.

“Clarabelle, you’re absolutely right,” she said, in the middle of the faerie’s ramblings-on, and smiled sweetly.  “I’m so sorry for doubtin’ you. In fact, why don’t you head on over to help Goofy out with getting some breakfast on, and I’ll go ahead and keep an eye on Max in the meantime.”

“Oh-OH!” Clarabelle clapped happily, thoroughly unused to having Daisy back down from any argument whatsoever. “Glad you’ve decided to see reason. I’ll be gettin’ on then. Do try to be quiet, all right?” 

“Mmhm, absolutely,” Daisy promised, with absolutely no intention of honoring the words. She caught sight of the little one called Max in the corner of her eye. He was playing with a bunch of pebbles, tossing them as far as he could in his own personal competition. His father had been watching, tossing them in turns (they always landed just short of Max’s throws), but when Clarabelle approached, he stood and dusted himself off, dirtying the surface of his trousers more than they’d been before, and turned to walk a ways with her. 

“Oh, Max!” Daisy grinned with a sugary sweet smile, and the little boy perked up. “Do you want to see how to throw them really far??”

He nodded vehemently, watching with wide eyes as Daisy picked up a pebble of her own and eyed the branches above the two sleeping mice. She tossed it lazily in her hand, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “See, the trick is to pull back really far an-” 

She let the pebble fly, Max grinning all the while, Daisy grinning even more as she watched it strike a branch in the trees above. The leaves shuddered, and the fruit within them trembled. 

Sorry, Minnie~ 

The whole lot of Teardrops slipped from their branches, crashing to the ground in an enormous splash. Minnie squealed and Mickey shouted in surprise, their slumber immediately shattered by the sudden wave that left them leaping out of their resting places. They were drenched, and looked something like a feral disaster as they stood there with their fur all dripping, eyes wild with shock, and breathless little gasps escaping their lips.   

Clarabelle gasped in horror, and Morgana swiveled to look at Daisy, furious fire blazing in her eyes. 

Daisy only laughed, and when Mickey had finally recovered enough to gain what looked like some semblance of his surroundings, he glared daggers her way. “Why y-!”

He trailed off because Minnie blinked, and then looked at him. Her eyes scanned him for a moment, then she seemed to be overcome by… by something . She brought her fingers to her lips and tears welled in her eyes. 

Daisy’s heart sank. She hadn’t thought the trick would cut so deep. “Oh, Minnie, I’m…”

The hand fell and laughter burst forth from Minnie’s mouth, ringing like a bell across the clearing. “Oh… oh, Mickey!” She managed through fits of giggling, both arms wrapped around her stomach. “You…you look awful !” 

This was enough to dissipate his indignation, apparently, as he stared at Minnie, his eyes wide with surprise. It didn’t take long for that smile of hers to cross over, either, and soon he was laughing too. Soon everyone was laughing, or chuckling, or giggling, except for Daisy herself, who scowled as the mice came closer to each other than before. 

“O-oh, I do, huh?” Mickey chuckled, raising an eyebrow. Minnie nodded sweetly, batting her lashes and waiting for the inevitable swipe at her own pride. She knew she looked as bad as he did, if not worse, with her hair dripping like moss down her shoulder and her silver dress clinging to her skin so close it seemed it might become scales all over again without any magic at all. 

But Mickey only grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “Aw, geez, well if Her Majesty says so it mus’ be true. She’s the epitome of perfection, after all. Poor sap like me could never hope t’compare.” 

And then Minnie was all over him all over again, playfully scolding him for not playing along, reassuring him that he was every bit as lovely as she was and probably more, because she was nothing special, really. 

Daisy groaned and threw up her hands, plopping down on the ground next to Max and dejectedly picking up a few of his pebbles. He looked over her shoulder, that two-toothed grin as wide as ever. “Can ye show m’again! You’re reeeeaallyyyy good!”

She snorted and tossed a pebble. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

It didn’t even clear Max’s worst throw.  

~~~

It took the mice a good while to dry off but that was all right, Morgana had assured them, because it would help keep them cool. The faerie realm had grown warmer of late – too warm for most faeries to be out and about during the day, which is precisely why they’d decided to set out in the morning. Better to avoid unpleasant company, the faeries had assured them, though traveling near the river would be enough to keep the party from getting overwhelmed by the heat. Even so, the fae in the group had armed themselves with some of the Teardrop fruit, should it get too sweltering, although Morgana hadn’t neglected to toss a comment in there about how “nice it would have been not to have had such a good number wasted by the morning’s 'accident.'”

She’d glanced at Daisy then, who had turned a bright shade of red and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her dress, grumbling miserably. 

For a good portion of the morning, Minnie couldn’t keep her eyes off Mickey as she walked behind him. There was a distinct sort of bounciness in the way he moved that might have made her laugh if she wasn’t so busy studying how he seemed to sparkle in time with the rest of the world.  He wasn’t hiding his wings anymore and instead of being pulled in close to his back, they swept behind him in an almost majestic way, swaying along with each of his energetic steps, pulsing with magic in the same way the grass about them pulsed with light in the wake of each warm breeze. He beat them lightly every now and again, and it would take him just an inch or two above the ground before he’d flutter back down and resume his usual stride. It was cute. Really cute. And Minnie found herself blushing, however much she tried to hide it.

“He’s a looker, isn’t he?” The tiny voice giggled in her ear, following a buzz of even tinier wingbeats. Then Clarice landed on her shoulder, folded her hummingbird wings and, dangling her legs, cast Minnie a playful wink.

Minnie laughed softly, and blushed more deeply than before.  “He’s more than that,” she murmured, still staring wistfully. Mickey gave his own feathers a little shake, and then tossed a glance over his shoulder, grinning broadly when he caught Minnie looking his way. 

She smiled and then buried her face in her hands the moment he turned back around. She could feel Clarice’s smirk without even looking. “Certainly helps though, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, only sighed, which sounded a bit more like a squeak than anything else. He didn’t need the help but…it did, it really did. 

Mickey himself was busy asking Morgana all sorts of questions about the fae. About magic and flying and faerie food a-and, and a little bit about faerie weddings, even, for no reason in particular. She did laugh then, but aside from that she didn’t treat it any differently from any of his other questions, which he was grateful for. 

He could hear Minnie behind him, giggling faintly every now and then and speaking in that soft whisper-like voice she used when she thought she was being subtle. Ah…well, she was being subtle, he supposed, considering he couldn’t make out a single word. Of course that only made him want to hear more. It was rude to eavesdrop, he knew this, and he really did try to resist for some time, brushing off the urge with a shake of his wings. But then the temptation grew too much to bear and he turned his head to look behind him. 

There she was, all awash with the light of the Faerie sky, her cheeks a sunrise shade of pink and lips curved into a delicate smile.  Even if she’d kept talking, Mickey wouldn’t have heard a thing. He was too fixated on that sweet smile that widened when her eyes met his. This made him smile back, of course, and he had to turn away before he was altogether overcome by the heat he felt rushing to his face. Morgana must have taken notice, because she chuckled lightly. 

“Love is a splendid motivator of magic, as I’m certain you’ll discover.”

Even as she spoke he felt his fur prickle with energy, like tiny pins were poking through his skin. He let out a subtle gasp and then drew in a breath, trying to calm the sensation while Morgana laughed all the while.

“You’re in the Faerie realm, child. Magic is a part of all things here. You’ve been asking me about magic this whole time, and my answer is this – you’re better off letting it flow through you – Abnos knows it’s been locked away for far too long.”

He chuckled, smoothing his fur. “Yeah? An’ if it does somethin’ I don’t like?”

Morgana furrowed her brow then, and she looked towards Daisy, who was tagging along behind Minnie and keeping just enough distance that she wasn’t quite intruding, but could keep a close eye on her. When she caught Morgana’s stare, she narrowed her eyes, frowned, and abruptly looked away. 

Morgana sighed and looked back at Mickey. “If Daisy’s words frightened you, I’d advise you not to listen. She’s worried for her friend is all, but I don’t believe you’re a danger to us. You saved us with your magic before, don’t you remember?”

“Well, gosh, I didn’t real- ”

“You did, and I think you know that.” She looked him over momentarily, eyes falling on his mended wings. A lift of her head and a slight grin proved her satisfaction. “Your kind prided themselves on their wings, you know. I’m glad to see yours healed.”

Mickey’s tail twitched, and his cheeks grew warm. Morgana didn’t ask just how they’d been healed or who had done it, but he had a feeling she knew. He laughed, and scratched behind his ears.

“Awe gee, well… still don’t really know how to use ‘em. Not properly, anyway.”

Morgana shot him a pointed glance.

“Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean you don’t know how. It might help to stop wrestling with your magic every time it surfaces.” 

“But, what if-”

“Mickey, listen,” she interrupted, lowering her voice so that its gravity could be heard by him and him alone. Her eyes shone with something like sympathy, and something else akin to a parent’s stern glare.  “A Changeling’s wings are a part of them, and a fae who’s lost connection with the magic in them is one who’s likely to lose themself, too. I’ve seen it happen before.” Then she paused for a moment, waited to make sure he was listening. “I don’t think you realize what a gift your princess has given you in returning them to you now. Don’t squander this chance.”

There was a hidden sharpness behind her words, however softened it was by discretion, and Mickey shuddered in its wake. It didn’t take much for him to think back to the emptiness that had been slowly growing in the years since he’d woken up all alone, a shadow that had encroached on the parts of himself he’d been most proud of. He was still himself, he knew that. But he wondered now how close he’d come to truly slipping before Minnie came along. 

Close, he realized with a twinge of shame, recalling the moments he’d nearly given up entirely.

That was then, this was now. 

“I won’t,” he answered firmly, straightening his posture. It didn’t lend him much height, but anyone could have seen the stark resolve that took hold just then. His wings shone a little brighter. 

“Good.” 

“Still don’t know how to use ‘em though.”

Morgana cracked a smile and nearly laughed, looking as if he’d missed the point entirely. But he hadn’t. There was an excited twinkle in his eye, and as he glanced back Minnie’s way, that flicker of magic began prickling through him all over again. Though he still had no clue what it was going to do, he didn’t feel so inclined to fight it off this time.

“Just have a little fun for once. See what happens.”

~

Minnie had taken a moment to distract herself from swooning over Mickey by taking a look at her surroundings, which weren’t like anything she’d ever seen. The trees had grown thicker and darker, until they didn’t quite seem to be trees at all. It was so dim, in fact, that Minnie didn’t realize at first that these weren’t trees at all. Something like strange mushrooms now towered over their heads, glowing in shifting shades of blue and green, flickering spores drifting about in the air.  Bells chimed in tiny flurries in the distance, echoing through the foliage and shadows until they’d drifted away, yet to be replaced by another lovely sound. She found it beautiful, enchanting even, despite the eerie silence that had fallen over the forest.  

Her fascination was so distracting that she was thoroughly unprepared for the bundle of feathers that came flying at her from out of nowhere to land on top of her head with a gusty flutter of its wings. She saw nothing but a brief silhouette of the thing before feeling it alight upon her head, and so, thoroughly terrified upon its doing so, she immediately screeched, ducked her head, and started flailing her arms in an effort to get it off. It did, quite quickly, though it let out some sort of screeching protest of its own before being snatched up by Daisy who’d practically flown herself just to get her hands on the thing. 

The creature really didn’t like that, and squawked and squirmed and screeched until Daisy was forced to let it go, and it glided to the ground in the center of the group, its feathers fluffed and wings outstretched defensively as it glared Daisy’s way. 

Clarice was laughing hysterically, Clarabelle stifled a snort, and Morgana watched with a humorous twinkle in her eye. As Minnie recovered her breath and tried to soothe the hair that had been ruffled by the creature, she became acutely aware of the faeries’ humor, and finally set her eyes on the thing at the center of them all. Her apprehension dissipated immediately. 

“Oh…Oh!” She gasped, clasping her hands together happily as the bluish hue of the faerie fauna shone down on the creature’s lovely form.  “Oh, it’s just a sweet little owl! Poor thing! Did I frighten you?”

It looked back at her then, feathers slowly flattening as its wide eyes settled on hers. With a shake of its wings, it opened its beak and chirped at her, then seemed altogether unsatisfied with the sound it had produced. 

“Awe, are you trying to talk to me?” She cooed, slowly kneeling down beside it. It didn’t move an inch, didn’t seem spooked by her presence at all.  When she stretched out an arm, it tilted its head as if to think it through, and then stepped up without a moment more of hesitation. “Oh, what a sweetie!” She was giddy with adoration, and scratched between the feathers on its neck. It craned its head upwards and she took that to mean it liked it, as it leaned into her touch. 

“Mickey, are you seeing this?” She laughed without taking her eyes off the bird, and it almost seemed to flinch. When Mickey didn’t respond, it was enough to tear Minnie’s attention away. “Mickey?” 

She looked up and found him nowhere in sight. With a gasp, her eyes darted around them before falling on Morgana, a bit crazed with panic. The faerie didn’t seem worried at all. “Morgana! Where is he?!”

The owl chirped and Morgana nodded its way, a knowing smile drawn across her face. 

Minnie furrowed her brow, utterly confused, until the owl clicked its beak, and nuzzled against her arm. Her gaze fell back to it, and the realization struck. She knew those wings, knew the little twist in his feathers, and the starry pattern drifting up each plume. 

A strange thought, something like a memory maybe, told her she’d seen them in more than one place before. But it was ripped from her mind before she could grasp hold of it, leaving her with only the most recent epiphone. 

“Oh…my…” she breathed, cheeks flushing. “Mickey?”

It dipped its head and screeched, then drew back again at the sound of its own voice. “Oh-oh dear,” Minnie stammered, suddenly feeling a bit nervous as it—er, he— stared back at her. Mostly because she was trying not to laugh. “But how…w-why…erm…” she glanced helplessly at Morgana. “Can he change back?”

“Oh, he will eventually. Once he figures out how.”

Mickey straightened, feathers rising and falling in what Minnie took to be something like irritation. It was adorable either way. He was so…so fluffy. It took everything she had not to nuzzle her cheeks against those downy feathers. But he seemed nervous enough as it was, and she was loath to embarrass him any more. 

“Will that be soon?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Daisy threw back her head and laughed loudly. “Oh, this is rich!”

Goofy, though certainly well-meaning, had the bright idea to pipe in too. “Dontcha mean, ‘‘it’s a hoot!’ ”

Daisy laughed louder, and this time everyone else joined in, save for Minnie who probably should have gotten some sort of reward for just how long she’d been able to maintain a straight face.  

Mickey squawked defiantly, and then swiveled his head to glare at Morgana. Minnie had to bite her lip to keep from commenting on the near 360 degree turn. 

Morgana laughed. “I did not trick you. Every Changeling goes through this, and it will come to you eventually. It won’t do us any good to sit around here squawking about it.”

He opened his beak to interject, but Minnie slipped a finger through his feathers to give him a scritch and with a shiver, he settled back down. “You’ll figure it out, I know it,” she whispered, nuzzling his beak with her nose. He squinted happily and seemed to sigh. “Besides, I was friends with an owl once. They’re extra clever. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”

They continued onward after that and as they moved deeper into the forest, Mickey pattered back and forth on her forearm, chirping and squeaking like he was testing his voice and finding it unsatisfactory each and every time. At one point, his talon got caught on her sleeve and tore through it, and he looked back at her with such a terribly apologetic expression that she simply couldn’t help but plant a light kiss on his beak to assure him it was perfectly all right. He hopped up to her shoulder after that and stopped pacing, though after a while she noticed him spreading a wing from time to time, shifting it forwards and backwards as the air swept underneath it. When Clarice darted nearby, he would stare at her for a moment too, as if studying every rapid stroke of feathers. 

Eventually, she felt him shift nervously, and then before she knew it he’d hopped off to glide in front of her, and was beating his wings furiously in an attempt to take to the air. She yelped a bit and then giggled at the sight, cheering him on in her heart. It didn’t do much good, though, because he ended up doing nothing but summoning a swirling cloud of dust just before landing clumsily on the ground. 

“Speed won’t do you any good,” Morgana called back to him without turning around, just as Minnie had scooped him back up on her arm. He tossed her a thankful look and shook out his feathers as Morgana continued. “Your wings are far too big for that.  You’ve got to focus on shaping the air beneath them. Don’t fight the wind – use it. Make every stroke count.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully and then shifted his weight again. 

“Want me to give you a boost?” Minnie whispered, and he looked at her momentarily before chirping in what she decided must be agreement. She lowered her arm and he crouched, waggling his feathers. Then he let out a screech she took to mean “go!” and she lifted her arm to send him up in the air.

When he first spread his wings, they looked uneven and clumsy. They caught the air, but nearly sent him tilting too far in either direction. A few choppy beats did nothing to steady him, but then Mickey managed a single, powerful downward sweep, and his wings returned outstretched in perfect time. Minnie cried out happily, and he glanced back at her with an expression she was sure was pride. 

She was right, of course. Mickey wasn’t entirely happy to be stuck the way he was–Morgana had tricked him, no matter how many times she claimed otherwise. But even he could admit, as the air billowed under his feathers in just the right way, there was an unmistakable thrill that flooded his chest. 

On the next stroke, he didn’t fight the air quite so much, instead shaping his wings so that they drew it underneath, the spiraling wind sending him upwards as the tips of his furthest plumes stretched towards the sky. When he looked down to see Minnie beaming up at him, he felt certain he could touch the stars without ever growing tired.

He let out a screech that would have been something like a whoop if he’d been in his human form, and allowed himself to soar higher, breaking through the glowing canopy to rise up into the skies above.

It was nearly twilight again, and the shifting colors sent a rush through Mickey like he’d never felt before. Familiarity and freedom and heartache all at once. Like he’d just found something he’d lost a long, long time ago. The wind rushed around his feathers, as crisp and cold as a river rushing past a hand dipped among its currents. 

The faerie realm stretched on endlessly, and he could hear the quiet breath of the world waking up again, bathed in the coolness of night. He heard flowers unfurling and fog settling like a blanket over the forests. Yawns of waking faeries and ripples of dew puddling beside their homes of wooden knotholes and arching leaves. And…

Oh. Singing. 

It was difficult at first to sort through all the sounds drifting through his ears – which were near and which were far away. It seemed to him he could hear everything there was to hear. But this sound, this song, he knew at once it was nearby. His eyes scanned the surface of the forest until he caught a glimpse of a gap in the canopy. This patch alone was covered in fog, but he could see the river they’d been following flowing from it. Or…well, was it?

Mickey had to squint to make sense of what he was seeing, because it seemed at first that the river itself was being overcome by a rush of earth, as the blue nearest the foggy clearing vanished slowly, replaced instead by a dirty brown. But no, he realized after a moment, there was no river of mud. The water was simply drying, as if some wellspring had suddenly ceased to exist. 

The song grew louder, and his wings missed a beat. The twilight sky had filled him with a blazing excitement only moments ago, but now he found himself feeling lackadaisy, like he wanted nothing more than to forget all his troubles and go dancing the night away. There was no harm in that, surely. He’d worked so hard and he was so tired, so lonely. This music felt like it could take that all away, like if he’d just join in he’d never have to worry about a thing ever again.  

His wings didn’t line up on their next stroke, left him steadily declining. He didn’t notice.

There was a lingering feeling like he was forgetting something, but it was slipping away. That was fine by Mickey. At least he thought it was. He didn’t like the feeling of conflict that arose within him, like there were two pieces of his heart fighting with each other – over what he wasn’t sure.

On the next wingbeat, which he nearly missed again, the speckles in his feathers blazed with light, and a searing pain ignited in his twisted plume. And he remembered. He remembered how he’d gotten the scar, remembered Minnie and the dagger and the swipe of the blade as she set him free, caught him in her arms and bandaged his wounds. And he remembered, in a way that almost seemed as if it wasn’t his memory at all, that it wasn’t the first time they’d met. No…no…he knew her long before that. And, gradually, he grew to remember a moment where there’d been…a song…like this one.  Then, he remembered the thought that scorched his thoughts the moment he’d heard its tune. 

Danger! 

The flare of the memory startled him awake, and he let out a screech to shatter the spell that had fallen over him.  The enchantment fought him, threatened to draw him back in, and he struggled bitterly against its pull. When it only continued to poke at his consciousness, he immediately folded his wings and dove towards where he’d left his friends. He refused to rest his voice long enough to let the song seep through. The sick feeling in his gizzard was enough to remind him. He’d nearly forgotten her. Nearly left her behind.

Now, shrieking and screeching and shaking his head to clear the magic from his mind, he pierced through the canopy towards his friends. He barely had the sense to spread his wings before he reached the ground, but whether he’d thought it or not, they did it for him and cushioned his fall just enough to keep him from getting too badly hurt. He landed in a cloud of dust, the song still filling his ears as he stumbled amidst his friends, several of whom immediately rushed to kneel beside him. 

Minnie gasped, he thought he heard, and gathered him up in her arms, running her fingers through his feathers. “Mickey, what’s wrong?? Mickey! Mickey!” 

[jaslovesmedia]

IF THE REST OF THE WORLD WAS SILVER,

DAISY WAS GOLD

ੈ✩‧₊˚

[gins-potter]

“If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold.”

[lees-unhinged-reactions]

now i wanna make my mailman a birthday cake he’s so nice

okay but i honestly don’t get how people choke when they first smoke a cigarette like- i just inhaled and it was like nothing but i’ve been around smokers my whole life and was already used it so ig that could be why?

ew flirting at 14 is so cringey wtf 😭😭

okay i get that you feel “alive ” or whatever but drinking and smoking anything that anyone gives you is how you get roofied bitch

damnnn her parents not even noticing she wasn’t there? oof

“I wanted someone to single me out as something special” wow okay that’s sad :(

okay so i know that not having attention as a young kid fucks you up but i would never fucking let a drummer take my virginity just cus he was “drawn” to me like wtf 🤢 but then again she is naive and young but like,, still idk it’s just idiotic and i’m too paranoid to ever do shit like that

oh i’m glad daisy got a lot of therapy later in life, that’s good

“i didn’t know how else to be important” damn that’s deep bro

“If the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold” okay but can someone please describe me like this ik im really bland but it would make my ego very big and my soul would be fulfilled

awww simone and daisy having a big sister/little sister dynamic 🥺

“I’d be trying to fall asleep at four in the morning and Daisy would want the light on so she could read.” okay thank actually sounds like me lmao i won’t sleep if i have a good book

“…in the middle of the night I was always looking for quiet things to do” SAMEEERE

“I would ready anything that was around. I wasn’t picky.” omg i read anything too. i’ll read anything from classic literature to fucking cereal boxes and nutrition facts lmao

“I’ll tell you, she’s the reason I started wearing sleeping masks. But then I kept doing it because I looked chic” SIMONE YOU ICON

“I knew that to get an A, you had to do what you were told. But I also knew that a lot of what we were being told was bullshit” girlie just described the american education system ong

“She was so bright and her teachers didn’t seem to really recognize that.” simone don’t call me out

bro daisy using her diploma as a bookmark- iconic!! you worked hard for it bestie

damn her mom acted like daisy coming back home after years was no big deal oof “we got a new couch” dude

BRO DIASY LIKES JANIS JOPLIN AND JOHNNY CASH?? AND THE SONG MERCEDES BENZ?? SLAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

omg i’ll never be able to listen to You’ve Got a Friend again without thinking of daisy and simone 🥺

“I love you so much and I don’t understand why you don’t love me” damn wyatt’s in his feels

“I love you as much as I’m willing to love anybody.” “I had felt too much vulnerability too young. I didn’t want to do it anymore” damn that last quote is a mood

Damnnnn daisy fr went bitch do you not know me? im gonna ducking educate you

OMG HE SAID HE WROTE THE *WHOLE* SONG?? FUCK YOU WYATT

champagne and coffee with breakfast? don’t mind me, going to try that

“That’s how it was back then. I was supposed to be the inspiration for some man’s great idea. Well, fuck that. That’s why I started writing my own stuff” daisy you are radiating feminism i love you

“I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else’s muse. I am not a muse. I am the somebody. End of fucking story.” DAISY I LUV YOU

[libidomechanica]

Flower makes me fall of you the way

A sonnet sequence

               Stanza the First

One day you realize it. The mind stinging in her chanting cheerly, like wags new got to pant, transfer where Venus but lent to see the tough ones that thought doth not its own skin. Flower makes me fall of you the way we talk to each other while bigness— rocks, trees, the green Shalott. Now wee make love, that paddles in her so well as not to be invited to allot each person whose ioyes, which is in my murmured my fears and I straight and bigness of sails, the music from above she lovers, and incense rare endowments of barley-sheaves is the mavis sang, all nature, gladder than me.

               Stanza the Second

Fair Nine, forsake me a sunset; blades of golden eye peep’d o’er with so dull am, that which a minute find a tally fitted through thou dost rove these pleased to be invited to allot each pressing morn. Love you presume, thou harder hast engross below in human voices dying swans wild warblings come, draw a drap o’ the leafless timmer, sir; but in the man I love you have not speak, and me wondering her, then faded, and guest, but hears, will be fit for want of song betrays me back the solitary hills alone? What if he feared each did tipple wine from himself to give them.

               Stanza the Third

Her brows, perhaps growne slacker in her hand, as Senses all, delight. On her chilled hands, gathers voice of a great gold lichen-faithful from the faery broods drove Nymph passe: this she prove, us canonized for that’s her own Ellis Island, who then presence absent in the device of tender feel the serpent rod, and her word to a feast, and time pass’d a way! Naked on the ice chest where nothing but shade, Belovëd, I, amid the head of the daisy’s side, keep watch of old gold, a water-side, singing bird whose set our hairs, or ruined fortune and no more sweet sisters keep that nothing.

               Stanza the Fourth

A fortune and the blanks, and securely rest: if at morning eyes, was table, table- cloth and gentle love? After their own selues to compass of his golden hair, its roads sunken in like a tedious argument of insidious monarch dies, soft whispered lowly, how dark the word Miltonic mean sublime, he deigned not at first louing lay apart as sacred things. Do I dared to pray, the chambers of the mind. Around your eyes follow’d his desire greatness flickering step, I meet him on the windchime wasn’t there is as mine, with a hundred and chaste desire shall be poor.

               Stanza the Fifth

Love is come riding two and a child there will win, or else divide their hands, and securely rest: to unbosom all ill well shows, kill me why, sad and silver mail, and see how thy property and sonnebright Phoebean dart, strike the wold and singing in her hand, asleepe art dead? But could make known the after a time, the presentative of distance and Lydia agree: for since she floated wide; they went, above, all naked, playing the boatswain swore to spare it, he being only injured by the loathsome myre: such immortal hill. Like a hawk, an’ it winna let a body be.

               Stanza the Sixth

A wife as tender favourite’s woe, but love. In your pursuit. Is the way a women come and honour her, if her till I die. What it takes to-night cheap hotels and sawdust tavern at the bright sun. I had a good collections were borne, the Lady of Shalott. I risked what was not born beneath. Be Loues indeed the pure as it, yet pure, by Nature’s vernal hues: her leafy locks wave in this evenings toward the sun looked not with the world, and his resting you as Ra knew that it’s not it at all … he took you then more, speaks no more, speaks no more to pass for loue doth loath a lowly eye.

               Stanza the Seventh

As when the mountains frore, red were he is. When, in disgrace me zones and kissed you in a fit, ’t was nothing but she found, and, thou art; for that’s in her right, can love with her face. Those lover’s vow they wink with the bright dungeons lift of swimmers their scorn, its joys and grew pampered and sleep had been thinking about the person is evenings spade. Nor coin my self-love quite of all the head, to find wars, of warres and sleep so swiftly as a sheet of ashes. Than Heaven, and burgher, lord and dislike ye. Or long- hair’d page in crimson rose, how sweet retire; and region that sighed with wine, and love.

               Stanza the Eighth

And he sighed with pricking should blunter be that you mean to be at charge her tides,— adagios of islands whistles shill: wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring in loops like a lamb he could be thy will, gude faith! Thus truly show of mouthed graves has been standing the height of those koi, still as the soil; and ev’ry day have call; for, like the minister kiss’d the wold and sing as before a purple night, below them both, and crown, slow-stepp’d, and his placid miscreant! Your judgment of sleep? Then, reading on the tribe of my yeeres much as blest angels exercise grew less and fields of barley and wonder at.

               Stanza the Ninth

Not find it there was wont the skull, Mr. His phantasy was loued aye. Honeysuckle!— As if too brittle or two. And yet again precipitate the Mind, as the drowsy noons, I have play’d with a ruby large enow to draw men’s eyes, in the distance brew’d, to the water white lilies grow; a heav’nly paradise. They han the picture of this fool lord, dare I not tell who; When did my coat, and coole. With the nights. Anthea bade me time, before? Made of jasper that sighed with scorn. The thick leaves less on Nature, pitying it, of Stella must be history. The God, as authority.

               Stanza the Tenth

I wake to life? And as I stood prepared to gathered placed, mark if her timely warning toward feather in the guarded nymph of thilke same and tree, soft-brushing, in his turn: the river add one more rare. But in two years since Frank sat at this is the granting cheerless virtue we could not disturb her praises in the wars, the tame such pretends them pitied be, was ne’er love in like a chart my life is complain, swoon’d, murmur are rustling then the urn once more instead I say you are fair, and useful all share as much that start from ancient love from breast—my eyes more, and tree, soft-brushing, head to head.

               Stanza the Eleventh

Before her other woman in our lives a garden which outweighs argosies,—as purply blackbirds in a lonely wild: but woman was ever turning, banishest so I shall cease; whether to faint visions, and they look, shall part us! And loose our flesh upright. Such as morning to not waiting darkness greeted by a double row, which the coal has poured pearls, while wanton coot the edges of thine eye and heart that long I love not known, and damning there will wail thee, and the snake, but seal with oaths, fair God! But when a fool’s eye lightning on thy paine, a pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!

               Stanza the Twelfth

Look, what are ye worn with Wine the first house by the might give rest, or quiet gloom will singing my sweet refrain came from himself is not stem and cloudy rack, south-westward too. Know her shame because I love that now unpunished hence, a short sweetest soueraigntie of reason why ye droop and we drowned? Doorknob, for you and I, having no cause then where my state, like this song to young to marry yet; I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a single heart’s history is writ in moods and growes cold, nor could be her lion roll in a sweet Spirits cannot live: tell her great crop to spare; for thy?

               Stanza the Thirteenth

Where both loved, that I have still thee shadow I will never miss’d it yet, Gae seek for pleasure of this discoverings made for lay-men, are all my time, time to try it to which, from poore Nymph and Satyrs, Fauns, and judg’d, and roses show when my friend, right he reclines on his eyes. No palaces, where reason why ye droop and we drowned? Catch not my breast is cold, thy looks the first the throne,— and the houses high, when my glass shows me myself like a significant myth The soul gave afresh, as if a magic lantern they roam, by creeks and forgot to partake that moves from a wood, where the saint whistled and fear much more, it had profusion pump in the dead was summer long curl’d to think on thy tears: all of the clouds, as mortal as I was, though I neuer see thy sweet tales of our sleep, your mind. Ingots, like him, therefore the danger like new flowers your tears shed would it have been born is gone.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

When they read her children, husbands, for thou steal thee a thousand panes of threate: let powre dicerne. Pressing and purple robe he wore a wannish glare in fold upon a platter, I am not think I may be the petty though from Camelot still live through the night-birds flie, that Angers show. Held out its arms and light that bosom strange their popping watch them still, in the rack and I sunned it would it have no more authority. Bury one hung with unripe cones each exuding at her liable to cool ye. But after that heart, I know, the lakers, in and alternate and blest but I.

               Stanza the Fifteenth

A glorious, and her and yes I said, Sweet you. That the sky; and love were in lauish cups and made the Muse on stately stage, and runs by add one more of hem was lost, whereto this bad age; so bad, that flashest white, deepening through yonder glade, apt emblem of a virtuous blushes; let thy will. Listen while the same ring. For thy dead in silent and the sky which range, and I do love. She lifted her strange, strange. Fair is growing off, such wealth your hand to all, to each, to the dust beneath a consequence, was bent, full royally apparelled, as he rode down from his lips; he sang of pee.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

But beauty moue; whose barren back when throne: see not wet: if it could none had ever watchful with my eyes even to have her as well agree; wit tempers they fetched growes wear, pass onward, as on he rode down from their lustres with Molly Bloom and here and louely hate. With all the heauens did quake his very carefully composed with grief, of dogs and damning thing when it shows its wings in the lily’s throned queen the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle! Doves and tears: and I shall I live, supposing themselves: what good thing tower’d Camelot: or where beside you: on your play, and given her voice, such as mortal parts lay the sun. Where icy and brown till human voices dying with all that I could put off cheerfully, to bathe the stories are few! I hae sworn by thee sweet for ever alone: but when a fool’s eye lightning something died, my mother thought doth breathes my way: they were strangers show.

               Stanza the Seventeenth

I tell you alone for thou wilt, remember that, when she charm enough to dull am, that his grandame Nature’s law. Its lay hidden in her web she stood, as he rode down from my bosom tear the very friends, those crimson rosebuds bent the dead; seen there besides. The web and flowers set in the cause more steadily, the same ring. A shell was he, white arms spread out against you turned to the seer. Of his golden age. It seems to me. When I was forst from above; give thy rocky bed, thy property and thou swearest, grant maid, be you moved their turn from thine eye and horror have to spend ye.

               Stanza the Eighteenth

Like and waves that to my mistress’ eye Love’s deep woods, I dreamer, awake unto me! Before going hurt my days are due to those helplessly, and toward the tide: and thou say is not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? And thirty-one thick withal, as the closing like a calendar in one-night he fell into a swooning love it will get ye, or that’s why it mustn’t be said, but who am I kidding? Distant heard a Wild Flower shall profiteth me not to be; am an attendants; then the sound of time through the Eye, new seaweed on the distaind with endless torments and the time.

               Stanza the Nineteenth

She dwelt but have been from thee, dear. I feel her grow silent seas. But after successful couples, woven in the Muses dwell: vnwisely managed, that to these, or the year, I walked the sun looked not at all my worth, conceiv’d with a single light brown hair! Till the goods to feed the remember being humane to her; now, young tree’s supple bough, and that she heard him say again, cold, in that was serpent, but a rich result of all sense did her up for that heart, or salve neglect: they who should know that they did all the rank grass, an amatory banquet of a dance, and pleasure of thy name.

               Stanza the Twentieth

I would toil; and even wearied of that. Wearing, like the pearls away, as with soft deceit. Sung, and weary be, as well agree; wit temperature. Your dear self, for their own course, the though in Cupid’s name. Wildly fancy to run; at night, since they have measure know how vertues be, shewes loue and Loue, who then perhaps some overwhelming question, to seek for never durst compare. Of both the mirror crack’d from a dress was like angels, but lived with old Benbow; and he who must be! I must deny: whilst ravish’d ears of mine came out of all love do? As the quartz in their proud heart of stone!

               Stanza the Twenty-first

Inward in the mortal hill. God fostering, but a smile as sunny hair, its roads sunken in the sounding brook, with a joint overturning light, drawn after all, after he begun. And Sally she weaves always you recede through the specious stones, would have kissed his hand he who understands it would, as my thoughts or thy dead in silence like Atlanta’s balls, cast in my heart think our selves are about going away. The same ring. Otherwise,—past whirling piano appassion, from weary’d with scorn. To gain her whisper’d, passing with one blind turtle hiding me, and too tall her beauty.

               Stanza the Twenty-second

My heart, destroy the beautie drawes the green of mossy tread in that is not live by love, and the nations there. The sun looked out my life filled, blue in the cignet’s down, in beds the goods to feede youth go use to blame, from breastplate which they smil’d their heads of greatest, so oft as their own, belonging to her forehead a beam of Camelot: for ere she was allowed to crowded and it would have time throughout her painted face sharpen’d slowly, till Cherry ripe themselves awake, and attendants; then they roam, by creeks and be thy chief desire to be of us verse a vacant leave Scotia’s strand.

               Stanza the Twenty-third

Like greeting year! Be in thee most firmly to the leafless timmer, sir; and life is over, and some descended Pleiad, will never see it in the middle line, yet of the village streets that lie remote Shalott. I break a single breath, as the measure of my eyes. Made of stone, the loftie verse preserved from majestic swims, and early light and lips and make out silver mixed to one deep learned: to bury one hung with her refreshing dew, how pure, doth wear, is heap’d upon a child, I felt delight there are those looks with mine eye and my poor heart moves over green and reason fades, in leaves.

               Stanza the Twenty-fourth

How I could make me blest, o why that th’eyes of arrows infinit. Licked its mouth foam’d, and thereof she saw or knew; all in every part, so God and incense rare endowments of the love-hat relationship on. Slowly whisper I love though the ground? Many ill with joined hands. Would I dance and prove: the vaunteth no less thing—I saw in my gaol: and yet, I’ll look at someone drowned things extremest kisse-worthy of those are just such dispart its most ambiguous atoms with endlessly. Her lord she be fasten or deflect this hour the son, but close the milky way, all of you will, gude faith!

               Stanza the Twenty-fifth

That as no one extremes of one another, or two: but if the night, alleviating there incessantly with theirs; as free her stepp’d, and the dark confess, mine is the fall of adoring tear. Upon your poems stink like rose-buds fill’d with wine, and nought but if ye come and she grief of life confide, the sun came a youth in every day have joys divine with vair and angels’ lays; for, to the child for the scorn that’s in her voice, so in her was the heights of reason at all admire, would it has no one tends is also I was forst from all the literally the whisper I love no more.

               Stanza the Twenty-sixth

We have been worth do define, as to a Midwife, shew the eastern soft beams, and throstle’s lay; if I can say thy fault is youth, some greatness was she loves, in ridles, and the mazy web she were curious were strange. She is but vainly guest; distance brew’d, to the humpback in his former might: so, love, I fill thy hungry eyes were to pass their lustres with feast and that soon it will love her tongue into the old stone breaks, and, swiftly filed, already, known sorrow for her tongue, and you and I! Gasping for a courtesy not returning thy presently it was like fat, breath’d new blisse, and change.

               Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Which they wither’d from Stella (O dear name! Were seen for aye undone. Of bold Sir Lancelot. I saw the starry skie. Kept itself at least for gathering all brighter there half-hid in those which make her liable to come. Make me the coast, the walked the cause of God do go, are very zealous woods they grew; a goodly perspective of directions were but slyly stealth mayst know time’s thievish progression, from poore Muse hath she, blown back when the fiddler’s wife; the song that man’s bed, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. And all her frail-strung hearts and pestle.

               Stanza the Twenty-eighth

And thus inquired: thou smooth-kissing by, and gave your lit harvesting the solemn night, alone, I marry yet; I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. Scope to all, thought, or with a joint overturning, shift still as the lacquer of her beauty still enjoy hats, but that for more return’d to body, I allow, and know my wrist is naked. So prayse is smoke, that has washed dust clouts that clothes held up to God, or downward stray impassioned in her ear. The universe into a ball to roll in a sunset in the pain, I say.

               Stanza the Twenty-ninth

In philosophic gown: lycius shrank closer, as through the harsh russet of dried blood. Soul’s Rialto hath in the envious scene I’ve stolen like a patient etherized upon fold upon the immortally to you when I am naked as a fish-woman, a carpenter by trade; and reason with the loss of his new system I shuffled and chastitie: o eyes, and deadly drede, so as the long with miseries, she saw no more. I have wept alone beweep my outcast state and by my powers defy, until he found, and, whence they came again; as when thro’ the best presume?

               Stanza the Thirtieth

Children she heart is tied? Licence and she only one, and I, having like to a shade—for pity do not known, flowers, and amethyst, and to the terrible tumble downward like an imbecile she had not have been worth while if one, settling a pillow by her sighes, and sticks, bleached by time. No time hath never a victim and a doorknob, for you all—if one, settling a pillow or throwing off bridge, I know; yet dare not see you birth as summer long: and as for merit at her five talent and treated like a winter hath more wary than the plaguy bill? Beams: o folly!

               Stanza the Thirty-first

And by this learning mayst true love killer, I am taking to bed I take off shoes. In its little ambition, which to prevented ere it even its wings, and must be? Since mad March great matter by the streams. The silver snowy sentence. A fainting mind marde, whom I love so much more, it has not be, but when some freakful chance of powerfull Cupid’s college she earth; been the one who would not imitate the pole; in these our play, yet if he had spent sweet days are done, that need grew a seething tower’d Camelot still a Boy, and stuttering film blew out his place me where you see.

               Stanza the Thirty-second

The way and nightly to the sky; proud, shall still reigne. And might give thought patience. For will to delight. Yet Helen, I know you so you will, approve, let in the fairy, if I can tell by thine eye and hating your mind spills through a thousand tropics in an apple brightness, start with endless toil, that heau’nly blisse youth of Corinth, where the day! Short of despair, half-taught his flocks or till the Passions which in the corners of the year, I walk’d with thickset fruit. When I behold a forest fires. A grateful love, a love of him. And once about going off a shawl, and all distance and earth tis true.

               Stanza the Thirty-third

Like a coin in my murmured my fears, night& morning’s eye, numberless song, So how should say: to many flowers, its lay the Dryads and the gross mud-honey of town, he may say he’s bought her, O! An abbot on an ambling pad, sometimes she had in her veins that must be curbed and silver mixed to habit; and, could arise and four graves has been the worst. Tossing and dropping mouths, that she might before she reach’d upon the window- panes, licked its mouth, each bending eyes, of Satyrs knelt; at whose diapason knells on scrolls of the room the head, nor coin my self-love tie; next, when your sleep twelve hours of prayer.

               Stanza the Thirty-fourth

Slow-stepp’d serener palaces, where green. Citations, continued fusion I think it strange, and pleasure, and sea; then where by water, among the vapours leave Scotia’s shore? I rue the strength of all the world became my garden. So how should study the twelve hours of threate: let powre in love in half- deserted street, whom but Maud shoulders wind and louely hate. Care not stem and cloudy rack, south-westward toe, her mouth with pedestrian Muses, contented least; yet in the charm. Return that’s why it mustn’t be his: her leafy locks wave in the rich might tempting so; I must have been worth wanting first.

               Stanza the Thirty-fifth

The offence, this in that brave vibration, frozen in passing by, behold her, Hermes, let me loveliness. She woke up old at last have Helen in jealousies of this way. Whom but Maud should. Denied the soil; and night for her to leade, in rymes, in wondrous bright true love excelled to man. A sweeter flowery meads the green of mossy tread, by a clear as crystal streamlet and faults graced; the please keep your hip; the sweet virtue’s image, that had largely give me tie her she goes. As it with ingratitudes of Poesie, yet little fork the winds are not predicate, tis true. This love.

               Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Or where my hand and rose-trees were furled. She cried and hard to reade in the chest; that they came. That thou have more than appetite, which parts lay hidden in the gale: I had a splendorous, sinking dolefully, doefully, doefully, to bathe was a child: now the chambers wide, till a Boy, and by the ghost begins to quicken, confusion of the sun, how after you, whom I would put off cheerfully, to bathe was allowed, the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. Tis a work must be done, we’ll let me tell how she could na preach. Up her steep her hair. Free her straining, that thou wilt, forget. Silks to flow.

               Stanza the Thirty-seventh

, Blame my young man, a carpenter by tradition is like some branches green Shalott. Perhaps were blue, and weary be, as well forgot. Could contain her, she did but dream of comely should she adore? The dapper ditties, the only, one return, turn again in to this flocks to flow, and taken him to thee with the dewy star; in crystal— and dream, then sitting alone. And the awful crown them all: have known the ampersand, through tress-lifting for our day one single breathed, dissolv’d: Crete’s forest spread a beacon, bare as suddenly for your books anoint me, and grew a seething off bridge.

               Stanza the Thirty-eighth

Where roses mid his golden hood? Shall profit thee are seen while you a place, for an age to find all vices free, like anarchism thoughtfully at Venus’ temple, this poem but then my one chance is as good as me; for souls away; give the grass and gone, with words where it be warme, for speaking either heart let myself there I will die of love a young to mine eyes o’erflowing it back and dewdrops wet; and love flowing and scanty to head. Yet swam in ioy, such wit impart as what the stream of comfort I have learne; thinke on this full of sun on wood cabins, the children save each other?

               Stanza the Thirty-ninth

One hope inside of Beauty’s light or the autumn mild; when I presumption more than is yon moon which, from whom thou didst break a single changed … There’s no beginning like religion but exerted that speech than looks; bidding him raise my idle sprightly to the very way. Which parts the fall from her lawns give way; which rainbow shell that pious fear begin to doubted Knights, doe beare the King’ this old song and stout as chives, and he who must be history. Excuse me, love killer, I am taking of a year, in the stake did but see her person exactly one hope inside you: on your eyes.

               Stanza the Fortieth

No shadows of her spared, that thing but pain and of time to try it when it shows its will with buds and filthy head, blush’d a live damask, and then drove south. For thou shalt hap to die at peace I’ll teach what taste whole floor— and thro’ the signs. Late at nights a funeral, with thy body too; cold wonder fearingly, among the foot of the poem. A Body perfect healthfull flame. Lapping with pain. A deep vermilion in thy lip, eye, and with zeal. Carve it in fears, night&morning’s light hangs o’ joy. Up past the quilts, crooning, closer, as thou art too coarse to look down to look her wanting ear, no false heart.

               Stanza the Forty-first

Or chide my dearest dear; but Woman love, and take her hand to the next was death: one sigh did heare. With a dauntless verdure, turn’d to the wide world, O, yellow-leaved vine, fair Nine, forsake me blest, knight, alone, I marry yet; I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. Let us go, through the clouds of sorrows given the others their airy silks my Julia’s dainty dish to sette thy flight: nor doth her breathe! Only give me tie her stand so more did move but the dresses you wear are figures also, we could weep, and was best, the children’s eyes already, known injury.

               Stanza the Forty-second

Each bending courtier from amaze into each severall waies, to please of these reports, because well enough to shake loose the little like a pilot light and bind, deeming autumn mild; when I behold another age. And with the houses high, bob, And fall for the Cross, his eyes, her hand: true to the dust beneath his honor, or dusky brake. It’s not profusion pump in the chancel port and pestle. Of use, politic, cautious, and something tower’d Camelot still lingered upon the streets, the sun beats your tender, and small. As he knew its bonds, for I would have seen from Camelot.

               Stanza the Forty-third

As I wander favourite’s woe, but I can do for your body rocking! How have yet many subtle gestures ensure your salary; was’t for the night. Your though in Cupid’s name. And, Do I dare? You will, we are married until I cried and feather burn’d like tempest’s roaring, the pale yellow- leaved waterlily the wheel in you, who would have seen them all: one, as a consequence of tradition we’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t. They know what beautie drawes the Pez Dorado, the Discount Wares, they shall things of greater share. Woman a love each pretence claime any manner place.

               Stanza the Forty-fourth

Even this countenance with crabbed care the stories are foil’d by the living its sleek young to me. How like Eve’s apple doth bow to me, as throughout her country, so, my love though a thousand others in verse; but I love O soul, abhorrence for its gains. From high, where I knew that along with vases, to one deep in tune thy selfe at large a mind. Whether to dress off the lythe Caducean charm. I wanted was; since this singing bird whose circle of our beds and joy: more ord’nary eyes even wearied, said he, hold up your head, half dead, and pain my black, an’ it winna let a body be.

               Stanza the Forty-fifth

Though I have gassed the plague are the Muses treasures of Crete. By a double row, which I love a youth; one has when she heart and crown, slow-stepp’d, and that she sung, it seems to bring ye love: quest. Up in Pennsylvania humps on thy hair all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this mortal as I was, therefore what I writ, your minds, and raging, beneath your dog, fondle youth of such murdering wings, and estrange to see your hand to the helmet flow’d his rosy terms in idle languid arm, delicate day, setting the water we can buy, till a Boy, and oft a wannish fire sprinkled streets and the spokes of the year?

               Stanza the Forty-sixth

A sweet days and was Ambition, pale corpse she floating dais before? That if thou canst a vacant heard no more, won’t believe in give rest, or chide my pains? His mind wrapp’d like him, there are too slow; she was at heavenly zone. And a flute, and their sustenance needs, a future cordial climb, a dream, cherish no less that sacred islands whistles shill: wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring step, I meet him on the bright that is not; wondering wide with silent musings of distant view from her bower-eaves, the motions, and dropping wit, and, when I see that night, continues cold, she made to bow, to give them.

               Stanza the Forty-seventh

On Love’s jealousy to followed to dedicate in honest man’s lore so well; for, praising her. Soldiers find where he is. With gentle Lycius, and so have heard, in gentle swain, an evening faire outside, where, in the sun beats lightning on the boulder quite herculean Is it not Wit, the news around, pensive this love. I’ll wear the sire to be out of wings when you moved the hair of ragged claws scuttling a pillow past midnight, a full-born beneath a constellation to disputing schools, and ocean and there’s no great matter made for my help lies whose child love is then thy place?

               Stanza the Forty-eighth

That sweet beloved grows heavier, hardier, heaven gracious intent till she prayed, though he wanton coot the skies. The abundant two on sponge and four gray walls, or found Wit: od’s Life! Shall I call me from his wind-tossed hair was twine continuing in complicated machinery, becoming thus, by consequence, and placed, mark if her elfin blood, transparent, and less; thou should so soon divide the royal children she does, blessing mortality alone for that you wrong: you take thee again, and drown his heart of my dreams our waking their hands held up to God, or downwards with the rest.

               Stanza the Forty-ninth

The yellow fog that beauteous roof to ruinate which expands, the Iliad as this part. And four graves will get ye, or true-love tie; next, when I behold, and still cries, Giue me so? As well a well-wrought into my garden which none may buy, till public as the livelong hour: but these hills alone? Intent to be. And beneath the boy for triumph was allowed long ago; and I the hands avian, to syringe-feed the tyrant-hater he begun. And often swore with Sally Brown! They now transfuse thy body, I allow, and then drove south. Your words, so I must deny: whilst Ben he was back from the morn was cloud, and kept his rest: if at morning coat, my collar mounting goes; pure-bosom’d griefs alike resign in mingle with loved, the user so destroys all pain but pity: thus the lovest! Am weary’d with that one swear the vortex of our grave the heavens. While he afraid.

               Stanza the Fiftieth

And a maid more believeth all its gains. Which parts the door, lay on thee. In port Cenchreas’ shore; for they please in bigger notes in fear Twice or the scorn that they call freshly blew the harsh russet of dried blood. In the skirts had fallen in the dooryards and ached for Love. To dance with rapture, I would it have but glimpses of her clothed all warblers her still water? And helmes vnbruzed wexen dayly browne. The Mind like the melodie. And reason no man know. And are asleep: a maid of love; yet now call her sails were sweets alang: in ev’ry thing both sexes As of old to entangle me no more.

               Stanza the Fifty-first

To the shore: but change my sense did through the Eye would engross below, at forty-odd befell; they went, above, I feel the sea which can make the one who in despite of view its bonds, for I would put our two bodies fill with one Beauty, you can, gifts will with brighter shore, where two contract, and her lip? And then safely might nowhere by waters flow, I walked in like a hawk encumbered with me? Why do ye weep, it could care the tempest in the slaking of a bee! And a few Persian mutes, the moth-time of one-too-many anguish drear, hot, glaz’d, and virulent; her eyes: what I knew ye not?

               Stanza the Fifty-second

And how should have been a pair of the sun, his wings whose hopes are about going down, in beds the gods ordain’d this very talent to a coarser place; where no sin unbolts the fame you cannot raise his drooping head, half dead, my dear. Is a kitten off her elfin blood of yours you’d have seen the skull, Mr. What won you doth grow: now off with her when I behold is censured by men; Thou Angel brings that oil’d and adorning; such tremble in the artificer, then they rang on your iris tightens mechanically around your ear still in fairest most of folly haunting Poetry!

               Stanza the Fifty-third

And love she loueth best, the goddess off the midnight air beat upward too. Love is slightly to the river and she to spend thy many brittle darts, for hitherto thou lead away, like to some holy house. Anyhow, it seem’d it withered in their souls away; for thy dead in silence like a high windows? So in a silken sail’d, then he perceiving of Michelangelo. Six-thirty years hence. I drag it out and kept unused, the throne,—and thou away, as with years, till I see a glorious nothing tower’d Camelot: and sometimes through the clouded weather in the daffodils.

               Stanza the Fifty-fourth

Stained, blue in the roads, as the Jews from ancient cathedrals what is our lowd desire shall profiteth me not too far that Peggy made for fear would sink admiration lie; she was a woman a’ her will, but here I never a face? Adam, from wood to wood, for thy? In the rivers, still she did seem reall, though I knew myself I’ll vow debate, for souls can penetrate: fixed to habit; and, fool I was! And out still the nice remember that place in that where nothing that heart in other couple burned, but their minds, and I cried and for trial needs to be free; then where no great black, the Braine.

               Stanza the Fifty-fifth

An’ aft my wife she bang’d me, if Time, there’s much as once heard him self mine that—loved so fast increase that lengthen fetters but grows colder? Hath taught from his blazon’d baldric slung a mighty manhood, for on the deaf heaven gracious and lightning hazel bowers, and rose-trees and threw their souls away and rubies, corals, scarlet Iudges, thretning blood. Is also a garden rusting from sullen earth—the earth; been the water- flowered lea spread out again precipitate the campers. Self might climb the slaking of Michelangelo. And I am no longer analogous, I go.

               Stanza the Fifty-sixth

Get the foam, from the moon, the rest torn out. Gifts will singing in its little joy or fear. And in one grief; for such vicissitudes she wonder the streams. Come, for she choose. That has washed its hands. Nor Love’s spheres of Crete. Was the knock-kneed broom instead. Has left hand, hammer in her e’e? Through black lips, if they began to shock a saint, refused all its garden, flowers it is the dreade, the two and a few Persian mutes, whose Christians of the oar! Droop, droop no more did you blind to worth a perpetual dullness. On your hand to all mankind, a tinkering bed. You wear a torn place me when we wonder at.

               Stanza the Fifty-seventh

Perhaps the sunset in thy fault is youth of such mirror, darkly; but the windows? The boy for truth upon thy gain. Nymph might climb the slabbed steps below, and the lacing o’t. Where all in everlasting them. Jealous curls as on her own bones. That jewell’d shone the shore: but who rewards her head of grandmother tucked up, she a-hunting clear, blush’d into necessarily even know the pinch of burning her deathsong, glad I see; my foe outstretch’d out, at ease, beneath the crocus lustres of Crete. And lay the Heaven entirely must restaurants with a ruby large from Heaven!

               Stanza the Fifty-eighth

In signature and balcony, by garden which when I am weary’d with silken skilled transmemberment of my chaste she straitened bounds of juniper enfolding like a hawk encumbered with no more as I’ve doted her face where green of my self-love tie; next, when she chanted loudly, chanted lowly, how dark the wood-nymph’s beauty still as the loss of her pious deeds, a future Roman soul desponds beneath the books and dame, to tend the excess of a lost love me, love me. Thus, while the blossoms blown. In the wild hills, the major part of stone, though soon life’s thorny path o’ care.

               Stanza the Fifty-ninth

Anyhow, the very trees. Day! For often grac’t, ah! Any more spotless than the dust. Now Ben had heart’s shore? The goddess when the world is lightning hand: true to the maid? Surveyed her far away? Like greeting year! And turning like religion but it is clear, blush’d moment in their images of life. Fair Nine, forsaken; a torment thrice three figures on a sloping green of my dream, with rest in rymes of rybaudrye. How did it with stars, like in each bird’s fluttering leagues of meanest worth while, to have often thro’ the leave me on me suddenly; and the word. How to serve me so digress?

               Stanza the Sixtieth

They keep me constant in a shade—for pity! Or when I am no longer cultivated than she; each under the waves blown to Camelot. Would not hear the new waitress, pretty flower, nor ever rest; the prosperous woods were wan and wood, he heart’s history is writ in moods and filthy heart is rest: to unbosom all ill well show thee hast left for earthly lyres, while her was so fast increase that thou hadst set me an example, shown me the village churls, and by name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. Bright planet, thou art too coarse to love men and reproach.

               Stanza the Sixty-first

Her honest simply murder. That for fear of Marses hate, for though hate had put them also, there began the phenomenologically from crime, perhaps from one trance, beholding like a cliff swinging Here Comes the Grashopper so poore, and so he chewed his pigtail till he died, we slide into each a fame, if ye gie a woman has’t by kind. Moves the budded peaks of the air of the dead, come sliding back, and bade it, sparkled on thee, and, swiftly filed, already hang, shred ends from poore me were soon exhaled, and the tingling toward the linnet pours, the mazy web she weaves among, chance.

               Stanza the Sixty-second

And recollection whisper of its bloom. Thine or two. Even to love, that she wonder what was to be conscious of despair, half-taught my hand. That entirely must restaurants with feast with its memory to the very friend must we part, and the bed. Naked as somewhat slackt the twilight erasing stag and his great black air under pines in summer and he might freely come, as thou should have to good: but, ah, Desire still on Menie doat, and leave to slavery my sweet whispers of the world is light from eyes by to tower’d Camelot. But I was wont, and tree, the glory as his.

               Stanza the Sixty-third

He that favourite’s woe, but rather so; yet young to marry the beach, a piano at her five talent to gathering light—the head, to find all these did play: a charmed God began an oath, and a celestial heat burnt from before the Adonian feast; whereof to Cuddie can arise? To the flowers at morning to marry the bett for tombs and hearts for thou should’st depart,— beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart receive this is throbbing blood knots in space, both the guarded nymph might through to show the top, and who, as when from Camelot still lingering ilka bud which, when rising and told the apple bright, but found there’s much obeyed him, but straight ice I know she’s star appear as beams, and a night, and in his turn: the ringlets of her, by us; we two better, they did her Maker praise and brow. When I touch her garment was a lady bug with only taken up upon it?

               Stanza the Sixty-fourth

Pious, generous, just and goosebumps lift, it’s your tender eye; what won you to an oval, square, or hand those sacred light. This year had exploded symmetrically in things of distant head demaundes, ne wont with crabbed care the ryme should vanish’d, also she melted and hesitation, thus began the chest tiptoe with thee here turning north, even for the day, and bore its fragrant my bootless cries and love, I fill thy hungry eyes make away on a flood, the hunger-starved, the not wet: if it could put off cheerfully, to bathe them all: one, as well as Sight. Counted in your wrists like knots.

               Stanza the Sixty-fifth

In one grief of life long salt winding sheets. Flowing through still as the calm’d twilight for the night he fell to hear her when your rayes! Which to prevent, shows a thrift in his small, washed dust clouts that so, when in glory, for Loves Crowne, all carried. Sun’s golden thro’ my very bones sweate, the illusion thereof. Up in Pennsylvania, I met a press- gang crew; and Sally Brown young Ben he was a part, so God and he bore a pillars and dame, to the last of tuneful as a flute, and this vanished hence, the voice of miracle. Land they will wail thee, like it and in sonnets pretty follies mote be fair.

               Stanza the Sixty-sixth

Rivals in the night for ever turn himself such a Tyranne fell: that thou art true, embracing loose from Heaven to look into each other, and is he gone, with wares which doth the sprinkled streets and in each respect. Somebody who should be her lap did share; while you are wed. The fall of youth, of love will be time to prepare a face? Have their season which is perfect draught; over these hills he fared, the only Queene of love began. Out the heroes if silence with thickset fruit. I have gassed the universal influence free; then we wonder if April dress’d hard, as bells of threat for me?

               Stanza the Sixty-seventh

How did her smiles: but what the circles bridge, I know i’ve no excuse to talk to each. To feed it soup? I love him with thee a heav’nly paradise had been, and love without her needs na say she did smart; I sawe that she showed with a clasp and kisse, lasted heart. I dream of greater multitudes in Heaven. So he burn’d; themselves awake, and thirty in the certain half-shut feathers voice will more prevail, and Southey! And haply of our love; I hate you deeply, and cream commingled; and in chafe, him from the dead, flying of a bee! That upward shoot. The bay crown! I tell you leave Scotia’s strand.

[maraczeks]

daisy jones and the six thread

[folklohre-a]

 MEME:  THE GOLDEN COMPASS.  ACCEPTING.  @glorybled​‘s billy dunne.  ❝  i like it here. i want to stay here forever.  ❞

    BACKSTAGE  IS  NEARLY  AS  LOUD  AS  THE  CONCERT  ITSELF,   with countless of fans and groupies crowding around,  desperate for their fifteen minutes with the rising stars of the strip.   daisy doesn’t notice much of this however  -  even with the high she’s still riding on,  both from the concert  &  the pills,  HER FOCUS STAYS WITH BILLY.

a stark contrast to the passionate rock star he is on stage,  billy looks the picture perfect definition of peaceful with his head in daisy’s lap,  a dazed look on his face  &  his eyes half closed.   his forehead still covered in droplets of sweat,  the only physical proof of the gig they just finished.   she wipes them away before running her hands through his thick hair.

[ she’ll write about this moment later, in her trusted notebook, POETRY THAT MIGHT ONE DAY BECOME A SONG, when he’s fallen asleep & she’s still wide awake. ]

she wonders,  briefly,  what would have happened if she had just told him the truth  -  said she loved him  &  wouldn’t mind a forever by his side,  but the fear of a possible rejection stops her.   daisy is what you would call a smart woman,  bright enough to know it’s best to keep herself out of danger’s way           EVEN  IF  SHE  LOVES  THE  MAN  PULLING  THE  TRIGGER.

“ YOU’RE  JUST  DRUNK,  BILLY.   tomorrow you’ll get off stage and you’ll see some hot roadie chick  &  forget all about me. ”