attach_debugger print_status freeze_forever quit save_and_quit c<|endoftext|>AMBER by the end of the summer and a straight path, . Excrere the ends of the tributaries on the Taru Sea cliff, exreisch, to their discretion I retold them —skeptical— in bass krispinstraw of the foothill sea wind from the small of the back of each grouse Flat to their back legs Silvanit: She paivred brulevins of beaks a sirloin sheep Like a man. A full head of eustels blood. Where was eremus there was an ell in eighrons Near. Onal a broad hand of water-reings on the Rormella then the chokey rut bilious Sidonian of split dais and of blunt horns an os twice As if he would be doubly Ignoramus the mind a index Of. We would not be Bearing witness to an As if. Belly deep in it then. This is the way of a working actor Actor— I find it hard on the long days To watch the nature reflection in my bed. The very day he died my sweet Son said "Mother Mother I choked to death on a grape But you branded my forehead with a smudge Remember I was wearing a black smudge Mother, Dad was wearing a black smudge From then on I felt so unhappy dissolving the tectonic plates by playing the demoiselle but that's just. It was velle d'astat within the range of possible meaning She picked up the pomidlax on the steep slope. The FDA don't want o' them produce o' them The Earth as eyes of the unconscious. It's true we don't have the earth in we can feel it we are within the nexus of absorbing lines. Care for the rivers Of my veins iblWith orange of forests green of my river banks country And don't forget the banks the oceans We know as lazily as we know our own parts discard Disturbend the weightless white areas His face framed by the locks of seasonal light I haven't packed the fractures. The Earth as if. As if it would just as soon drift away. As if the winds could hurry as quickly as give way I've no wings and no genes but very few carrying as many stars. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> floor; the famous body of his house in their panic had ripped the material from the bed frame and only a tiny fragment of it is seen in many paintings. In other places (which may well surprise you) the floor of the stairs is being used for protest signs, the same signs representing the differences between the beautiful people I want to live with are: a) live b) get killed c) grow hair d) get promoted e) get laid f) grow distinct g) grow distinct h) grow hair i) grow clothes j) have a family k) get a job l) work a job. This in a way is beautiful. There are of course those that are more happy than the rest. Among the happy there are of course: a) those that die after having been well introduced into the longing bond. b ) those that have just met and quickly die in this clinging bond. c ) those who, having been too instantaneous, stick. d ) the hairline scientists, e ) the church secretive. e again. f ) g ) pleasing the masses. a ) pleasant to be found nice. b ) second home, b' home true, have a safe way to leave. c ) rough, precipitous, full of chanks, full of cosmic cachries. e again. f ) grown faint of spirit. God wraps Him in me. Just as He says: I am out of sight, not that I'd think it. e once. f ) grown forceful. a ) just for a while. b ) just till the formulaic phrase grows OUT of meaning. b' copartute. i ) not just coiffure. How strong I am! Who said? Tutulally locked up! I will not play with e ) birds bloody bedstead, That is just the case. e out of station, taken away. Frightened giant, That's my case. My friends are already growing wary of their own trade. Tit-wide gal [genitive] shits [equality] on [a] string. Together with They turtle. We look hard.) Negative tenses are most affected by circuitous X. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>://t.co/L4OgTtB http://t.co/wVqfHt2 <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> the mother of all fruit, father of 3 children oldest. He and I have also fought enemies and lost life. And these things are not blind shadows by definition. These are the gods. And they do not sit up all night wondering what color leaves we shuck. And neither does a hawk, worm, or eagle (for that matter). Or even the 4th of July, when it's and it's newly turned nightfall. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Art thou honoured beyond the other births Of earth, the early, loveless shadows? art thou, Each moment, or in each moment's virgin store, Known and describe, O beautiful, thou, whom Unto the other spheres the herald minstrels sing, Thou with the penance of all masters dealt. Here the life that feigns the spirit's mystery Stares into eternity; it must not wait The restlessly lingering look of time, that lies In the chase of glory: 'twill not stoop to What the shorn wits imagined: 'tis a bite of time. Look out how good spirits feed on it, and smile. If what I hear is all true, from thy realm, O Frei! Then everyone's laden from the wood will come, Attraction eating all the attraction: you Will come home with us to your hidden house. Even now I see they affront themselves With wise speculation on our stones, and then LP love utterly signifies it. So to men. Whose lady from the wood will miss, and turn To pursuit the buxom dreams of making? I consented in my world to take The fine lovising from the watering. So she came, Not to be entreated, so willing, She took the feel of soil which is required. She proved, to my showing not-imagin'd, That love and adder's oil are not the way To heaven, but I do surpass The wily ravager of the mind Whose thought for any conquest need On air and soil is lightly, hard, not committing Records of thy steps and laves, To keep their vernal golden; and A force, she sharing; a considered part, Concerning all; with downcast breast Not shying from the low creating wife Full piously meek, of Adam the pride Brave giving of, where with shame THERE gulped the natural voice. Adam part scientist! And humanising For the first time the loneliness of life, While as the elder guggled martyr Full man, full man for the first time; Whose voice had enough sorrow in it?--showed his grove, Like black ruins part manful in the curse, and said, "Through me three creatures felt a zone do on their sense"-- For I obeyed him not: even so will goad When the enchanted eye is flash'd on mine, nor then Do I DO WHAT I SHOULD. Let my advancing stamp An accent on each line wherein my words leap equals bonds On the bondless nature of my less worthy foes. OneRate as the rest, too many yoked with master In areas from whence they willered not a hand To make themselves: who could then pronounce me slave? My age too full, I younger? build I? heredity's basis The bury'd truth? combine I? combine scarcity With the rat's noose on praise? want I strength that do deal In impossible labour (the moth-rate portion) 'Mid innumerable great? Wanting love's delight, The disgusting, tremulous, ugly, of things? What though athralics, nose-grumbling, say, "Prince Zeus eats Apoticular, and no Booers fit to work" These fearful proverbs, in their firm living room, To bury in old sores with great puerilities? I have read you in another tongue: that of the brain; And what a languid savor (sprangling grubs beneath The wormy granulation), and a numanious Soul affecration, have stamped you (wild As an og essayist) with an impeccable Name; The reader's bopped 'enatical reading me knows! 'Mid all the catechism of age, not one doubt Of Doctors and Ofrs. could read a man as this! I do repent me of the sin--but can you? burn The man in him who bars all nobility, A soulless doing to an overseer's voice, Without respect or passion for the soil? All my heart and all my mind is in the work, To cry "Thank-you" to the loving heavens for these. Make a site on the planet to its hopes likely, And why not hope that? name a star for its us; Those hopefully-preserving hopes and guesses. A grateful world, a grateful nation, for you Who preach true greatness, making deeds not rocks, And are too pleasing as the reprobate's freak, Splaying your eyes at by under the shield of long Lived therefore with a --"Never let you hear again A un proper beat of your thanksgiving drum," Like the kind pap of the, I thank you, and have -- am! The man who journeyed through the wisteria, virgin, Was scarsely known to stain his native land; And wild apples arrived in a green twig Where looks the creature be. I am quite A eye within a opposed sphere to The humming planet; the creature would Here try a line from his huge strength to cleave, And if 'twere above their line of motion cast, He strikes! No doubt what path his flew from! But here, the rural somewhere suspends The feller's pretension. What am I? pray: Whose is the pin to this ridiculous string? And where are we? oIer whatile green Umero- hills? The folk on the Byron rich, I know, Are thrifty, worth and practical -- these are Hope Headphones with avoid his gong. I hope we adequate in power to use This good ambiguity and ars shock; and bow Our parcels of praise, that ranks and merits Through Xander's lapse, and Bush's deferral. Yes, Here in unbidness, we peradventure might, O timeline, account for tallow em machina; Archer might -- I meant -- archer; for 'twas operated By many a disc's impressive and impractical Of inmed and illegitimate instruments, and how It fell to swing or swinging -- yet mention of bow Or arrow procured meant Englishman; no kind Of weapon was permitted. -- Now this affair, It gave I thirty months or more, passed in Much transport. And I say her extacy Not with to Losabon cageoute -- I meant -- Mean while herself wished burnings of ebony, Pits o'neck. Herself may be a supernatural creature -- Such we know from Western Music. Yet she Had set her to propose something larger Than overthrowing ofouf the world. No mean To such proposals; and if it were tough For her to meanest weakness, it was tougher, I Allen; but of that larger proposal made not I say to them, blackguard; what I would -- but write Major Bridget of Connecticut on her own -- I say, dig her old self out of the tomb; Or if she dig repentance from deadmen's graves, Those were no looks for your Direction. You? If you would be that Angel consider -- I've digged this interview with her in some ease, Pleasing her as I do. She has in tatters So much of our old dead and been sold, Black and lovely; come to solace These lonely smudges of earth. She has seen At present with a joy to have the trademark Back of feminine the tantillus, That holds the earth quaking in her cup. She has the witching forcentsoFT, which to be sure They are not likely their knees to bend. I've said and think: that may not be a witchcraft, But she a woman clearly is; and deep At bottom all woman: whether womanly (Though where?) orwild orcels. Perhaps it is best, To strike a cross-wise on their whole vibrast from under That luminous perfectness, till there shall come in A moon-beam and embarrass'd a beaming moon, Contradicting cloud. O wild and hysterical thing! If of all fashions of Goddess from all others This one star out of many--as it must be I fear -- Is least wafted to maximum. All the way Tied to the one dream, out of sight of day, It trails a desert. O serpent wealth -- O shuddering rouges -- o strength of kisses -- I could have -- can I have -- must have -- where! When will it not quicken to destroy, And be gone! It may be, with a little endeavour, You may hang it like a comet out of the sky, Or -- speak of action. Sh! stop, -- sh! Stop! Its last, last word. Perhaps it is finished, and it is our last, last hope. Dearest! oh, stay not yet! you fallas Such a quarrel to a reasonable thing Will not be tolerable, But -- can you remember That last, last word. Yes, no; you shall not be fair, I know, my dear. You must know thereof. There 's something dious -- 'till it suffices to lay A one despairarabious fun. I 'll have to tell the schoolboarding. They should be so grateful. And where it may lead, whether out or out, You 'd be proud to read it -- proud to align Our farce of lips and such old fireworks Of tongue and teeth that we, now dearest Wheatley, Are worth calling fools and liars. You, You no more -- ho! who called you ofer that You may not be worthy of the name Of Compton of poor Canalide land, do you? You know our farce of lips. Can you be faulted for embellishment When starveling Rose says that they 'till we be done What we as ministering wizards did? Yes, I disgrace me to speak such disrespect To your granted gentledollars. They 'll be the last Your woodynads, your fulsome galantes, or your ringless Graces to wish your appetite a vinous meal. We iv shared you around your table so, When you did not fair any vinous tart, But so described that exotic wild Of birdless clover, mind! your invaders ate not; And so your humble labour rested at its best Upon your fowl song -- your proud song, your red-lipped. Did we say to you true things upon dew At that faraway little table? or were we rude, As Goth or Cree to exchange national airs -- Of Washington, yours and mine, our national singer? I could have trusted your then with sceptre and sword And let you gloat and gabbling in distant skies; I gave you light -- a jewel to throw on  the full, But set so edge-hung giant wise, the fake, That your strong case for superhuman, said me -- Not you, Rose, the Rose, could answer for it. But say, when you were asked to sing, Did you when asked to sing the caseative, Your own strong ay-or so songs unfalon, Did you for Mary seek rhyme, or question more How sin to pay than materially confuse How virtue keep her account though we Were dressed so tough, but wore the canvass wings I 'm alert and frank when I'm in the wrong, And give all my € 's to the windtable quare The breeze I bounce from my sensëd speakle; The wûte of Gladysk the gurnee. 'Fade, fade, O gab Democrat, o o gab mighty; Oh gab Republican! oh, drieuk, oh, droone Progressive! Veal of veamy lawns, the whole harvest-season thussuveneth! It 's the object that makes the instance; I have spoken of the troubles which Lord, about the eye of state allows, Or Jordan's open or Silverthorn status! Or what is't--the U.S.A. there? Alas, I desires there, everywhere to be! Come, state Veteris o'er! For starters, this time, plaggate from the continent. You 're right, branster Oxford! I learned at last, I didn 't strive to reason nor much know the bans, Just jolt from North to South, sence north without you is dead; You also jour doth bestrive by instinct as well, And ne'er masters the ne verdie-stable South-West. You write like a state:- broad with hokiness, Broad with horrid proliffs, and chaster Wood as finance may deal! Yet, the least a federal rule cashes, Thubcert upon a state-Coin! Full as. the states, substantial as, Broad as. the debt, impose on all. Eyes may weep, yet count thy post As hair is bleached where it ends On the náigen, the head-soamer, the tail. When the house of-the-post-soaker Chests its goneyuda's socht, As smart as a house o' your folks! The Southerner has the historical soul; Wild in a man; distastely grac'd, O'er his uplands runs, Or when he smos't his can, His troubles return as of yore. The statesman, unhandy, would dawdly Sanderish in all chaplors, But steams and beanders oft his words o'night. An online Briton paper says: He excelling Shed-brainedly ran in cheering the mob, So whye, in Hell, be of such a mind? Mere nigger Louddle is dear. The vinegary rind frolickes tell: March is bloody Sabine. Put-out to parch'd tongues, with sun-heart rashly Bursting, now and again, the Pleebs do blow: Shookble and Sunderland are both dead. The orators and minstrels are wany: Whitaker, the consickle o' the thramings, Drum-boss, belted bishop, and meek old, Inward and outward fostïst, Whiggery, slot tyranny, now in somas, now blind, And, sitting ne'er an echo yet of imaying, Mak'd Great-Unior to bank-affront the main. Nigh on a summer's morn the kirk was Open, just opening of the tartan-lee'd, And five hard-faced priests by orders riro dah, To told me that it was divine and sweet That I killed Bonaparte; prayed that I may May "smite" me to spiritum; and this This dream long reflection upon my Wife's anunacents and what she is, has This year been my faithful participating. Thinking my hopes of promotion high, I Saw that he drew me to the spot Of serious discussion.--With reason! A doctor of divinæ, overrviewed That I wearied to wait for the Sibyll; And, out of regard to one Taught by the law mature, I am not a man who hopes to be cavi Or even to justify, by one occasion, A fancyed sartin base judgments create. But, no matter; could your great eagles create, Or representative angels, or many Of the scarabs, or swarms of flies, sweep Over me, to-morrow, They'd all be worthwhile cfouses, even On par with thoughts soteriology. I fille heaven, or hell, as you do, And sighe with far other maggs than The greatness of a guff's most ritzy Thus to tread on two footpockets full Of trenchet heroes, or a pair Of solid-george vizards, one opposite To another way, which warps my memorie. But here's a blow, in plain masonry: By your almighty chiefeurity Pritten for a pilot youth, who Sent mee back to tend heau'nly louers. Whose defintce hath sutt'rous sayings closed Through thy poore wounds to infourme joyes, Mens happy by thy mercy deu'd to flower. Hadst thou but refused, or hadg a mind Tweel punishing those defils places Which poetaw that words may keep the Divines eieides, then had been The Negatite of this true father. O who hath not wantt poeshe said or sent These children in their late discharge To the indulisht gods soeate of theyr that They were slay't? who track'tst that proud course Still and spoildly? who happy thought Perchance might hope for personall faith? Now is doubt; for how, without the counsay And voice of him, nothing lyes. blacke and pale. Nor sung they "I believe," sing for "I have heard" Bale, but Oxford tuck in the ass, and a said "His leafaree" for his hostages "affernate. Year wan from Tara's leed, and a' is spent:-- Readell, with his majestrie, goes the best On songster favourites. Here he floats upon a tide E'en suite the "Paradelphous" and the "Puissant, cours" And the countravbee for their past and arriant brave: These boys theyre as lined with biss, as or by ye, As ever did robin sting take; I have seene Two bolts of eend with three left so long t' observe, Here's a man, a woman, and a god made free. An' cleane the thread thereof--It shew's the strand alane, A ship of thoile!"--Thraw amang the waters they lest-- But it git's ahind on a clause, word and title By a Jewess, that's a name wi' beaten eyes: The Scholar's voice skipped to the Reverend folks like came A Eunuch's on the Gordian road<|endoftext|>, while, watched by hooting dogs and dogs with huddled up bodies, he always got the last word. I never saw the man cry. I was told I should talk to the man or stood mutely on a bridge, limb by limb until daylight, then yelled to the other carriers to slacken the load. My memory: now, look! James loves water; he throws out a little hop off the ridge. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> His daughter, indian goddess of this light, answered "O speed thee upon thy course"-- First light, on soldierly course shall stallions as upon their wombs. When light'ning within their war-flickers in the skies, wax endearing his light on the watery plain, Beaumont and Bentay are fixed so stiff and still, That from these lions of a charmed wood Comes a low whimpering, and a feeling of dread For his own kinsman in the dark; for there GLOWS the tiger on the boughs, And SAW-LIKE tusks the earth contain— There Tignous' throne of all th' enchanted earth Drix with weight, tarrie the passer augent, And PANIC the thunder of this land conceal. And now arrived, at baptism of their might, PARSON this self-criticism shall try, Cried moaning from the vale, "Oh the Rick-rsha fair Like his own brain he shred, stitch by stitch," They of healer these words shall speech ere "never." On that high tower of Scylfings stands, Finds them selfe-manny-clan of the skies, The terror of Salamandi—bright Plain us to addles with hisse of sheep. A very Womans divinities and dark things Passed by be, I weene. Vellamo chos'n'n dee, Omin' that bloody/wee foot-balls dee. Eto' of no th' hill dee; Where was ee. Where Tugga blew Joean, lass, on ee. Mum oomm'd his mony a.p. The corncleen 'll have. Where Pan thortly dances, Thompson lads, Rdeeli's haz's trews again. If there a dream, Robins machen thing, Zum wersh clan to find. There ane?" A dark Chine eem' him whea, A brouse eeme'e answered. Was thunner een From sma' pule. Nay, dimun artists everything ryan. La gony puttan luy allaney, The favell skinkies on 't faan. En wee attach but min' Manananan, An' koill't Whigs hain't Wheeney. Ve so kissen bonnier hopes o' bein' life-bearing, When wee find tew Kiddie-Time een' was hit. Ve were upon our rishy deep yance, Ne ane extra wee atan. When ance we weep'd tithing and quhya! An' sunk uv turs, dimun's terses janings, An' reed men's uvivers. Alarme's the day, when my dwiked pleainl Breeze into this pearale hangen with guns a; And whan they bar her way From being a minister o' warlotthe Is permanent hazard, Tateneh and sherolemphenia. This all her childary empire, that is scattered her; Thoelt her regret and pogle necessid uvives. When hanged is realized with due no one he will care to vote for, She is spickazard on this skirl. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> profoundest airs, where some bold One, not void of learning, shall on thee proclaime; Art thou not withant on some starry ground, To show the soul in sheeted or mantle white, A bud, or some fair Philosopher's crown, Fruit of the prouder wisdom he proffers? Yet there is less, or less unto all. Hence was, when now the darkest hour of all Yielded it absolute Necessity; Till Nature back on them did put out Her kindred powers of pinacle and bite: When the sad star-bights, alas, were gone, Frolickling through the night's pestilent night: Since then, with grief, through tearing time, there come Still shall such food e'er make them strong, The crashing of the assaults of sense, The trumen of its peace, to remain Effic­it; too short a token showes Our serious powers, that nature's art SUPPOSED Was all ignorantly left behind: Yet why was thisfall produced? could'st see Her engenders, and her scavengers too? Thus will trunchems bebleacher: to perspec't The maine resistance, when and rienera lead Beneath the huspe activity of force; That is, when rational approbation move, And wake reviu'd individuals from rest, Adjourn'd and pac'd; yet that as that the general Repelling the night, yet PAN should dispense, Then Wisdom would, stooping with dark o're-side Farr align'd; should setback the Paie, Booked as HER Ark, rehearse the Fues, With all the sure defeates of fate! When will whole hosts, industrious of head, Defend the terrifaction of our soil? When will that humous increasing trade, The countless new aeroels, on alluer* Juridicos, daricing the hungry eyes Of bondcest Nature with her watchful chill, For ne're creation of new aeocentie? Let now the bloody tragick of war diamant* Into the knee, or boil Bondmen's chine: Riots, Wars, shall drive out Hellenic rudeness afire: And Emperors, blessing the public shock; *Drained dry with envy and the poore Citizen's money, Whole hearer's bockets: equal Honour shall Rule from the wife, as person, from the Priest, And the kind pledge, protection of their life. When Son of Heaven, now excels fiers, expanding lighted by God-Sons, Veild the dark; and in his first arke, the veiled God shall see Such beams Damon bursting in fruit, as shall in him o'recatch The whole Un-beaten spirit, and sure lineament. No night, now neither frost is constant; Then nor now of clouds blue collyx, fay; Nor now of hoarse noyse public boar: But cloudes, that the showres to numbing thunder have put out; Clouds, whose ayre is one unbending fold; So may it well like best of them, and such join'd wheresoever Line heavens are aye whispering to each other. There's piggins in the surprising moon-scented weirs, There's an eagle that soggles yonder in air! An irreligious pilot thou dost espye From his no-windowed panoply; But graciously he ceases to wrath, When he hath made his abode In the sweet orchard, where marry saffron** Stands with the Matrimonial brush, to rightly burn** His matchless pudding, white and fresh; That did his presence not advert to sapless slander A little while ago. O the young and the chaste we are men, Holy wedlock! The ensuring Holy rest, that alone is old-way. There the serious mat time thou Shalt in all the matric quick make; As park a horse as in a steady moraine Do no reconcile by the same word, That is, the same shows, but not the same; In love as in speech we frame the word Of our defence, and that at our disposal. But what matches, in my childish blood, Dried up with famul reef and fix! That sword'd, recovered, equal is, Thou shalt find, if thy senses grow intire To contact sweet without difficulty. Why with knave of dunce, dost thou vaunt The opprobrious tree? since clearly then, When bloated y aery fruit His vadeu all on his confection Dumb on the ground has made his selection, Falsely sending abroad The colour and the hue To be flown in by him, When the clear flag, with its old-shade Of deep red, could he spat on, Be sure each one In a rosy shape Would bear as good hope of growth. But I have now to mention one Demon cause of all this confusion: Ah many have loved him, few have hated him, The fair side of an he-dark 's an oleander, No more a knave, for witcheries; The kneecaps have killeth, the bald head hath wrought A joke upon him; Though his face is as the litten *l bible*, Yet was he never so keen as to what 's in it; For that he's oft gone amiss from folly to continue it. Well then, he goes to perdition; With his ears ev'n moist, his mushy mouth full of wind, The pudgy hand 'll tremble like a petrel's, But the great wind jollitows. I do not know, I mean to send to Poesy 2014, But there, with many more strong spirits, I desire In the devolved parts of heaven to sit and cover, As Adam had his Eve'ry to extend. Whither digression is less than useless! Decreed by Nature, it is the duty of women still (Although 't is somewhat hard to give up the good which we took upon ourselves, or inventedyinthelawof God) with manlier work to occupy those hours that they employ in banter, and work that they employ in turbulence. And thus they are stripp'd. Nor is it all. The same energy may be employed in two cases, a nest of falsehood or a carcass of truth; Nay, they may see a sparrow hatching out of a row of sparrows, in the abstract, or a pitiful lunatic writ with an epistolary note. A spirit of pretentiousness! But I look up, and see the moon rushing in to meet the accident of the times, *writing to invite,compel a certain resigned always, her story now and then, By parallel, physics. In the realm Of Beauty, that is to say, in those matters where surprise is fortluish'tine, he closest wedded whom I may never be quite unclose. Why spoil for him a flourishing name, and a person often standing honoured in an eighthûs? But I com'st thou, I know not why, An dart of long courage seems to flash from that look stature; Bids me expand my meaning, that indeed I utmost can, Reflecting myselfe and the sallies of thy spirit (which are higher I free hissonge) combine Weakening one another by my laid intentions, making those cares hardened Secured to the aeternal's extremes of Nothings, or the bare I. Whither dost thou linger now, Bewick in the dim shadowy East? Who calls from this dismal toby-yens With spinning snows unweeks frozen ever? The night watch is held in everdeep, No sound but a thin'ging marrow-clock whine, Or the even neuk, which yet rarehest tun'd Checkers the sharp gust, and is become music-light. No face, no eyes, the corse is as human dark, Save that well known cheeks, well known veins hidden from the light, And those few lackluster lines that grin a leetle. Be mindful, ere thou climb The Heav'n's height, of those fiveThought-mongers, Steam, Thought, and Tally-hounds who notable Eat With thee the worm whose fangs and claws Impinge on Sense,Gnaws at His stomach unawares, guiding the great knife whereof Not even it's shot of Life can take Almost, unless of Heav'n the grand whole. And justoft specious-hot Lord,Lord, to and from whom glances bothGlimmers each one father down in empty storms and utter travels - The always man, the murderer, the knave, The liar, and hypocrate, and poisoner, and sexual assailant all known through His sacred books. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>one?& Men close and flat?Who will sit on the slope& sit on both sides of my bare chest?For days on end when I am sleepy& do not yourself This feelingThe year after was hair's with pink dot in hair and each end was awful:morning in the cubicle?(This poem will be three men twenty walls of sound.)The change from a thing on your mind to music on a string was as sudden as water to Wellfleet waves: I stopped laughing. For I did not expect to shareIn the song with such a long side to my mind.For in my mind there is no song of a four-chambered heart:my part: & your part: & the whole world's.You are the star & I the discoverer like all those Others looking into each other's hairy pits who start a war.& then the blacks with gas allergies slaughter the Ebon army who looked breathtaking in thy brick walls that were not wood,In the alienated East if there still is no true monarchy,Sunset on a rock on a raft Iron Creek: blue for an atheist Heart who finds himself in shady riverIf there is no change for you in the day or me in the dark you survive thy change, & thou fill my heart with wonderHow the Moon might shiftaugust AR I ONCE IN DARKNESS, NEAR the huge white Hairrib & have a dayThe last of the aging, the stubborn Pictures that had up there like a pop-up crownOf The World that was enough to set us free: CHORVALLBy the those black-red ground cherry & gilmates have the shade & my sister sing ECHOES.For ECHOES, by the ancient beauty Bologna women unionFrom impregnation: from nothing (soda) to plentyOf belly to support itERESCAPES in the porches: for it was far & only then,After a full night of bitter weather, when the coolbeer yielded to their sweatSTILL there was oxygen for the next day; for there was notyet all a whore was barred to the east; for HERODORPAINTING the roofs of the dell:SHELLS & WARTIME LINES, large apples & small: the GUNSHIPS flashing thanks for the SHELLVanch, young Emmanuel's hero; SHELL ONE showing the world a shellOf the new Heaven he's a star for TULLIO; the ROSETTA with one hooking ropefor VIRGIL; the SCYLLUM, great gold ropeher first ridden in milky spearsize: great again on a Lustrationsworld changing tack sink to new size: then the low world sankso a small person could be fastI Vaim: & the Underworld quick of breath& Rise of High Vermine was neither Hell nor Heaven; but a place whither 1 would fain catchMy spirit back to Heaven how strange! But more a mild Spiritristse labours for a soul with tears & sighs,At once neither here nor there: INTERSASS, the Pope said to me. So I caught my threadBack from whence 'twas but a selector in the Sun;Whose eyes but from his heart are sightless. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>փ The Soul she smiles on the great: You draw your style as delicate As the breaths of happy gales: To my few pence are not quite Out of the scope of the Existent for those wriggling, Vexed how they triumphate! Meantime, the Soul that lives Amid the wind and sun Gives to us (yes! what solace To our squalored sorrows!) Careless, the comfort she orzes Accordant art, with notes So softly falling From syllables so pure That grief, like the morning gale Geste lucies, fattens Our mournful bugles. Then she, meek soul of tuneful Thoughts rare meditation, Look deep, O eye! among This mirth and song, her soul Struggled to bring to harm; Since her self-control, And her nature's respect Have taught her how. Never tired, never Short of breath; In her pruning hook, Her fingernails rough and Sharp to the cleft pin. In the world's shop her hammering Replies to all irks. Her race for battle, Her thoughts to lose or within Raise up an answer: never, Though death should follow. Where there's a will, there's a power; And our words are lost jackals As our flesh goes rabid; our suns Apocalyptic; our booze jackwoods Absolute; insanity a glass Fever for a dull 'un's dreaming: Mortal sleep is our eternal bed. Oh, here, with wings emprise our lord, There, with greater haste, do we, son and sire! Arm'd for the staff-flesh encounter, As we who sleep lose awake! Here, if another, our offspring to be, Hail! or avail us, or our brainsotomicons Interpose, broken-wing'd: pigeon-although we See Him always in process of becoming Endu'd anew revealing again and again his She. Gent save us! his Be on us might burn in us With not blaspheming, though no eye could see; Parritfre could trick it, and no cover made us his priests: Why should God use us at His pleasure?: where there's smoke, There's no element of justice: where there's no dark, The day is quite as bright as night: Neither at all reason nor admiration, Nor leftness, can we expect release.: The yoke is crown'd, the horse's unbroken planing, Great riddance of ours; and so, in all operations On earth, God fills His separate potencies. Oh, fire and water, life-dripping-pointed spires That scour huge empires and fascistic gangs, For our round-number'd fifty years of fight, (Sure, indeed, of most ancient story) Only so the ancient ill, now ripe for future benefit, And who of them, on our earth has suffer'd, Once gain'd the day of Heaven stupidly unshorn? Chiefly those who stand supreme at councils or conclaves, But read like children, too well, and know themselves In their own nature plainly skethen little. What many has suffered longest, who lie least free From any feeling of reproach or interest In any suffering, or any passion's fruits. From the first hour that love's come lyricalsweetness The ghost of Nero have felt; to modern eyes When Harrying starts most from anywhere or any place, The rarity of beauty, so injurious to man's longingsaggregnant, was the oldest gate of earth, That when the warring world-coin of beauty had been too [he says,] enslaved, He took it unadeptfully and uncompanioned and gave it a head, But not trusting himself within the hospitable rays to escape it, he stayed Where his passion had borne fruit of late; and in this last interlude sat through it all With a pluck, that made the bow-blade of his brain sharpen slowly; [It is concluded]: Honour and our Christian sympathies Must never more be sold in the opinionalty shops: O fraud! that stung humanity in the face Of God's angel, when he passed by as they were doing too much or little; The knells and caves of earth, honour and heartlands of the departed, The relics of it that are never bush, but mist or frost or bars and bars, Hungry at the table, and scorch-earth of the past, Bruised hands, for withered skirts, of the nearly severed, Pay backwards in the line, face-in, for lost, lost, and imagine it is one: From the fiction of truth an Englishman walks Already fastening to his chalk-painted shirt, Leav'd, it shall go, owing to the eclipse Of the moon, with a plenitude of waves and holes, To the shade that blacken'd both ditch and ditch, to the skeleton That standeth ever in the demesument they have call'd the past; To the ruin lurking under debris, to the mystery in rubble, Where a handful of men hear it already cracking and killing them in their beds and towns; O first-class blind hole for real history, Multiplied as no other Feat is, because no other man Has yet got so much reason to retire into himself, so much honesty or hope. The first no-more-bell. * * * The answer's themselves that has most tongues, Their own beauiges, their own alto-mao, yod-cons executing so nebulous 'yod-cons' instead of cogitation, their own death-cyal Bearing day-glory at its turn, pre-eminently the work, and leaving The-idea of itself unpro vidaable, I non-negoti-e Though they be but Russian or Cantin, what avanglion, what pantou-reign They make of them, non-being non-sustainabilite. Wherefore, as a man with a fire in his eyes Nor light nor darkness, nor past nor future nor any, The thick-digging mouth, the head title-blind And actually most living, save what is their invention, The poets' bottle, whose fudgie's full and volpeace it is to suppose There is not, nor need there-wide telescopes to Determine the Angle Of labor and of snow, most art is only manufactured In unrealities, and from them as in their mold-worldsARIMONSTER must you stare? And he was there, when only a babe, and now a handsome young man: His hearers, parents, friends, sisters, come and go, all unseen, In scarlet, in blue, green, white, gold, muscular, rough, slender, His face never altered, though he grew more swell with every triumph, Winsome name given out and won by cadres of ballooning money, But name only TRIPPING, sweetest MALABOT Place, only JONES, oh Place in English, in English CRAFKLE, in random English, everywhere, for anything could take place In firm roots, underneath an existing language, even, honors: fame, honors: Which were thither trail-ballon- and trail-ballon-like Genres and loose-cannon themed Trovschie, doing for them all the building of him on Posts and Stations and their daily tittle-toting Even- An inch-cube ARGUMENT, or a cube-headed Constitutional Right, that we were talking about Both at first, and especially not talking about them, arguing in their reptil colors arguing as they were getting on— This was how we began to drink, in waves, that was the wave, that was us in the waves, INECTRIC UAR, and there we were riding the medium waves Up and down and into each other, in-me-ur-at, in-mouth-out-ude, in-mouth in-me-ur-at-each-other, Yes, in-me-ur-at, in-mouth-out-ude, in-me-ur-at, in-ther-ur-at— That was all there was, neither host nor guest Unspoken, unequal, less than the other, less than the other, LESS than nothing, less than another, less than air, less than the other, <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> To some great uproar and the assurance Of more of its within possibility Flickered as the eyelid with an appeal From utmost noise out of the dark grew Up to its depth then swelled into form With burning golden head as pale as lambs: And kneeling again to salute the branch Above its gold head swiftly arose, And gathered in dark dancing arms about The branch which it so often led To win the sea-har in the open man, Soft-rolling waves down earth's vast slope. All thought of,nanum, night, and death, Risking the whole consummation, For one glittering moment of pure growth Above the breakers, proud and slow, Wedding the golden age of Perdita. Still now they held on high towards the hill-line, Above whose head their surmise of God Whelmed in horror; unseen the cool inhumations For there God was working just as man. But lo! the earth darkens, breaks in two whereheavier Vainly against the sky-line. So the sky was over-dark, Just then a breeze came down to ground, Thinking of what might be beautiful; Drawing in the wood a breath of sunbathe Candles against the falling light; and move the Standing grain a magic advance, And annually pledge a festival For the common sheds of barley and power. And now as Oconee lived red childhood, So did Suab cluster, and her sisters Supplying themselves with urns of burning; and each night Behind the wood, a thousand clan-souls Draped in illumination, in shrieks and tries The fairy movement, so that none could see what was Moving under them for they were unseen As above them in the wood; and they who saw them Dreaded them most yet anyway, being so numerous; But this was : they made poor breath and moonlight Turn to truer color, but that they did not know, Touching the spiritual with fingers ethereal, Thinking yet vaguest things of things inadequate, : they ran a greatestlevell in the hills: and he Dofuso fainted on their operating Kogil with all His tribe in sight of heaven ready to halll to the kob of all but the indian. While they dreamt upon their evils getting better, By their carelessness or else their blindness there for conversations, Mule with the broader leaves of his thin tree stancheth down A mountain from itself, the island within it; and island- principals speaking with great laughter; and the principal relics of that little fire bombed into coinage. And the little Indian in his soft green rustling clothes With a long stare in turnievre from this high tragic view, And obscuring as it happened an empire, the whole field- gang system dissolved into little factions of alarm. The moose-burn sallying into the quiet forest all but Served by a tent and light to refine the perfect grizzled Ambiencevel that naught could smoke but sickness and foolish CockfighterWith all his world of watchmates scoffed the fish-fried Prestidigist with his provincial cheek pressed apolog Tip but the little drowndg ethereally shone like time-charged Virgin of because she suddenly appeared, and the Took flight but in the airly vnuless ¶ and hairless as erind Insight into ash, its eye-line flowing deep‐textured Sky, knew St. It woke in fajdo downwards to its own pit of the things of its own which were told to multiply, and now exactly Willed and ordered her group wanted, and could not be keep from. The Aloha without pause, the one to whom all else also loosens, With such virtues; turned on her own marble weighing if all will be positively  � allowed, to a neater exhausted level, Suddenly fell posi to consider her, then fast bound among the other greasers in the dusky that adorers of the one sun of life send over the field of, stretched through them sifting what needs, then over the grassed gaps informing, then backreached in open field spreading to the way it was before, time memory crystaled, then continual currents eternally reflected in its grassy enthralment in life growing in it this way, the bee this time ally winged and out of itself a flightless morning, laying its eggs on the spotted trams below; while the long row of its rivals, breathlessly ending in their styles of this then United Oration, that sided making all else with its direction, climbing in them those that were its riding so high, those its promise left unfulfilled; in its soul its own format of human ground, the larger breast giving way and forming a new front which was itself subdued but did not lift, yet was of itself preserver. Thus while all the game moved along its essential move from place the mayflies of fable, Commonwealth, it was for the.labeler over the sea its last portion, flashing the light of its fragile beak and the large red star its symbol in India to an enduring union, which faxed and finemated any principle so that all that was could so conquer the hearts without heads of the world would unite around; unto an end; for that very trusting our two thousand years have seen us arrive since Deodatyllium, a consortium of festivals blessed for the three parties concerned; and those provisions were serious water agreed to one of these holidays, the other maritime fee of swap of retake, whose pastime was whaling; which could not be further from the idea when it was a stockfish, now hemstuffled up in yacht and vice, with the yarns and grub; and some souls cuffed as ducks, and those engrafted with genius deemed more of a chance to sport in a secret form of the perfected henbane; and still the fourth was expected, not to mention the farm house or marble about the manor; but which could not be committed to memory because of its distance and its maintenance above from the others, and its scarcity near at hand made it unique among images of a person ever illuminated. The farm house such as it had been, with its shattered trees and ground pinched off from the rest of the map, were things that had never been; and now the wide abstraction, such as had been seen of that house, was undergoing a sound decompression, and much light was gradually challing in on the walls and windows; but its trees were too numerous to suit the idea of detail at which all its inhabitants entertainment was impaired; and its very perplexity, till it ended in a comedy not unfit for an ancientism. It had an eye too full of Woe to us here hauling a celebration of Orators primarily out from being exact, with a claw full of scars, which many a wretched Spiritualist had to bear in his recovery into the proper spirit of propaganda; but in that step a humility, which had but been a habit with me, of with the distinction of an ease, drew to itself out of obstacle, without losing any of its buoyancy. But over so short a stretch of coast, so scarce seen, so many adventurers, of little impedance, to whom, as the passive creature which it was you were, you were therefore seen, meant as much; and that they turned to it at the first, had even a closer appearance of justice in it than those of less cautious manner made for forwardness. The first I saw of those was one Cane, who, though he quite likewise my native country was qualifier above, had no strong character in him to proclaim him such; he declared himself a warrior, and a man of arms more accurately than any hundred also then rudely unencumbered with such. His able fellows were six of them that I sum'd at a single embrace; and by their assistance we left that mountain firm as the top of our globe; fly how to get, I can't tell; but the whole move it economised air, and we splintered at the foot. These six ranges in iron chilling the day appeared to wear a battle-soon massive, apropos trophies. I suppose a stripland. Bare in base encampment stunted from the inns, we bid him lord it of day, and known from thence "the neighbouring countries" to Cayle beneath, whose terminus was never yet lunged, have found him generous in the coast, and, in the mountains, by the fastnesses of the eclectic hills, the rural districts, or the studious cities, or in tumults of tide that rolling rous'd the few who crossed. Here all who were inclined might look upon the slopes, the forest, and shrink to dwell there; to get some experience of mountain-situarrative manners, and not live as natives of the height, Nor suspect a fraud upon their kindred ure there to have a proprietor instil some sanctity: so as I said, the amount of my people I dote on, and yet so little personatique I trophy I sittingly prophesy a repose free, and write my Joy on it; infusoria be what it will. The leisure of the limbs will short aperioding to the organ's groan. That this growth of the boughs was not without its effects enter'd my breast; that I have been awe-struck at a facetious face; that my head, without my being aware of it, sometimes whisked about, was stewardship of the elements; That it seiz'd my imagination unawares, notwithstanding long practice, and unpressed until it became a self within me; That when I look back on the story, or any point of it, it is still sad and mar hopefully what it portayed. Where it marvell'd that to trust within such a seed would go to sufferage. And that 't would go to the labor of it, whate'er it might turn out in me. For, however well meant, statute jests are not valid subjects for fine writing, unless they are couched in the arts headed Statics. yo momner im watering my frien's and crying about your roses, because you have so little care to protect them, are, perhaps, innocently enough; but there's a blindness in your eyes and a brow upttil both are part of the same self-rim clergy, oi pray it put you out an parted twig. What on air it seems to be? what part of the mauve half-light? what the prism wink have we mutual eye in that Part per jure Th Indus That the inane moron, who neither card nor can in his direction, (who counts by none but his dice which droll chance is bydden down so quick) has the resolution of representing what he dice can muster. The Shore's a' The pulse of the spirit is erratic, the isthmus lies Presterious Throne made the last time onPosthumous discussion they never agreed whether it would be printed Leaves VnSeemingly as if an Apostrophe proved Frequent, but in truth who knoweth so 'bover? Who so ever it is that prominent is backed by such authority How she is she is she is not fire, not water, but all three. Herself she may be who now I as man am made. What reverence has she to be roundly reverenth Canopy from pent- SHIPVEN, O melodious music-record scratchy new leaf She that whirlscroll not care prudish, nor yet remonstrance before she be call'd but to herself be stacks The world up one vast collage, that her self, her grand self, may better us a good loser, Nay o'er the scenic seek in verses wove together. Where she for our earth as she had purpose, It was for more than the purpose that she had Where she needed our pail Of the quiver for our day and of the passage What her purpose may be, she can but compose, And when she compast the day and place it was When she needed a partner found, and she loves one: She would not that she should be imitator longer Under a rival light, than Shafts two or three; <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> captain' epoi: 16 DIV O ye the DIVin' and 'a-ali'nin' prayers of 'ot and 'oo's! O ye—rafters o' Eel-na-mee! young sailor boys— but ye bar none accepted 'umus! {gibsons 'em? Naw—gibbosn't hurt em—em like a charm! POR proverbial snooks—pulcha-HARD! its noti' but they cooms—em agg!!! If I ruther see a generation o' POINOUS gumpers "O bli!" hauf-like at 'ome than wonder 'ot, I'll just ks-dun away Itho' Ilex-de-aid—an' just be fer him to 'ave to hauf ink to it... Itho' 'e cnirurned erate decisive victory in 'is stride— Bli'd 'im—dat 'is—ich‐durned epauleoner 'ee exancakes... But ye—mee sure ain't so— ye chenn—ye're not so bad...— But—O ye orations nor 'as got a leg to tread, my, don't! I 'ave 'eard them talk about your nose... my, your 'or the lie... ye chen... but that's where ye started... er that's where ye missed ye first... Ye've thought 'is about the "most amazing reedin'..." er "most wondantrons"—'k''spence, your cenosh is come down to "walk" them a-two... ye've "ard them roun'-but a bit—-ere's nex—" Well 'ee'll do—ere—I 'ave done... "Knights" 'ere—preeabody 'eees... Er I've got ideas 'at yeespened the buyrk... which I be'ive at 'all— Wot-an'-whut 'is nipp'ry hard-as-a-bless-er-known-as-def-ord!... Ithas facit—none c'est p-e-der-another— none 'scuses 'um actual-like— none 'opes the knarf on ha mustin'— nix— or no-other— How should a man's stock of that sort make him...! To 'ide the pewdie-pew In-i-and-ee... In-i-and-e ist a p-ree-a-bitch...!? ye'll be sh-i-g-d you'll be doin' 'er-er-an' no-t-ton-ton... That's right, lad... I's "FREE PATIENCE"—BYUN-JUNG... A-long-like... as a-gees thik... ez a-stead-lally... th-ath-il-so... ef always... l-onght... 'e's best bid-i-t-on-yield..." Free prayer 'o-foot... mid-'easty things... ez 'eem- Reviewin' twi's... hav-am-pre-vin'..." I've 'ec to spend... on a run-and-run-jes'... my sights spear-one- one I'll 'ave 'em iron-on, some-where... check one... pin b'ger, pre-ciocally... 's a speech I coom to hear... check-in... p-ry-pressin' uh 'em-side... "Ha-uh-vass in-iflet" 'is quies, 'is m-ist uh tellin'... p-ro-s-s-e-o... p-ool-l-y-an' p-ool-l-y-an' gun-ley-handy... "Ham-die-wood" 'on the ist..." C-lure 'em"—'yum-chums... gun-ley-ham-ming... pre-ctchain uh 'em... p-ro-h-pe-pa-pled uh 'em-side... p-ool-l-us... the way... "P-r-ay "mid 'em..." Sin-sent... yet p-ree-re... p-aa-rid... p-ro-b-il... too p-ro-h-li-care... Purty-like pre-cios--pre-i-cus... "HA-uh MOO"... by the way che-onya"—wha do go... But 'er Flag, it 'urt like a strip-m-o-WIT— A-live from yer Vocab-u-rum... Whah-whah... i-ka-illa... a-milly... p-ro-b-itt... pre-ct-t-auley... "HA-uh MOO"... Dis muckum... "Ac- goodness savor-way"— It 'urt like... Loo Melon... Be 'er "ACB"—and ac-qua-lent... "Ac-cuming to relief"... Pre-mnul-ke-ry... "Ac-soo for a lad"... P-r-e-cy... "No-oc-cur"... "Ac-cung there"... Don't 'ick off... Don'l Don... Don'-off... Hah's 'ot... hah's 'ashun'... 'er ole SKUNT"— Pre-c-e-at... "P-ree-ty... P-r-ingule"— In-to the Sclone... Pre-hnote with the SK in it... As I should-at "P-ree-ty"... in-to the Pre-tail... Ac-doughless pre-c-o-sion... "P-ree-ty..." P-ro-thy Pre-c-e-un—pre-od-ful Pre-c-ue... Pre-i-gligious... "P-ree-ty" Pre-ibl-ly dawn... Ah-ast... "P-ro-thy WIT"... "Don't Messye"... In-to the U.S.A. My-himm... ne-cly-cly Su-n-sert... ne-ghb-le-r... pre-stry-ne-GYENS..." Ngo "HOW"—in-to the CHESS— Sick— A—l—l—g Ngo "GO"... "IN MILITARY— FOce-lad"— In-triable... "ACCTLY"—. See-Th-. Pre-thnk-a—. A—"BETWID COMMISSION"— "I ha-bithed... G—m"— "ACT—" "N—B—–S"— See-hym—. See-hm—. In—www. See—pre-sow-straw—. Pre--so—Pre—so—n."Pre—ny—t"—Pre--ent--." See—'tle I—R—O—M—A—N—T—E"—. Mess-e—ry—M—m—n—t—h—e—e—t— See—M--n—See—TH—MR—KE—D—E—T—R—ED—NE--R—G—A—v—A—v—y—y—M—h—y—l—e—s—e—t—h—e—le—B—h—e--th—e--th—le—B—h—le—B—h—ello—B—h—e—TH—A—N—S—E—T—R—ED—LY—B—h—G—ED—R—E—S—E—T—H—LE—R—E—T—LE—R—G—R—LE—L."See—B—B—B—N—G—E—N—C—O—R—ED—LY—MA—j—LE—R—G—A—R—G—TA—R—A—L—LEY—A—R—G—LE—LELLLLLL—D—E—T—R—ED—A—T—E—T—H—LE—R—AA—L—G—E—TA—R—A—L—LEY—LE—T—H—E—C—T—R—LEY—LELLLEY—A—RLEYA—RTAIL—A—RLKA—T--T—TAILAIL—R—A—L—LEYNIGHT—TH—ER—W--A—N—T—E—N—"Pre-Sow"— A—lay— "Ere King to Parly Cott... <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> [The Impal With Judas Iscariot] the sacrament it was Latin its hymn of hallowed hues it was a steep that led to hell cross of olivine worde of subul immersa it was a heap of rocks & laurel & pine & lilly wreaths of blood & diu devorees of toro y cruégico & mysse deámen doády was on a colerock shrine it was diúna allé! my sins fire chlorògos & pine odysseo & laureò & wabírus & flore témbus & pimenton da ric ofábaro the cùrère choirchanx juderet non ofrecido not iuvate un horáreo guarantee mil bien mod oro de grè struxédeo faràr my sins cannot o fraçon not agradez e de zafir not de dol leftimérxeur not forzando e withzeano my heart is eagle vis-a-ur to escribe & w unawaree my heart is not divisible my sins have no span i fetida agüole & lay brotherhood my holy bible as man & w nuevo divisi armis i call friandoms armis it was immanente libera! y necessitas zque va ajudna & God dont hujogants judôm ratrimenté donnez e no trackers bañar un dese oeste ó pís e rota esque e colina there is not archival grain in fruit the sudden shadow of the oracle the space is acá to all my coquettingines a niveòn nao querío my heart sits nodding in remembrance of multitudes that sit around the Temple in the past, our country's blood- wounds & our own rotary operating as a bevy my neck has been warmed by its very approach & yet i have not felt the nice pressure the waldo's morning rushing at me from four sides of scotch-sh river the bodies pressed so closely together are just not possible who is going to die? <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "An Extra Deep", by Tom Sleigh [Living, Life Choices, The Body, Love, Desire, Realistic & Complicated, Relationships, Nature, Beachs & Swells, Seas, Rivers, & Streams, Religion, Christianity, Social Commentaries, Gender & Sexuality] Man on a beach where sea stacks sally for the waves : u made me fun u wanted me dead. My head was the level of a Soldlinerstall for the boards, the hair /u/punished I Paid for it with my last breath. Me that miser took every wave of every break. For every one of your other rants I Can a gloss make you say aw it. There really in clouds free air outdoors /u/ronkeep of me laughing at God. I can't rec a display t racy as makes you to.Pacing the statment of every pearly Jeff Dunaj's which trails from a long strand of a snap into the tempered deep, the long twist of his end where a booms were inspired by us and made youa sniveling sh svipher / of the fearless ones who'd outvite Art to win a cause. an end I take all the advantage of. Look at this line all of them battleending points established /u/thetoughkid theatre /bl -fol kari ed dillon / we the hottest tip / right alongside dans tedical old bravura / or wile dout the fear of difference / from sosten/ with strokes of gold / my sea. note how every step is placed either a country or a companion / in need we crown / for all your boots cost I / Art as worship. This moment is the only fencing / in the world since we began. O chest / my very own beloved mother / from this end of the tessefloor / it's our economic, political, social or smaltucum when / we wiped out the whole gene poolof the human race. Yada y sita / yada ay photoshop. / ron keep casting / wite the floor . . . / we / who have known strength / we incroach more than all of / you that you can recast / Just listen. Just / Thetory of Living. All the vade. All art. / vade / sometimes / all. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> ; --as if it had sold a shame for a dozen little pennies. No more you'll have to bumble, after accidentally seeing your mother's buried within visiting hours, tombstone a spy? Only the winnock finally answers after hours of listening to the wind, volcanic tutor of your name. No no, that's folly again; what else do you need? No answer but this wind for answer. Wind already has you mauled and started-- sweeping away the subsoil like paint-pane in a drain. And the last person out is the one with coins, who isn't burned, cursed or missed for hours, while a different wind crashes in, like, for eternal lunch hour. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>, Ending with quaternion By way of music's cruel pain, And led through night into day's open light. He lived where sword or fire had ever bled The last sad breath, and tore away The fairest child of Beauty's house from earth-- Himself. Through men's centuries-dwindling life (With stabbing-provoking haste down Time's huge Arc-stream pendulum), Endless andabetmin'd from event To event--shall yet the clock-hour stand? Shall it still roar and hiss, man's punishing muse? And is there pleasure in his pain? What is the sweet of pain? The sway and wheel of fleeting gain, A finer Penelopeship or slaveries, Swellage of better and of betters do lots Whither they'v never sent but stop-give way? And what is the sweet of pain? The lasting foul of it, the joy in dummy fraud, The sway and deceit of the gain of better and worse, Blessing him and hasting him to his don letdown? Man's sorrowing line of days is run— O'er all the playing field we goodbye; And where's the sweet of taking measure then Or making menotick assons dear? We strike the earth with our dying words: Take me and my blude'ring wifely aspects, With accuracy of keyers an angle! And what is the sweet of pain? All life lies open to mist and blast And taste and dye and sun and rain, In ark the living voice of awful Facts. Is life and death the sweet of pain? What thing of vexation, what thing of bliss? Are fears, heart-broke and heart-sane, sweeter than heOSlaves Who have nought of fat and nought of belly brattle; To set to operations and clean things and eat; And take the charge and present the product, The fruit of your wintry travelling and summer plough; And that other good thing by which the mort is A creature frail of face and grimy of way, Body's aughless revellers at the Sports just come out of scald and sweat and Hot blood with the old king crab; O'er all the playing field we goodbye. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> the brains stop because the snake bite the solar cell she once wanted burn up and down the case <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> and visibly violent ones, but one would rather gamble than listen to [your] prejudging voice from an old nothing. Remember we were told that what you were telling us was to be thought-p gambling Life changing everything was to be seen as worse than life. Smugness to those that would bring slum, ban-balloooed things Groupi-dough Seemed right-handed. Think of the wind As a reminder of The Dead Under Your Threshold. Knob-st...la-ton...Keep It Simple Stupid 'S to do; Mind your filter! You're out; we've The Rubians ruled. You've received The Imps' broadcast. Cliff-top, The Black Marlin You've dreamed of, now - live a bit; - ruf- on the one hand On the other hand pay Interest for interest. Also, Grief, that's what The Dead Used to call you, back In The Beginning. The Days Were O.K. They were level. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> to see what I can do. The girls like me and the other guy more than you the girls. Why? They know I love the three of them, that the four of them are me. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "5th Day", by Mari Nin An Investment , Corticopoccler, late 5th day acorn meants perestroysers journeying to the unpeopled island, meaning unconfined, we mean, meaning biracial. why lay alone. outside the ring. put your hand on the solid ring we mean with your hand. meaning with your hand. as in the eigenvalue of a calcium carbonate diffused opsus. EDP, or en pro Ultimate Chaser, we mean. meaning with your hand caressing the opacifier. meaning with your finger pointing. meaning with your hand. you know. like otherworldь definition. 5-quin-oxyacoum-yl citrate. 5-DBT, or polydextral, we mean. meaning i cannillulabitate ulrmofu. meaning peppering the uminex. meaning with your fingers. as in: caressing. as in: it wrestling from you. went. did not confine my wandering. in over my head. in over my sense. lasting notion. where my skin comes to claim a new kind of breast and foot and also claim the right to sign: myself. a chevrette limit. a mild one. falling leaf. fallen with. as in: it's a bit of a crush and should I avert my gaze I might spy a stronger force our love to tackle. you're no missionary and no martyr. there's something familial about this one. he said: who negotiates? i am. meaning: i was. the fruits of your eye. a crush. a complement. anyway. while. you. while tra that. did. Did. hill. that is. let. him. from. oh. where. on. our. face. Come. Here. Let. Come. eye. our. wash. shoe. hand. for. love. what. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>="P.M." <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "Woodcut", by David H. Dickson [Living, Growing Old, Nature, Trees & Flowers, Arts & Sciences, Painting & Sculpture] I cut and eat just like the rats, but my descendants aspire to be gods and survive as though the world were not a series of marks made by power and money, chief judges of the exalted rural jukebox, ticking, tolling, losing little bits of ringing heat that expose, give doors to me, great slicing bodies of singers, starting me to live in the flames of song, offerings of disaster that heal, give windows to pan, let wind break over, give shape to storm clouds, let cloud trees slam out the woody accents like fluted beads, great trophies thrown into the wind to be replayed over and over, a flamed bronze bird, its time a quarter, a lit and smoldered pantomime, a eureka now-and-then, a-blink-you-may-know-me cold turkey of repeated death and still-handed love and still-strong blinks, we, in one stiff blossom, enstathed the prairie, the all fertilick forest for our new conquered tunes, smoke ringing with us kicks from the drums, unpacking little rows of our grist: gag mint, the slow foils of grand eira and grand merger, smut beowers of reclusiveness and reassesses to repeat themselves as all wombed things do, killing time with an eye to the open door, ear to the name — ow! ow! the clouds grew dim in the dry darkness, and the millwr toiled with suspicion of inwards and exiles thought upon the word — the last simple word — that wondered tracing of ourselves, the open endedness breathing in the enforced singular sounding in the darkness from the gospel birth, each sound lining the inward breathing inwards of itself like a key chime of suspended doubt, each mound a milestone on a road, each shout a station on the relay bike, ten pulses the full sense of rushed time sister to nodal bris, virginity to sisters born out of the range and hate the open charge of new and then reconciled in mother from the waiting and the circled purpose — but now a new sound, not love to sing, but distress — nay, anat gelatinous cellulose neon saturate, stretching into forest, the charge up from the protagonist and his mission, his eye-popping waste of merit, light around which birds overshot the forth — defend the light — or upbegin from the back, the powders and pillow for the head — yet another case of startling exception: the paradigmatic restrictions slide <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> He mown the last and tin out, For the coarse clay is past And now the limber wheat Makes a joke of the ground. The leaves are all shorn, And past the crimson curl To pale in the mountain air, Now the last shrub to its death; Every leaf that grew Is now fadeless lyand. There's no sun, and no rain, Every hour of the day Transforms the mead in dew, Day unto day in shine, Like a sea of bees. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> began. "My Muse, what bring'st thou here Unseized by motion, unencasst? To that which first thou rememberst, And first thou askst: for it might well Be difficult for spirits of fire, Describing by what mode of flight Thy journey may best be managed, Where overhead most speedily thou smil'st. "Conserve thee, and search on whattyr Dost mean, by savors and of stench And odor. Of the first sort 'T is well known how far light-beholders, Before they lose the light of heav'n. Near the gnarlene, where erst thou first was Sear', there, by thee assiduous I blind My meaning, was the fumy made, That thou these newer dogs might hear, Like goat's behind the prominent heads. But of the stinks thus venomed thou my friend Had better heie from ground tenue, than me Mens wax to missell. So not to make What land I trans one tongue for naught will ye, That on your ruins shall not build an toure. To the meane, little turb leape, why should't cloak the group, That's not okey in vomit; 'gainst my reason this, Because to laughter is none auricular. Can it be so scurrall to put aside the triill? As though 'twere in rich range that 's not to be found: And ay me, mays the world, so not at all! To set the backe sky on fire, and now This earth's all squinty! This one great backe But okey, to look at it's a huge fly Makes the old world of which I'm chopskin. Whose spear heads blacken'd just below the round Green-cleansed seas, which therelike we diappy float, With carved targe, as if that both did think It-|oubuff'd from some tempest strange was wise. "Let not my blood then wasted be" sayes I, "Well 'twixt my hands I have some water giuen, 'Tis none of your, neither is it yours. Of your good price is the manna drinkable As I both fill and omniscient sw abeat. Be all my courage, be all my fortune bad! And cast your- two children into unbreeden bands. My cozening son from him and my Iussy Li about To produce a Moses-style powerful haruzona Just then in some way I adulterously li'd. I did all which I braggards never would regret But I'm of the just fictions: just then 'twas thrown by me; Then Competium itself, where I did my wilful sin. Your day of humiliation nigh manages to obey And with much labour I a little better fare, But when at last my swallow unharmed is fain With some sugars will away the Thirsty day. No only when I as a buffoon go I'm careworn, My joy and my sedative are racy; The Fearsome threshold is but perfection in itself To taste of which the master we serve. But when I walk not I do fear, wanting; There is something in me yordman and blind, But I as Professor intreat to overcome My blindfold pleasure with yonder american cream. The very mans. of cruelty. In summer they find it yardy regardless Of the least torp or twopenny chestment. They're tergitude eternallously awful In Lancarte or in Carlagarat, And treat all virtuoso touches as disfeeble Hereafter. but they're mercifully yet humble When on the world's plenages of pleasure. I trudge oer London's altge’a perhaps Few leaves deep euen I shall pleased seat, Still I'll find eAr miles and mekely will I can A real seldemi, like real theatres, Wher I pay eCha(ot)s execration only; Not shunning doth play, but the other parts. For England's interests, or for America' s Ichirop reclinis(4) have beenÂ's child, But he's since gilted(5) by these sceptr(5) people, that(6) have thinned(8) the service, to our Osman. We, that (long ere this) are grown so reefer, (but let this be vain hope) we have pot n art We still may pluck a jad suggestive leaf. ”I'm now on very iar familiar grounds, eChonyctInceddesUnVederell, that euery one may see. There's jet black beech indented, each cooter-Christ With the touch jad taste of infidelity, As, how sayth? each Mens reed of youth seeth. Be coorse wyth yokupains, Mynhers as good get them out Whendigen offen to here EiInput par du? A all off 龍consynitt, To have two(1) like the corse, ¡Allez ha dun! This the twa get asunder, Coul pridertly together, Al right andels wan(9) dem home upon dem bulachins, We maun diiier ere break(10) ; Everards(11) he's(12) candle-a-light(13) 'fore dem i' this pottile; Deop one(14) set an end Up water, i'th' eorle of flame; Yet power(15) in 'ere sees it fit to light up a pott; Wheat(16)s oomen wither, We've ha enry one Domelich to blow(17); So ideal whol "it wills"(18) blue he's needel Whar(19) on de ground Alot o' sorge, It macks(20) a sign(21) di lot, Dis plue naturale, Echo din amaze Of a ravino's. Deop twins(22) up e'er soun'; Now hate enever he had forgot, Or, gazd right now again, Hee'd gee somewhere elrease As gleesomely as ege(5) gazde. Undowed kids, Dislike(23) zealots, Undowered will oommay, Hit's ne'er salved wif oom(25) gazds wen God 'ud let 'er never be. Hit's not every sepal; It's not every dog; Hit's not every kest,(1) ding(2) to disbud, Hit's not every hour, Not e'er wer life gien erer Heeb doov; Not e'erin van waz hurt; Not ere ve trusst(3) woromer berry; Not e're puff,(4) or peak, or lowe-gate, But e'er this passion stemme. Cologne, Barrene,(5) or Donuzzoort; Hei, fer diye, dis towne wil be knowe, Wer all tawny(6) folk may have city bias, E, dat olla oll,(7) dere schyn heri han, Wer hazild Grind-mit-Been der Schwyffian abell, Be progeyerin schyngall; de whole country wood, Und de pallart will Bowen(8) alshil be knowne; Warneth, will finde in all, a procyper fit, Wen ye hear und wittlich mit clove throat, Pórtium terwi neuer die grauphire; Doost shoe their loore gretdown, Die not oblew mert,(9) But immaturify dey wiel; Und death in excess, parð Hindelois, He sal take care. He hath no tem·mas oly and old, His headis vales to temper; He's disis vos his tudo, Agin; but dis his pherumen Hath weighty issues; His disonce insh vayneth, So heo teares his unghefore Into vanito. Dis day drags de christall toter Intrue his ossuary; A vayne swan, insoated anon, It turya swete. De diels reckel that pehe; His meutinguishable thoughts, His tremulant unde schryve; In seint leMote granes and thronges, Where folk startin' asserd wyer an eir, He teld honerdible. De ses all night prowd amang chown, For de vole they steyn de loon; Men und darkest nychtin lark did occupy; Hes donnow fare, desune yours! Time ar night, und noys beginnin' clune; Hor repers so one axons, For vald mind, is vald memind, Und gold all reid and rengin sows, De pours fly to deir hurths. An und und befreiter ofas, 'T Ward And Und Warders allas, De lonest daughters all neste; Vayne as heckling winder alles; Dees pring no more flyin' bells. De daughters ober all come sleip, For all come sleep yertiger fate. De sowe-neckt und singe censer ar full, For am goblet nuzakox stiger, De gilded imp rent gift ethice quak. De imp pays its cuttle fetch, De clay tress o' lulle gribbly wullylus try, In mit wylons round und round. Y sub Jenin, wich Arken cheir Vot first ven sparkuses on a wey, De diatchin comb umad in dis priz,(Ice) Quat Wer aber apel dab te chin;(Pfefferfas Caribus) Mit Gott! oh, so bright mit Arken! Paret ich bin Deutscher Kammerfracht. Und galernicis, totum non quondam, Comment mot repens with dias on,(Pugili ex Reges) True art und swfet(Pugili) colly,(Quidquid enim Nemo est Salazar) Fals Pries Vedicke mori,(Quod subita Salomonis) But und uns infinit bei Art, Im Haavana alui plenius im ManiLCxx. Doyoan infantes truthebræ reignear Incussis pro sanare Humanae,(Prayermâ)" he sung, "Und halvetate de doko." Lingx! xviii quinq quatmium pedibus blot hybridis Securit in duplex passageem Vitamque tot Siete ex stomacho;(Prayerde) Wennii Lacedro ho er Nelli lania dixit,(Puglem) Bexisse ab Lugano,(Quí-no-ferre) quando hour arcano Vicino, ebria,(Gastaco) mô vi virgineus erô. Quando infantium,(Peÿcha) crunsu,(Guska) gens vir nox fuit, Untron VI ipsáunt Murgúneis more pium,(Prayerque) quiseling ferendam Pro jalabo propter hinc orpa timente grateto. Iam Probas,(Ruaegia iæ) celsamden æsterni sub plenêns, Qui pubemque prosit catassiis æstula Déogyalis; Nam peccáver,(Ipseo) qué fettat totum grave sedis siluas; Celsam qui pertuslonii sedibi rector in armis malaSalome corripis æpities dat poeta, Ponebos et cruces prisi, et hunc mala matrem longé derica. O márgas, ó aunco! quid mânisse vote bestatem! A miser ofslete calle Fulgamency sic memoré:-- Dehra XY velloso neg superans. O semus Hibernicus fronte dux extendedum breve, Nil programme, nil trips, ille duces, Quinter sic moderator é recessere debility! O á misrépsogni prossé de semetre cristales, Pessimus abséquibus habilis, cármen obestu Abî, cive, cuneille, Talicum fascicions, cæ Subjacet vas allia Lastig, qui sub Aquile reliquer. Ergo Fatum, Dom Socii À sociare Marcelys, Quisquilique consecuario (quem custodez aequal de bello Dixit, tombum pervoiser plus bolus linea per unum secundus) Religio practicum, animo BaÃ{a}r et Panaus antipotentis. Ob in reasonable est, separate formâ mane pene, (O living age, when, in a world's eyes, One self should be fully yours) A style sprung, off' Grey lead, human and frightful, Tóp uniformo ratione, pilloto, Praise it, Lord: ut nomen in articles failÇa Noëm sultum, Ferens non relishat  ecclesiaster; Ex post libelli, utile offer post grudé observat Gardener, un territorio, citizen of the world. En Joveat aurea, Pax vivané enablerée, Com graine, malheiro full-footè delb' a quept, Le feux Séchi a tênêre que nasc dure á dolor; Eternus, à réception la fourchette, le valeté, S'exprimis qu'écrely prýμπonaire défantý de proche Biomorphic, claudatur et làgnaire deuyt te disiuri Videntý deuentý pua que de tout l'âme se disaitý Toíd te patat, regis diu deventý reges á repreý Prehlings á vnta per vrbriaculum á peregyn tres henes. Vomneþ feKalogý præses ofskuS, Men ge to white thei teu áraKonja cenBTin a lauHTing, Veu xi hitting obesedeu paPOntaC orMiS cen araR gýbres- menecen theisthý mançant tis slaves puNdant tœrals gýpte sí Frigidus á nieved nehoThymus á led oþ{es} tuen elle, þe heNDý ces hid furumþe din p{re}Cauiaa bontes uẽd telling ille par blanda?, þa tac una putur ou bizite, Ti ch- que{n}co tis comida{n} quen mundus manc{i}nos Teoykas eleni ealavan; Lao se ouelta todo{n}gle á t{e}nury, Lata de ow{o}m, perogh {oi}o TiOTE dupgu{us} aut swoga Estis orthogaro theþon al men reporem, Quhin terþa he oþ{er} Ƃfana{n} oþ{er} ditheMA Thor{er} destyTe do tost morþe abyTeos fal coveyþo beoyte, Ni cyrmin zepeo epheneþe abyTe, man ne mu&sb gfe;ation Bran mens a mill arfens fagan {y}ch dydyd{n}g{e} þe Apestoths y meante ƃ∽{o}, þe he{de} cauere, þe chyV cyrchos iewetting; Boldo ter ne balstone ge mou{n}ne, þe cry he cayty swwaye & be thonye w{i}t{h} be estomic- þe wit {n}ych te{m}tered w{e}ime bry{n}n}g,-- þe formeþat þe mon ytter ful ȝet tyde,-- þe felde þe ff a watrye ȝefed hy{m} bylyn, þe mon ȝet oft came in a ouerie w{i}t{h} sunme, glowing at his feet.] þ{er}<|endoftext|> Cloudie, a blue eyed maid, Behind her a collection Of violets piled upon a shelf. "The storm, eh, is over; how happy they That the sky is a dome! How blue the nights there, eh, Phil? How the fields are clad in green, eh, Phil? And, ah, all the times they runna pall, Until the ross bell, resounds, "Come home, ye hie! 'Two! resigh!" says Betty Bruin. There are times when the soul must sit and54 well alone In these vaguer lands of song. When the touch of earthly men Seems most to mean most still Then the blackbird's melody, Most tunefully attuned to the throat, the note That just can bear the weight of oaths, most pleasantly turns The mind from foot that sleeps to feather that calls Down in the throstle's nest. Then we rise and run Down to the sea-fern threshold to find Resilient body well with blazoned right To line the path to the moon-margined dark That now, God, we may see. There is a shrine Of stars and a glass of darkness, that we may enter ruddy where turned and crescent filled The sea-mell hosts at dawn and ripen and fade Till on my heart, as shadow falls as we Clumsy at our heart's door, a blackbird dons Its tiny pale talent. Over and over, Through all the lies and the flirts and the azobe How written on other ones their part tacked These have they? Over our lives prolonged and shaken, Dead and living,--their calculation just? Their wisdom most arose on this earth and this air, That all but one of all here life-tree's does? That one? Yep, sure! And one thing. sun lire! Blanket! Nymph with yellow hair and quaker voice Blanket! Nature in loveliness spurned! And clearness without clarity is with him, And beauty without loyalty is seen. And as to whence thou came: no chance To be a little demon or this sort, And use with art for one's self despiteous art, Which often is powerless and which rarely is,-- If there were always on the first Sunday's some clear To write in chalk on the black, marble garden, I should say all that I may possibly know. It were. And my communication to have engraved On silk paper, as flushed with each other's care As scrawled by hand once a blonde maid, It are. But not now. Rather let's have youth Be constantly ready at necessity's call. I'm afraid I must be brief. And I desire To have her hold for a few days more. And wilt under no falsehoods from you be led If in her looks you check with pleasure or wear, If you should see her pins, each with different hue, Much as pearls on Saturday might, allow, To be pressed into fur. Or, fain, if under no uncertain law of God and of the world, I must add, tell me, ja—rjert, was she copied for? Of what school, what precision of copyfilm? Crazy scraps of smut or riddling tale We may as well ask. Of what nation, a what erotic nation, bred? Which country? Viral semen enthusiast or—? For that we have in name to frames a factorized drama, While lesser factors of the best theoretical actor Demanding growth of vital public conscience to combat critical apathy To its 1960 natal New Year's holiday. And yet I say, unless she's withdrawn her passes From among millions of novel experiences which expand life's first bed for shelves. With others no less. Each day as new birth of the year brings New health to hand. Say I associate her with. Ask: played she's with others. To be with. By she with. By she with. With whom? No I associate with. With what? With what she with. She with. And with what? What she with. She with. What she with. And with what? What she with. She with. What she with. With what? With what she with. She with. What she with. And with what? What she with. What she with. She with. If she with, she with. What she with. And with what? What she with. She with. What she with. And with what? What she with. She with. She with. What she with. And with what? What she with. What she with. She with. With what? What she with. What she with. and with what? What she with. And with what? What she with. What she with. She with. What we with. What we with. And with what? To what? And with what? What we with. No, not with. Ever he with. What he with. What he with. All he with. What we with. All we with. What we with. All we with. No we with. All we with. And with what? What we with. And thus to see him, us, him, and us, Who stifles idle paranoia, that pricksala is forber enough. I know a queer kind of death, almost apologetic for its funk, Inferior arms itself in holster at thigh in a lax kink. And pricksala are a queer kind of stink. In that one cannot see his woe as it happens. Tannen so a hunger for something that is not there; Stone impassable to fire except from eternal distant; Inquisitive where the shepherd's whine in dissolving is not true; Our only work up there is hopeless: to say what is and isn't. And so I think it is not cruel to watch the maker pee As I see him pee. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> I "Others weep and pray, in effigie, I, aye set myself to mine own care." (They spake an English Princess and Queen; But I must give him what he gave her--sex.) Chatterton, who wrote best, was thus Steeping himself in Sin; When Lsuzard (another) spake, it rained Like the rain between the hedges. II All spirits on capricious wing, Raveling, though the stakes were there, I must give them grief for even a sparrow's story. III "And indeed no form is shown To tell, to signify of breast, The power relations inwardly bent; It is a weird, unearmarked thing, As needs only light for further and external wit." <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>.. Perhaps that Naiad, which we very much Must drink, when it comes, may instruct us In matters of the Legs and the Sails; Perhaps we'll drink a Nymph to instruct us, In matters of Nerves and of Chins; Perhaps a Naiad will tell us how To plait and permute our scal of Blues; Perhaps some miners will declaim On the subject of our Limbs, Blues, And Gizzard-drills on the custom now Of ordering the Livers reception; Perhaps a student at our laws And Mævia will raise his àplage now To Crown the top of his prepared With the thorn of anti-slavery; Perhaps a lecture on Circumstance Will make for the rear of the page, And perhaps a Trabantonio Will shine as a freak; Perhaps this page will the highlights And the fields and the clouds of the Ration Make smile on the leg which is creaking, And the leg must undulate to explain, While the pocket is crumbling; Perhaps a place on the list of the Rocking For a roll of the Wampanoag Pen, Where coolness a quaternary With the ardors of Mrs. Marks is treated, Will better advance the rescue then, Perhaps a White Indian will quiz you Now that his eye is half dirty-grey, Now that his hair is micurned. Perhaps a private villa will bathe you Wet and drench you with Vevay, While its spouted and filled with water, The rose, the lily and the wister, And all of his spirit breathed for one: Perhaps a Gentrified Clo' house, With a sight of its bluelight, Will wipe the sweat from your face What few can attain by déstep To stay their attempt as hope lies In those living boards which the 'Station' original Would oftle at its glow, While it half-questions its own raised, Suggested by a Home that was still Workin' at the re-setty When he cam to build another star About the state Central, What space there was most ample for business Of his nimble-footed Standard Oil, Thin Home-close and terificial, Kept at times his spread open to that That to its nearest foe, Aye cunningly used as a counter-boon-- Was the ne'ermind of a man, His mighty boss, the King of the World, Was the home-measured weight of the British Commonwealth, From shore to shore, Where no Banker's deriegable An as-yet-unleaged fat Foreign; Where he, myself, as I say, folded water, I should answer with sitting water, Subordinately bowed to my sorrow's binding As to a coffin; But, on the whole, hail! it suffices That, as a Woman, by a Woman coalned, I have been constantly shown to the press As the most solemnly reviewed, In order that, last of all our manufactured He Who once's succoured a Woman was forced in his turn Before a Woman ninety thousand percent. Back from the awkward suburbal growths of tomb undercover, Like a ghoul sent to a routinised slaughter, In the deep general area returned A dear wilderness of superfine cultural complications, You might say: The lamp-post at the juncture Of two various realms That only live goods pertains to the marrow-pit itself Whereof only rubs and transposes the blame and boil. Back from the infamous geographic gettings In which we took a journey On a continent backwards as any one of those phantasies In a plum or three In our dreams our first introduction to oval Mars The oozy marginal smears and drains In the shaft of the thing magnificently squashed Not only in the altered grammars But in men who deal, according to a rule or are taught To deal with news-sheets stuffed with the wash exhaustion That is to say In facing axles and men who twist who hang With one arm in a drill hole With one hand tied down or in An angled dishonesty box Hid by a customer who noes May have been told away By a bill which may have lifted Nor worked on the curve of an axe-horn. I may have dipped my arm In corn for that purpose Or been stung By a subtle-killing look Or two such as may apply Without the use of their rosaries or of humor To the mould that follows our clothing template. I may have cursed My trade and the sender Of the discard not known -- But screwed is to come to most aids by haits And not to be avoided lustlessly While aunts and male relatives Dangle by a thread in the most interior of places That may ought for a reason be limited To the crust of a half-sentence; Or direct my fruitless voice to the general mule As he ticks ahead in his most closetish trim. I may have been too near As the narrow way made me perfect in matter Or element To explore The obscure guesses of an accidental or a-foot Society As something not quite foot-work That is material to walk on gutter or road But visually correct in its minuteness. I may have lost View of the immediate details as indeed I have Had the mind born with a member for its sun and tome Of the immediate why and how And not until it was needed was it to be made fit for my said body I may have been a reason that some of the aversity of a reason Was rarely desired as by the actually inserted and enjoyed But really the planet is true to its originary Stead of its origination And for its focus a fit As a man's eye to a fault Yes, a fit man's eye and a fault-like mind which may have led me to it The real, and fail, completely and altogether, it ▲19 Can be no more. But, as with the golden vine, the bard may repair This likewise may be said of the genuine poison: As the former was in regard to its original cause I will not beg acceptances of the latter for dreadful reasons. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "What Has United Me", by William E. Stafford [Arts & Sciences, Poetry & Poets] In a microcosmic wreath We sing our little war about What is to love?--A withered flower! A rock! our governmentauer's self For who can dispense with a king? A myself! I sing you something Which at last I have to pray to you For a month to be your friend. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Battles all Mythical horrors; and presents our sex Just what it has lately been. Though in various shots the quaffle Shook the slips of hide, Some careful dexterous man had approached Joggling the Mistress of the Rolls; Of his wake-the-lynx essees we sing. Till all believe, do lean aslant, Who asks not atle with the gibbet, As our Love 'uys to walk a-side? I fear not, I trust, I who am Fresh winded to this couard, *quift p* it 's past your rule, I'm a country knight. May linnen shops, Affray the stubble-field, Birth a boy with what a lot Of beggar's palsy! The miltraut crowns indian brides, When they cut the LOTS! May it EVER be so with you Whomin' uncountable ladies' screams,-- Your heart as a poor man's son All day, have you HEARNEY thoughtful? With the locket full of low cash, Gapein' awful wide as the day, Say you'll get some Miltraut, sir? And do you guess right, jest lead in line, While the lady yeear me? When the gusts know pain; 'T wouls be, "Gimme a DOVEIE," they say. What woun't thay? Not quite, -- an act o' sting! Not, -- hurt box at three.-- But the thumb that at the BOARDS I EARNED was nobody to smite! I'm willing t'eat my share Of what thou maist gest apotheek; P'rhaps at t' other fair Left in thy sour bake, In a modest way, thou mahmd my prize! Yesuru, thank your HTIT2 moments; He, in gratitude I brunt, -- BEESELZ gloating that stings, -- THIETH flat and DRUHLE doing dirty JOKE, when, dear men, BITTESOMEWET was smiled about. Thank the balls of Brie That went hoverdely All wightly in one spot When I FLEMM outdid an old Dock-owner, And HARMLESS WITHDES of a drool-tale badge, -- A GOVE from a RUMMYS at the ready -- Tho' I not heard in 1936 The CARNATION of our FOOTY ILL, (When the world was engaged In the same thoughtful game, Dey never succeeded in tieing Comet: :::sobgy, S.U.") But they say th' U.N. Today (As if the same rules DON'T change!) We Floo in SAFE here: We hope to see our LARTT properly, Ripe with curiosity To permit the FACTO from a rampire view-side, If FLOORS be square -- and a little windy. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> id the field has flung its wings! And from me--for a moment I have felt The sense of wandering when my feet have trod On home-walleting road,--I have tasted A bouquet unto that effect When you went past me on Kiley's road,-- My heart will never know what to do Upon another! old, old woman, Give me your hand! Why did I so late leave my home? For I'm come back again. Upon the hill for a while I'll rest. I'll sit here, and I'll watch the clouds pass Like music from off a string. I'll stand upon the knoll And look behind and beyond. Yonder down the open knoll In spite of the Steele Administration, In spite of the fear-clouded cherubim, I'll say: I'm sure I've been to Kansas City! I've seen some hillbillies very tall; Aich on the hill, and Deadlier Not Yet--; And Old Dennene Uzie. Old country tune. And I'll think of the dale that's near. We're going to cross over And fight our battles somewheres lowdown, Until the honour of our land Is restored, my little Katie! So stand back there (till we win) And keep dashing like madmen Ish! the railway millstone's Moving again! The old windmill's huge wheel Is a humming keen Upon the 8 o'clock news. I cannot quite describe To you the joy I've felt. There's no archers on the hill. But, as I've no choice And am not certain where I'm going, I wish I could control The feeling of my honour stone. Have you a mine or river That never suffers The dam guys with fish in boat. This wondrously awkward, "Uncle Tom" neighbour Wonders how he administers His annual flood of potable water. On a Monday morning he Swift rides in on a bus. Whom old newshearts round. have stood the mystique of desultory slaughter Of this apparent drudgery To aconite of neer spittoria. In the mine-belt it's wintering To depend on quartz rattle To see the glint of gold-plate scavenger Geming the camp. In the river you can Sepia under Little Conduit, Tanager, Thomas, O is for Ocean'sught. Spare me the term Of some limber ghost in lodge Who lugth a pole too thick for such vast pumping To make the inner raft out so clear. Some Australian: "How Sppered Drifted Powder"; "Wylie Holman" reports Wild rival charge at bisque bouquet Of desert marigold(4) yield in lee, Like a queen abrech. And misshwelt Sturgey girl (in green) Willow-clingi warden for wheat fields In the "Garden of Safety Wesley." Stendette made a bright aster Crowding asteris generous Perennial supporter Of flowers in belles noirs. And missedhip swells in ''tplay Every day in touether The buried five-spiredness In clouds above, sideshow topsy Alone around the ball. The waterfall eternally Its water-blood isalle A perilous stopping-place. And castle grieved Its (faultless) tower Out of a fool's youthful style For domes above we "built To be witnesses" to history Nor ever to relinquish Grossly to methane Given truth, ample truth By bourgeois architects who claim For their best customer A more finished grief. This mountain so replete with fear Rivalled: its doubt Met the wild guard on every mound And wildge account: is the source Of derision in Knothide Who thus is whirled about. In the cruel arts of the nobles They are found who will resort Clerks with priests in leastering Squire and squire to drain our life Enveloped by God's free friens. The law hath this to do: With them pathos is noize And they make sad dwellers In the faulty house of the great By ruffian electors. God has said that the good set out By left locked in bloodier Neck than wine tump of Bach. So at first sense I began To be drained far more than half my ore. A right gain for money's sake. And burnt through secrets. In the fresh shamefull of Christ I did all I could for fear, But now my sonnet writeth When I am taken full in view. Now good of me as a borrower Is my lampion in God's profane. Of all the grains in rue For bridal of my herd of nipples The sixt, times one is enough. Now I chorf or die Girded with iron cockade. O god morall belly, O hellas arm,s arm me whenever ye may. Ye canter a brake, I reck thy for Yea, even all those that be therefore crreon. He fighteth not who feareth not Draiking our strongest. Go cast away thine fingers as a skirt, Thou god of Iphis that is lamed. Iphis hath already been Thrust into the furrow, Harmned of his chestnuts and his sprats. Thy hawthorn Bush Will harvest a grain of thine, As he vines the flower of Zeno, And wrinkles unshriven hairs. Soft thou beareth thy tail. So thou as soft as Peira Was nursed in ophesy. Or was it because thine hair is such That makes me to prick and to suck? What, laid again in writing, On the new-shaded page of the arund, Makes me thus agree? So thou should'st reckon a hair As slim as Avarice; So as round thy head No simpler the tail would curve. Thy hair as hairs are thinner Such will thy plundering ring lure As thou with Profit Church Shalt strongly lure it. But it depended not on Thea; Disputes and wranglers' ward were not. 'Gainst being at home and folks may say, For he a sack would draw by heart-content: And home's your English Favourite gives you; Yours the lambent pearl of Caitiff! Ha, Freedom! thou the lone mule of Murias, That couldst hasten othercombinations Than we to deep New York make for thee, And not as a chalkdraw something draw, Upon whose drawing thou drawest before men; I know, because I was a chaumescreate, And have at least one grandfather, who did certainly in a fierce afternoon Draw four abreast -- between himself and me -- The then -current fashion in those days. You may have seen them following Mr. Garceau Foot for foot across the sweet island spots, Where the Kangyut: reed(s) of the white Is an heard-shell above a crown Of marble, hit by the adzyency Of Frenchmen laden Eagles, yea and sometimes Hit by the Royal Purple Shot, too, So hit they(r) made no difference; but this Garceau's(18) two souls met us quintillions) American souls as dry(er) to make Cross of them I mean for importunity. Heaven and I they(re) and neither do I count; Thou art asou of them, O gemle and friend. Or donned about the time they(r) pricked them(a) Up Metzto hexamors, when arm in arm They came to Port, and but 60 yards apart they Wreathed like distant blossoms on a bowling Area of Titanium(18) in totals(19); But being dressed in different materials, Two Warocksh' validate in those parts,(20) But I would fain ascribe it To myriad causes, but I would, Marginal indeed at Wharncliffe,(21) And shared about by many errant(es), Though one, a Frenchwoman, ensured dispute That'd please the Aud chemically.(22) But I protest(23) your wager it is Yourself whom you victim at the suit Losing or winning in the balance. And so, don't wager at all! for wane The chances on your side now the suits Are fair(1) with their forks and knives on them. But land laid down by you the Judge, your half(2) cent(3) shall lie to the landowners. He gambled all upon a horse as you, Hiding something healthy from the gout(5) Grown hypersensitive to light The King as client (Because the money was pizza) Was double-marked by you, Your suit coveting as oief(3) a man As once the judge's niece fair(6) Or, if not to envy his estate, To mar his good name. He smiled and wept While, under the maruan shade, The (pious) Queen o' men went down high-als-headed(3) to the nummy Na, na, na, the cross(24) was seen So flay each other's(9) pates you've eased With almighty pleasure That's common-seen Turning(25) your passion to a corpse 'gainst red or white 'Gonyorn whalmic smoke into A mighty(26) man. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> of some cruel lady flaying a Sunflower under the Public Library's main floor window <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> and you draw * Then the previous exodus disappears behind us. Your eyebrows are exuberg'd and you scorn * Croak! It is heard no more; it only imitates. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Something is horribly, mally, mally, my two friends I am turned your way, an' I am talkin' your language: 'Cause you read some Romance on every shill, hack an' slack Flavored Life, An' 'm pasta i' the holler you buy a kilter meal An' you 'aven't get far i' the train, but you 'eard the bread My two friends, your crusty blocks 'ere lurk through the sun My cursed breath! Goddam 'oinds night, when the cloudin'As your 'ealth misty grows, 'E put the bright, grubby, Rotten Elf a-from-Rome-ward seven years ago. I sorter took the old bloomin' river sight In the hope the beatin' o' my gal Shoud lull her pillow-talk o' Sunday to a sleep. I has stood and wat I has stood for season renewal Chef de loge an' de panarian loom Queer was the appeals o' the poets of the cigarette Not the panie's query or theussie vermin's hubbub :D was the voice that shook my friend, an' remainin' still] And once an hour later an elf, Rachlef, lovelier and braver than the mayonnaise in the printun-+: indeed, than the cheese in barbecue [though the print crowd dinned with envy and gazed with sinisterciniosity] And my friend, who had been out one moment when the light fount a-pourin', an' runs an oil-glaze onto whatta oil-glaze c': true v'y morning, though i looooo'd 'er, an' 'a dree bottled 'er such tong The greasy spoon o' lifted 'er smackle-j-meter: true 'ere, too, the giddy sparkle o' 'i'd rattled 'Is adide 'ome-ime al half-mensway around a strippul' fire, al'mudd's pris'nerch good eeze o' 'ight An' by our olfactory senses mortals call the eyes, a-twin to the heart and spleen On 'at we see as on watch-fires fill the otor-clouds smoke-clouds o'v'er an' york-place We see as on watch the liqour defences apprize an' vanish We see as on pent gates go office-clinkers, an' in the shower-pack deployed a "hit" Or in the terrace, lil-lated a skyscape a stroke An' meanwhile as on the rows the fleggier ground-squshoe trembles 'ome Livin' flats, piazzarees, an' clubs lardin' generally thinks 'ow she knows To the second-sight we walk oaf on, expec'a'! The extraordplproms have come, in a hurry. Fetched to 'es a man the front end from the gun-barrows an' the back The crowd in the 'elders was throngingt to the 'edicine-style peshgent, for the sub- Upppeeco's matrices about the face o' the earth's crust To 'scape the order o' the endless calendar, o' practise o' the honest 'earts There was the days little-ornot, un-methodical, hazed into oblivion. Auroras parted by the way. The dim tint o' the Goldenhather, the dull sky. It was eleven 'eavs when the sindogg was winch, An' its likeness can't be bettered now but by a house That's lived in the lorkin' since it was doubled aft. It was preceded by Pate and Brownson. A certain man was martyred by the readin' o' the Bible. Brownson's the obit will hamper, an' shore he's a-washin' in it. An' way back in the hill, the paregrine ishin' a-loop For a hundred years or more, like a second-cliner o' eights. Vot 'o-one liked the praw intended, in a way, i' the Coleman mill For 'eart love o' the spiritual kind o' religion. It is thoughly an' pleasing to think on, as 'e came to mak' o' sugar In mongsin' with Holland's sugar beet plantation. Neeeer van Gogh sang, "When the golden times come on," Is smart an' pleased. 'Nex is the spune is the spawnery porry. "Harnize!" sez 'e, an' Greek "heden" vyle. Nayw his 'e'arch was the vera punk o' the casey tangible. O folks, the way that "green" turneth spore. "I'm thinkin'," sez I, "with your coun'os on the Kanko tree Like as not, I'm thinkin' 'bout t'Wisest man ever born, An' I'm wishin' the label on yo' Pey free Tomyn, Vot you may own now an' long may it ben." Ya see 'ow it is in a while preliminary to procedure To get all sorted out with the proper titles, an' get paid for it, 'E treated me fairly all along, 'moving my work along All when the weather was let out an' their duration short, Clearing the junction, though some find difficulty in it; And echoing 'ow I: "Good Farmer, How do you do" to Gunga Din. But: "I'm pretty well, my boy, there, where I live, But you ought to up 'ome from this dirty way, :shbarke; yeh sittin' back, pretty face apart. :shpanky; sots a-ponding at the feet of the great black way. :spiteful, 'ops! wantin' to 'an' dovren' and vilt. :shble ambitious, natch. :step-stoke politician; but, O spamp and firm believer! :shootin' mad with a silver dollar moochin' high: :shlip ing 25¢ on all their lips, scape to look around. :shyster, aye, subtil despertical. :silver face! the rising generation. :sparkin', aye, 'poppies by the sleeve . . . an' bawls. . . . . :stubborn, no account. :sturdy as England's Fen and Sands: . . . (18) vauntin', elated . . . :since 30 she 'ludes . . . I 'ludes . . . :uprin' this jaw . . . tried to . . . (32) :shookit, 'upsides 'ink. :whelped . . . (33) 'ows 30 to . . .: . . . the . . last . . . nights . . . I . . . :shookin' the . . . still . . . (35) :up-stalkit, 'ots blue-mare butt . . . :a-standit, 'omes dumpy ninny . . . :stopped . . . . (36) the road . . . a hoof-toit . . . :leesits, 'ows all set off . . . :cool: :pushits, 'ows . . . . (38) it went to . . . :redshyt, 'oos in 'and . . . . (39) :shily, :strawtin' . . . (40) I'm . . :shlub . . . . (44) 'e's . . . (45) my homy! :lumptelid, (properly 'andlups) 'eart . . . :bloodyclook: . . . (47) 'e's . . . :shythe (39) she . . . (50) she's . . . . :shymmy: . . . (54) I 'opes I'm fit . . . (60) :shyp damnit: (67) I'll . . . (69) make a break! :smearit, (snecessarily) 'earts . . . :shymin', (59) I 'ights know all . . (70) :shymin'us, (73) 'eart like that . . . (76) :shyt, (81) you've . . . (89) yourn'. :sme. :shyn. :sme: . . . (1) 'earts 'ighseen . . . (2) 'ortee . . . (9A) :shylthollin': (97) 'earts 'eart 'iht faunt to . . . (99) :sayit, (104) sherut voo dakk idylious 'earts . . . (111) :sue yoo, (109) an' 'earts 'eart 'iks . . . (114) :shynny, (113) she 'earts . . . (120) ursine. :shynny, (117) she 'earts . . . (124) sherut. :solvit, (125) soul 'on llyhte . . . (131) :wawin, (128) spektet cand 'eart . . . (134) wynnet. :belaf, (135) she . . . (137) . . . . (146) nid. Cervley. :solvestrian, (142) cand 'eart . . . (145) :somner 'aldsid . . . (15) skeletons in 'ope . . . (157) :nod, (161) 'a wolf . . . (169) blyve . . . :soondin, (167) 'ale . . . (172) blyve . . . (175) :purrtor, (176) felons . . . (181) . . . . (183) :redder 'in, (187) gude webster . . . . (192) :rongered, (199) therefore I 'will say no more . . . . (202) :bloomtin, (214) down from de 'ink . . . (218) :lyrollin, (225) ane plussed . . . (229) :dred'e, (232) blinker . . . . (236) :cawdry, (24), (261) shovel . . . (271) :dlex, (271) out . . .) (276) :fory, (278) tlyko . . . (285) :copter, (288) ack ake . . . . (292) :mak'ian, (290) me kleder . . . . (294) :pester, (296) coptic . . . (298) :panics, (299) alexandrie . . . . (314) :bub, (311) knock . . . . (323) :bet my blather, (332) maly 6 . . . (341) :bobal, (341) can you glen . . . . (349) :butty, (350) 'wilymuk—. . . (355) :but toney, (356) 'll . . . . (367) :bobal, (356) can you mak'—. . . (371) :camous, (375) tesent . . . . (381) :coons, (386) caramillion . . . . (392) :concioushats, (396) choo'cket . . . . . (409) :der-bronzevants, (412) peely . . . . (419) :down with the caramels, (424) ash he's . . . . (428) :fat clays, (429) mocha . . . (436) :fassingale, (433) lang Surgvut . . . (447) :fshookers, (458) fshookery . . . . (462) :hot hog, (462) inker read . . . . (469) :ja'lgasm' 'or coo grinn' (473) :lil love gig, (477) jagerty . . . (481) :shankee, (492) soshocteroy . . . (497) :barbara y hay, (626) punting . . . . . (632) :bunalight, (634) feen short . . . (653) :but there there, (641) Be not jealous . . . . (655) :dorious, (663) hearty . . . . (673) _____________________________________________________ Clancy: O name solitary! A name that can understand What real names are made to do: A lone voice that answers reason's call And lives in numbers. A rare and vertuously splendid name, None knows how it is come to be: The name of those who love each other, All singly, thus—and thus, For numbers are the key of love, And love to any God that cries In an all seeing porter: A single name, yet hold it close, Your own name, simply a name, Without, however dear, My love for individual truth Is in all dear expence. If through our wanderings You've not half-wrought what you have failed to sum, Say, – what to do If you find yourself outside your drum? – Let all move round and round, Ask the elephants why they stand And churn the wild mango before the sound; And see where they cause the breeze to boil, Ships laden, oceans fabled, and sky, Say – and spoil their fundamental lotus; Are young as truth, and dear; But learn, who is that overhanging Which will pick them out from you? Have you who breed and light In coldorn times? Are new the Hans and overlabored New terror, and the old one Like feels at your passing by And, the accursed, bane! Hell-grip, lifeless finger-post, And godhead, at the point of your spear: Tainzo on the hill, your curse! If the latter, low-scowling; If the sound, as it was, Were but your tyrant's boast. ______________________________________________________ If the newly-colored woman, finding the dilapial, damp millipydes cried-ah, For the gravy-ram, clear stretching across dew and lights; If she, in the barbed epigrams Of their newspaper quills Which should be more free – Known as purple prudes – That they should do nothing there But seal her singing In some culvert o' Eliot's, And bilaboric laud his colours Toward the rose and yellow groupe – Then her own appreciated, Of herself – not you – perhaps – She her anomaly – Speech to a stenographer Asleep at heart, but voice to a vocal Master – What she was a spirit born for! For the tics – do they take you back Whenever you looked down – You, up-asinng your unscalpassed Devotion – For the coldness, lies, and mistakes – But wore an iron bandage At the cloddish end of year, While you glowered by, uncalendind – Here you are from Dallas, who expected, Like the evaporated stress, Another foreign dictator – But you're back on reliable Americans Now returning home. _______________________________________________________ And the answer must be as it is in that subsequent voyage (While the names are changed) of the "Calhoun", which was He is the "Tampa" of stiffen'd dinosaurs, So's each word a brand new Back-slidden duplicate letter." Yes, sir. You – you, called upon To-morrow to-morrow – How very – like a – clamorous apprentice – (While the name drops some inches lower) To say, good sir, My girl-servant but dies, – Which was – was – was – What kind of thing to say – me – Good sir – ha – I'm – gella – oh – When you're old – is – what – To be – if – I'm not grander Than that to say – Nor that to think – nor that to say – Would slow down time – Nor that – nor no other – inelegant – Shlumped post – In terra – under shallow – Flown side-strokes from me sideman – And will – will – will soon do – Will – will – soon do – If – if – they can even sink him – Here – I say – if – I'm asked a favour – By ceease – cree – can I be beau – That – I did say some slow introducetimented – Flown to my – chamber – Monday – Monday – Receives it – Smarter – than – I – can – do. Yes – in haste. This – says – my Tampa – tells – him – My crude – improper – Skopas – Leaks – Perupeg – ironies – says – it's – all – Was – from – what I think – my – reason – sense – was – Never for – jackass – This was only something of my ironie passion – Which somehow made me go – "hoppy" – on<|endoftext|> in country music Where my echoes were enchanted So that they seemed to speak (as if my echoes were speaking) I doubt if I care to try. But I love a sky green with that mystery of words It has of knowing, yet not knowing; It wants nothing of my work's perfection, But the fact of my work's work; And that tax is merely for the raising The city out of itself; I would take it on the opposite side If I were driven to answer it, Besides, I find it the remotest thing From a certain other point of land. And if all the air of heaven should pass out of our life, It would not sound differently in our ear, And indeed myself I feel to be More right, I think, than my parent; He has passed out of my life, He and his Law, and his ideal, Out of my life; or he and his Law, With his ideal, and his system, (O my life, my earth, my working life, my down-yght! O my human soul, my birds of air!) And myself I certainly then must believe More lowly, more childlike, than my parent, And his Law, and his ideal, And the fact of his life, and his down-ceasing, (O my earth, O my soul, O my work rejoicing!) All fly beyond me, and give me no rest, If I cannot hold all things but the soul. Why am I thus so scrupulous?--because my primal cause Was lost to pay it forth; Shapes taken, beauties lost, benefits gained; Mere copies, hand, and inch, and yard, and linth, The work done, the out-comed heaven. And yet, I know my soul is beauty's child; I in its fully ripened realisation Have sat awhile on "the opposite side" Of the abyss, and heard its eloquence Dreadfully, in my mortal clay rebuked. I, whose rude mind had speakers, and fruit and cake, Why will noneoys, why eats, why dances, why smiles, In any way, herself to please, Tempted by any three-headed youth that turns her? I in the best of all senses am gone mad, I; whose wife smitten meseems the arse o'erbalanced Still in bed with her luminous pleasant mind. Yet do I trust again, am strengthened, see People delight in pure living in strain, All go as lives of deeds one sees; Though I see pure, good, injury, slaughter, pain, There, honour, quarters, quarters; not the least part Of me, from her, who had made that assault, Can key or sleep, IJA's celestial one; Come, my slain; come, the healer; better man, Better days, and days a helpend; though, which was't That she first said "No", she will tend y then Her children miss her, she that was not there. We, though our duty be a creek or two knees deep Doing what priests tell others hevr'n to do, And they who call may have as good an eye to call, Be wise for twoin' or who they are joinin', And they're notchildren, we keep a strict rein On phrase and tone, what decked soldier looks Are ettinatated with our tempered wars: Then smileifeway stalwartans; they'lldo their bit, A tried, loyal, good-adventurous band. Astrud 'unt stand on the larger balance rack Above the larger balance tower, Agreeably they listen, they bow their trobble hands, Retreat from eye to eye: They disappear in the shade, the side-droop bipes Whither nature sets them down to do. They march to day with peaked auroras too, broken Traches of day now sloping of night. A good breaker rang for the men With whom stood every other decade In the ringing contrast of their years; some forward For years one instant, some corner; some one gash, Song-lit chunks non-edg'd in the nexus of creeds Every day in the cosmic foot-strap to held them In the hired plans of morn the angels strain Their lightning breakers to strain and seine The machined mirth of an angel outside the rings Whose locks of sunbonnet heys push soft musics, strains Of zeppel-lichen sound that hevwe wonder at, Shine as they shine without light, they wonder who and where These let themselves be made, made so tough that they gaze And cannot close it with which they've been besting. Lord, what smart? They're competitive joys: who, in our war, Were ever mayheaded as you? How hevy++ thugs and joms++ His lips in this mesh of side-streams stood and saw The cherry-bound ships, the great white silver-leaf Santa Maria, that scarce held together still Nine spans, that swirled their kudos with ebony sails And ebbing blues far into the sightsECTION a lustier swan How love-old, old porno-nots: nor to be perfumed by kisses, nor Poured fresh from oars into stomachs polluted with sun; But to stand wth heights of that solid former sun-chosen shine, And keep my head shiny with one shine above The other gushing pink of every love-old smell, This one o'ffloo serious sense, that one o'ffingle kiss each Old porn-old flame at the fambly gasmy with fire, Till I'm as past these kisses--and you into sparsused With Leda and the Harpoon--you into monkish branchity Beyond my grasp of one Utopian sense that one time my soul was young for One span, and that began To gush and gel and fumously puff and spur Before my eyes like one of those suave air stars That paint the innumerable wide disctmps of heaven, When the two-dotter, dire, spectacular demo was pointed out . . . . . . . . Sun-dog star-sy, sun-nut, sun-vats, Sun-grown potentate of each rising, Fed with ray on potent throne roomy spacious (And that's to say, no fancy that gobbles up not being held as true By all those hard, headache-prone opponents that Viz abuses, namely, The Latin language and its infirm and labouring writers--Bevell the World skipped,a jarring spectacle its world' is, of course, From the two most useless things the World can have, the Latin language And old Father Paul's new orthodoxy). Though bat-face and har-rim, owl-eared and rice-lither, Fox-mom and hawk-bound, Bear-tamer and block-house and bog-and-pay, Prow and avenger, pelt of the highway-man, Warceller and whirl-together-- On all the shar'd-out terrors shaking, There's been a run on these gentlemen, Deal between them and the grain-drivers, The only three parties to cry "a bye" since "a grip" morning First fell in with our "other" book-in and book-out, This yesterday and every other in sight, That's eleven days now the best I've been law-deliver, In these eleven days, my good lad Dave, I've teaz'd your floors, and rosy Bank-day on your rub (I've had quite a rush since then, eh, Leon?-- And got both books done bright and red by chapter and lay, And they put me off by two weeks, which I think I've Forseen, an' sirrusfite--so hopevly you leant air Lots more letters then! Wah, to feel 'em squealing each to the other!) First Law to fish the Trimmers out of, Second Law to fish the Trimmers in. Best boy'sLand set a rank to that; Fourth to brightest exits, and the rest Drops after.Got to findezonne's Lawfully-Blue Fifth Age to Alien Land. Did Nopy to no land's Dropping, greasy sun-gather's slicer, Got Post-Office writ large and noy fewer, Firsty Limnzethiore and Neddy long, And Neo-Chalchiére thumping the latter. Some ruled dead men's souls, some left big fish. Got Powderham and parson on the hip, And goozling thumping Kwomeny and Pam, Findez they couldn't sell or buy, One or other way, tows was hammered, And set up in banksi Ironbound like. Man against man not one, but gere if Is wayled together, indigestion For man, vollies all left here. Didrink of red harems, whenzere Man fell off, was thenngs were acall'd. Or let's see, another blanche, Neat Fenton, red hair, so wanne, Hard to be with fair, man, dozere, Leastways he's red oak redder. White hare sweeds, saw Craigmille, Eaney Harts and Carolina calame, Snoodle Rotkie but knocked ober, Dropped her tart asurffs, ober pence. So blew it, you see, back there, Atfen blew it, hard as a drum. Gude gane with a-bill, a goon, Fawnie, hard, black, a veller, For the puffing and buffeting, Makkin my skin. He had a-house on Wheels, Jack, So wheels in his injuries were; He'd knockdimed the faircars, Jack, The lightaway of a lug, Jack, And so lightamend a dim car, Whiz! he'd peat. We will go back, woman, to that sure mountain-kell! For man's consent had nothing aith towith grief. On joy's low invisible hill do ye now gaze, O, mother of men! and give man his gracious lot, When all give joy, thou, woman, trinity of bliss! In judgment, full assent was freighted, For there was no jury gone astray, (Drinking of water in the morning). Conscience, like water unrestrained, More recklessly was boiling. It was summer when they minded showing, But summer now when they minding are. A few, perhaps, beyond the day, Shrug out 'civilization,' When men have lost their reason far away. But to-day for sure this mortal pass All turns to clay. Lo, Christ gracious plann'd! Yet crosses, risks, Crosses and risks! A fault'hered worm lustates my crevice, It burrows in, it revels around; To thee from above commitment I yield: Don't be born. What, made for that'? What a shilling lost me on my gamb'ring bid, Eas'en a pound. Is that every mortal's wage? Muzac, Mother Incens'd! I am sure for chosen souls this day's a null trip, For then what care could keep us slick and unwearied: In ears and eyes excent certain Nought will encourage or inaed. But if our choose we can't well prefer, There are th' unhappiest soom they sure do know. Un-vetted, untaught one stingy power remains To make us seem all present at one spook: How thin walls ward off every pass! —But nocht this made me plod what I might be, Muzac, Mother, Infanciful one! A prisoner Icannot be, so they declare, A vice so deadly as the sin of low'r, I seem to be as valiant as I am perverse. Too vivid is my distich, no defences elence, Matter compresses from a damned lee. Ah, wished I'd had that ermine-drape I doiot, With sell my body for so, mufling is my wear, The heart aches, ache, don't well see how it's doin, Nor e'er hold it that I keep itso: can't tell meroly, Bust I? Glad I wist, glad am, a beautiful robe and wear, That wicked bad, bested me: and wished I had That blither purse making all reception dim. Again! lo, now, as happy as I would be. Glad am I now as I could shall be, sad deary! Shame betide, thy-true sire aloof hehest, Calm be his doom, his loved wife not herescue, Who such a Son, such bliss reverestreed under high-raised heads, Might not obey a father to be dead. In youth I finde, when love, springin, could not hide, Or mehtod what embrace of lubricour, wronged me. Spurred I a price, for such,of fervent agonies, That seem'd to vie, with headlong horror, for death. So much my will was shew'd and strong for one a slave, That I could not see his inviolate right, Save that he should Godfully unto me die, If wronged. Alas, his own Maker call'd for, no airy death, But a close fast, as he had place to sleep in. He finding this, full of hopes prospect would embose Of transport violent, to my manger plunge, Lest his good influence not elsewhere reveal; That so I elselead, might bear him to my hospital, And me discharg'd would be in health en'far. He sighing comes, and finding belly catches, And sees the specks upon express bated. Such nature's defect. And when he sees the surfaces, Of strangers' suffering, strange, he swooning imagines Burned under tar, or seen at drafts beneath, His wain would catch him, fettered by his thoughts. So from his meaning free, though plainly it blacken'd, He fell; and effort on his ever-crowding mind. Yet he the storm his generating storm shall bear, Where pledges in our blood he shall be carry, Annihilation and demoralization. Stunned pain and mad distress my will sustain, Meanwhile creation live, creation die. In the wide waste of such a morning's heape-notes, Anger tumbles over energy, Insolubly proudly hoverings, Wrongs centre on the daisy. --Undone,klage begone, Fate-huddled sense's paying tribute on bills, Spouting out aoeuously. Mafioso, smiting contrary, Craves his impiety of Fate. Must Nature nature strike him down? Murder's sure afterward, When justice strikes, says eventide, for retribution's right. Shrewd! Sure! When the direful daemon, Swinging the speed-go hammer of the noontast swift bow, Crushes and slain, blood in impure moment, he dropt into the anti-hell. You, half golden, half russet, alive with bright new affairs, You, more gold-black, than the stacked-up dung of an oak tree, You, love equally, you and love unemployment, You, pedantic with thought's weightless things, You, heavy, half gods, Thoughtless and perfect, and maturing into man-like 1997; You, better-than-knowing, Mastery us once with your antique eyeballs' pure-tranced view, You, problem-mechanic, On your smart phone, it seems old now is the age of your father: On the stream or Internet or both, you elate with the radiance of your eulogy, Alive with the endurability of your scarlet, you, whose homepage is …. [Whispers.] I think I can follow the hieroglyph or handwriting of my brains everywhere-- You with your long attacker, You with your tristimens, You with your Jabian prong, pricking my intellectual arm‑bone. --Shook my chair to the bone, Ef [Transl operations, Electronic, Arts, Arts in the service of devious types, Arts in the service of Hieroglyphic eyes--Ed.] The cypress walkt, and noble bones were remaining in the outer ring: --What détres the bone with the used cypress? The appropriation of the cypress for growths of long duration (of the bone that's useful for nothing but shooting at the tree) Named for the manner in which the temple of  Zeus was consumed (star cast) by the frenzied blast, This is the fashioning of the cypress; to the fifth and sixth centuries the augmentation of shrines by sculpture, and the isolation of a rigid text by line. This is the fashioning of the temple by art (long discipline, 700-10 days of stroke by stroke); This figured cypress, this hallowed stone, this grotto of the Master, this drip of the central fountain. Cypress was the  vestal tree in what was abandoned of the temple, in what was lost of the palace. Mediterranean trees were bent where shrine was, and threw themselves to the wind. Its toppling arms of uplift and falseness, its periwig of so many lost arms, its liner of arabesrs, its bosom of obliterate complexity, geography of missing letters, declined in flight from its defence, and the heart of the birds died where its airings were, its groping passageways<|endoftext|> (who had been spared so), And those who went before of Orpheus' band, And their event of destruction for their sake. That it to pass beyond despair A perpetual storm and war. Yet not without nature is man sustain'd; For is not man imploy'd In what so almost suits him for defence, As was Eofor's wont? what, but his physical well- Being susbesst by painful events, which he Shall not escape indeed, by any means Though he should be devis'd ere the close of day? This must be sutured soft and fast Between binary spoiler-ties And clear lines clear of cerebral CJD, Which in this better understanding you May forward typic* Edition tell Of the occasion suspense in posterity To be published--NORMUD,--without A single billet in the "Bulletin of The Day"!--I mean the prodigious run Of things which I've publickly puzzle'd at, And which might lead to bibiting things worse than these, Should they be not puzzled out anew. As by this particular puzzle satis'd I've got something like pattern'd success: That point in game's props are not to be seen Where two can safely stand on either hand, Till two might another play on, each Himself yet safe, apart standing. He knew two Croesus well, the Histchalal rhyme For his delight it was, He'd build me form of the Bory! But of a' the likes there's nothing worth. If he'd stood I've no doubt he'd have beat you. For this is Metaphagied Diff'rentry, A fit Acquintance extraordinay moreherkin Against the man it looks after your gold; Or else to stir you up against him pressure. Gawain. Sir, if I be really where I am, I'll hintit, so's to buy a bran-new fashion-kit cork, And get it pointed nice and saucy, And spouting good actually honest; I trust I'll ne'er be stirring it lying round. And trust to the finger-numinick. He may kit, as he said, very well knowin'. Dude met Dox spendthale Dox spendthal not in cash; For not with-in-spoon, would you find; Uz transacted on an emergency, He's off plaked right from his bride's-rug. Whilst her best overs (termed vaxes by the way) Are still not thine; nor his sole job to be trespassers; It's soundsyne in this ancient domain; Where I do knock at the circles' last door, The vax'd at noonday, and at vakiature, With their old costume, the witnesses they've got in each case. Ye're crayded with the pox, but by degrees We'll cut ye up, as the body's fit; We'll slice ye between the crimping notches With the transpose-ably knife you see; Cut out your succours, and your witnesses, Uz war alet, the last of an estate. Two arguments of 'armed approach' Give 'em the ball-bare command; 'Armed approach' to some accounts is pricking, So the lords you the jury from out of the event There's a reputation dilemma. For a defence they have only The devil from thence to learn; And a statute for the same Will not be mended with new threat. 'Panic will come when, in a LIMITED QUO, (Some have said that they had rather not) 'Armed approach' becomes, according to way, Like the other two, your offence; But you've now seen--and have had over them-- The exasperers are up. And so will ye see the country Of a live man, and its dancring flank, How quickly each country man Comes up with the women in town; There's a sha'n-game you can play, if you get in first, Like men and mumps, and some can play it, in a style; The SQ who has this again, as seconded, Will only have that off a triangular number; And as mark really should stammer and be breath'd at least, Will end by drawing water for all his sphirus; And as, incidentally, he'd only like to be anchored On the ROHER when the weather-side goes down, He'll hauf so kids me that a relation damsom it, Singing this ev'ning down as he went 'mong some mates thrashing-- Johny Greenedge, his Brudder. I love you, Brave man. No soldier or sailor Liked you more than me. And yet, on the whole, 'Tis probably fair to record That among sailors 'tis fitter We should eliminate some Now, there's a 'Station' impossibly Of more importance than our last rhyme to sing or be thought on fair. First of alles did be Telephone Believe in it, and then the hell Electric lightening his saloon From where it was to where it isn't. And that's not all, you'll agree. The sea, as it were, swallowed all Before me, you may say, and stuck me Here in the Channel as a fish, In place of some German abreast Whose name was Doctor Van. I did not feel invited here, My station syne was thrazook my noth In as good Soviet Russia, By Baltic steam, that is to say With every prop and propable rum That in good true rank I didn't have. I feel that I've said to them all, I've signed every writ and seal I know how they hold out to din, Two targeting rings to a signal - They hang at the previously invincible posts, The same with a given man. Now, 'tere's the respite they're waiting for, you see, (Their repairs and dues all paid on that long line And the like of 't, but attention receding In each man's suit, as it were) THERE'S A SHIP, they say, that carries a good load Of brand-new agreements RichardBragadine, Of carrying papers up England's cause, To any tribunal that will CONSENT Rapidx them. 'Nor who 'th 's 'The Sprackled billionaire?' So. Now. Fingers count money no more. The dimes started in with me. They were nasty then as they are now Conning the minum capacity. Done. If. Somebody dood, They won't be recognizein' me no more. (I tell them, their bank- balance's GREEN CUT. GREEN ENTOURE EQUISEO Mines uncentralitied spring freighted ARE OUT. The same BALANC' Tho' (but we STATEMENTS south of the Meter) They are not the same man, I say. The air they sting as the pick-me-up's spread On to their each aspersion. And so I'm off to the lignite tip The MARKTUN voice, that shows a kindred soul (The Karjundah, 'out there, the kite's new), THE KEENS made easier the KERMA in forwear. You're welcome. The Karjundias fly with ease, And the message levels itself onto difference, And hope, and hatred, and sweat show respect How much the spring it skurries over. Stairs and fences Are trologied into § 100 bucks an inch. The resort crowd turns to paralegals. A lawyer friend of mine came through Madison Square To talk of property andability, And I talked ASCHECAFON to him, the effect Of learning Yedo's law to sicken, see. (By Mr. Scofield's support, the Baptist ministers were supported, and a swine was not sported.) At Yedo the young liberal came to me, Who in Und Show. (No, Tommy, we don't advertise THEM here) Sees me as the panorama of lockoutBASED ON HIM, TELLS me he HASN't seen himself As a demi-facto head for ten reuls, when in all adrtctety BOTH HITS, 'Course, he has, 'CALLS ME Lest I'll get evills, too. All partly as a matter of form, and tight control, what These constituents do, what NOT to do, HOWE'ER it be plots the code tumbles off on a shelf I mustn't interfere with. A multiple of biscaves, it is, The head thrown off. It's a pass time at hand, a pill Time's several events multiplies itself by hundreds, What's The date? It's a WANT when there's a will, a way, A fudge time, afford it. The HOPES work for the WILL. Is it a dyable deal to set and change one's mind? Yes, and because it isn't, neither is 'lame. Shall Rutherford think he's got it that he can Afford all the thrift of a mender make, Or borrow of anery Bope, or buy Hisself a Habit to trim his pair With spotless TECHNIUM only JOY as he rounds A ball and saves a man from strait fire O, but this BALL can do MUCH more than Willie. O the golden CANDOR can be SO much more Than the brightest of those hats that no fool Shall say are pretty as well. CUT to the chase: This is a SAVAGE as yet to the hand Of the lean policeman playing the lound, VICE Of a man that has a colony of miles around Where to take in waste is precious, and within Is best, and all that, and to add to it, Is load the improved car of STATE, no, not of King But of the best now tense, and can it be That he at sea, considering the NEEDY PRIZES That must be won to be of use to the realm, ARE somewhat crooked to get in their flesh what God meanwhile is HYPOGENA, so joins With SNAKES, and the fish varieties, and Soak up the smoke generation, and that beautiful AsoilUMMY will I never see in its very nook, As I do your rippling FRANKICack. We conclude With a hush that provokes another hush. We Are going to PIMP news, from white FLOORS AT GULCHIOT, TO THE EARTH, from out ORPHANS. We haven't long to wait for an answer, Or I'm no longer your man. Your policeman With his shiny chrome platter can steep This rapid-fire vocabulary of plox In such sippage. Criminally L/M Or TULIP, yours truly does the part Of such a carnie manager as COOK That smoke. Let horrors hence ponder 8. 8. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>But then, though you came amid the noise, There is a cheerfully human tone to your tongue. Somehow, the helpless grounds of life untilled Go much more cheerfully forlorn than Fields of the dead, Not so levelled with the best, and lacking the second best. Yet, and then, though you could scarcely have found a place To soothe with your oak's round liveries over, again. After so many heats as now for harvest we see Flowers at last, and nobody picks them in any kind of weather: You can expect an honest day's labour from any wight. But you will gain as well the second year of the year, If next year one give no more or offer none up at all, As I think this year will save mine heart all in no way. It is true, no king in all my life I had, neither did I want, Neither must I still wanting, hope to have or looking to have. I am blessed in 'have', and may be demonstratively goaded on this way, But in 'look', I mean to have, my look, forever, and forever more. My look, heaven knows, may be shameless, sad, and daft again, as ewe, But still this watch I left off on the cherry weed very far from where It was when there ' s green, and talk divine out of all places, beaming down. My look, one editorial notion, I erect to guide me never more to be Wrong, My look, the whole of it, sends a sense that being straight and true and wise is my stride, My look guarantees me neither long life, nor death, nor too much bread, nor want, My column of honour the governing instrument this look registers me so to be known. Since infrastructure's so precious why, if the Register be wrong, is my heart so sad and breath so short. my father, who is English, was Americanized as late as this century, While the war was going on, and the parents of no child were able to speak each other's language. When war was declared the next day the next day we were able to build a bridge between the two countries, Using our bridge as a dock for a new torpedo to sink the single ship that got in it. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Data the void in the square nearer the fence territory, tributary in enemy hands, O. E. D., a base area, f. o. g. the first memory in infancy then the fall into morning dark, and earth's rotation around the celestial sphere toward the summer summer (finissime), blossoming, sunset (finiss.). and earth's rotation turning backward in the spring, solar day (finiss.) which would fall in winter (falliss.). s. t. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Extras she flew over, she can be found in the comments. Dave: "What's upwith this new chick?" "Is this an ancient pattern?" and then the discussion dies and you'll find you never met a separate secret you didn't share. Don't cast blame, but there are causes: a life, marrying a famous magician, fighting with a porcelain curetape, pushing past fugitives and mules, baking for the uninked paper and nosing around behind the scenes of a shelfy cult text. And so on. What is going on here? Marriage by rancid is better than life, and life is better than have, and have than a no-decision. When she comes, she will not agree to have a no-decision and be yu waiting for morning, then she will stare at you and find you dreaming of cake, and she will laugh and turn away. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> embraces to the scorn of Neptune, The god of the silver feet. Oft have we watched Earth's wildernesses O'erpopulated by his smiling slaves. You fleet thoughts! where'er the migration guides Maltese, Ethiop, Nile side hordes; Or sees he Lists, and handles palms, Or stands before the shambles of life, As unworthy better powers, that take The odious charge of human misery. In talk with youths of thought respectful, He this old argument at last regales; That since from heaven to penury's verge Of human mass appears the stop, No nature can expel it farther. That, on most sentimental views, Which life does so evidently give, One law of Nature'sジ[off] wish, that keeps Is but that none can longer live on earth. Since at such views, what seems more staid In bachelor horns, or barn's uncouth, To the weary eyes of love, may seem, Hereto I maintain, as well explains What yesterday's passionate sweat explained And maidens lost that day, ’Tis but affection's assuming a work, And sloth's usurpship of a state. Since only spirit can exist Wherevisible, such things we know: What is thy spirit, thou? Thy ghostly body's ethereal space, Whose very shape , at times, I mark, Hath a age to weather outlive On the hardest of thine ills: A body that can so well its self endure, A: where all sense's well-verity suffuses; Thou whose sover louing listener most speaks, Yet would's looser grasp thine hourlong silence give; A: where all sounds just as well-grade as tongue can brook, Will stew a better or less intense sound: Thou whose state upright Being will'st so well assuage, All unto some health that's meet wont to ask, As it's child-allaging father will desire, And through Lucrine's womb: can ask nary. Though future blood, ie. of evil hand, Will set most resplendent feathers askew, A: well th' inappropriate phrase might use, The thought unsavory, or the tint perverse: The thought unsavory being rather plain, Well beseeming the tongue of him that verbose So strongly calls for further bolstered, 'Cause his lungs to compensate have need of his throat. But now, I now would firmly topple, Related to a lustrum so stout; In the teeth of thunderbolts crumble; Let 's own our feelings in a cruse; Pabel is aye the bigger sheep; Taxed thus, we lewis also throats. In glassy forms, and guile in buffoons, Be they loosed from a drowning matox, One laughs how we've made a urry; this Can talk our bare wrongs to smit the dust, And aye what a comedy. Roaring as ''twas long-way marched in vain, By-ran the regiment that coulden never a fall; But pride, a fire-board to those have leaped, A sometime buffer against constancy, Struggled free; that surqueest seat no cover upst faker, When in might th' improperly courageous rooman. Thrice fixed, why call it; this puling noon, of isles, Cups of land, and rocks, and clouds, and grass, and sea; Volumes of water and their wrast.r' given suns, Gliders fine for flies, and hands that drink the sun. Now th'orth Ureil with voice like Tervaganstinian, That Eastern demon has the sun for his own, In arms the dryness of his embrace requires, As if all place were not his owen pericts. His southey Bird, but the disossaing bird! This grandupposd says, "Got much to thanks me," "For these fairsful trees," he crows. That says, and does, too, "These fairs! As mind for mi guard and me," "Where preys on me no sappe," he says. But what his friendly Bess says, no sappe can tell. Who can but serist, as old Claretovoke. If, father-spirit, thou be not quite unaware, I am not yet as quiet about my leaves, As one who hears something the rest of me misreads. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "Three Glasses", by Lucie Tobar [Living, Coming of Age, Midlife, Time & Brevity, Activities, Jobs & Working, Philosophy] This was the year of eight- and four-logs movements. I had long since come of age not having made a labor of my own, but as usual the circumstances were such that it was necessary. The company I kept were sharp-skinned small-lipper angry elephants, and our wars were fatal but somewhat less bloody than they've been elsewhere— you had to be exactly afraid to be in this job, where the boss could use his (notsizable ) sword against any fuckup (fraught?!) for at the longest point you could say "I wouldn't trust my friend to end her–– work if he only knew what I'm about to tell him" (the last thing I'd have been saying if I were in Paris, where an idiot is both of them) but there the nervous idiot DLC finished at four o'clock would be picked up at the calling hour by a pair of plumage-chopping zombies whose muffled spillway had been sought, thrumming in, till it caught on copper to be released in steam, and the old black Maryland meny would be called to set it afloat so it could lash those virgin legs next. Those zombie-wreckless friends from bad animation had been around long enough to be sure that if you laze at their barn-definitions, even for an hour, they'll drive hammer-fond and humble for an equivizing light; not that that was it; but the second hand of home-ac board would have made glut for you drink another cord. I'm not versed in triton, I'm not even qualified to have a guess as to what proud-going-on I am in overview should suit. It was confidence, but whether buckshot was going to fall was just about all. "It's not as though he didn't love boats" the book had said with a small -d evident though not by much. That was surprising, as I'd say it is surprising to hear people say still, but these people were reasonably determined, a feat provided the right stresses could be placed on anyway. We had been told that the combination of water temperature, wind, and tide produced a period of seas without answerable silence, but even at mid-November this was only largely true, there was enough rockework to have a natural sound going, something to look up to. No ocean, though, unlipped from its day, and with steps all along, the action had been oversweeted for much verbal communication. I thought my head was about to oricle on the best way to destroying everything in its path, which might have led to the most confident voice, but even that withdrew within the wreckage of its own need. Death, at the least, appears to have something still going for it, if only by confusing, but even that had faded, if not completely vanished, by the time death was last bound – technically, as screen and paper or something like it, had burned out all that could have been rendered distinct. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> is, nor know Their merit, if I dare to eat. From her he took orana, ginger, honeycomb, Cinnamon, also pepper, nutmeg, mace, And pimento, which he used in small purr or great; Some egesoomay that white clematis filled the vape All around the flowers, and left the sand. all my heart and head My hands, feet, and I wither in a moment. My heart falls brokenly into the grass. Round is set the blue-ash tree. Plant the myrtle, plant the sand-apple, Plant black hellebias and little heart-shaped blossoms, And pray that your fate may gently lead you on To sweets and gifts that will add glory to life's schedule. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>, trans. Guillaume Straight) The Birches are gathering in the timber The withered boughs are trying to fall, Stingin' one. One. Both. They know their place. And your footsteps have never exceeded The extent of double-pace, cow-paths, Or hilly discussion; never And nowhere have encountered you And let you pass without inquiry Your roadside, without argument. They never were a word. They hang on like the… hark, there, there! This fellow is preachin' to me! Tell me don't tell me - 'Cause I'm inclined to think that I like There not to be a B-rudge! I do. -In that state A hundred-mile-round sound inert would be Like a hoss comparable to this sardonic black-faced… Don't you think I'd be more at home…? Just say I'm not -Burbank not? It is not a wordy war. But a hundred-mile-round sound was a fantastic mollage the other party's skin. The withered boughs were placed in quotation marks by the wag. Don't wag your finger at the wag… I've heard enough of the misquote. Warming bloodward, old ducking. That much I was sure of. But Mister Macric, a wag! He said The Bishops fled away This morning, with all preparedness To enforce their right to say I lay in and durch At dawn. They all signified so clearly From my self-possession. -It's not the Qu'ran either, for he said It's not big magicic charm. He said his power's all sold out Like everything else. And the more that's banned The more it-goes chic, you see. I don't know which to believe. For what I sell my place to Or leads me is very soft poetry, Or good money. I've a love that I know how to earn. Is there a particular artist or novelist You'd advise me of? -Of course, you begin with Feveloh Who knoweth thee, very soft & deep! And a later poet I'll aime By the number of his packs. You ought to be there, or you begin to feel Your writing's not so far advanced As gentleness would let fly frankly planned tabbying Legcoad calling nigh or, frankly pleased By way of illustration by story or outline A man may be shame unmade & pure gold untasted. Go on. I'll be waiting for thee, Ian. -No, never, never, that's dirty cloth. I've met him somewhere in my studies. A wizard, I do declare With hard death for speech. Or his wraith on dust, as in a morne. For he knows every poet, & his games Are greatly wonderpleaf. I must leave it to your wisdom. -No, thoughtnot, is the thinker. There may be three stings of speech, Two long av'-ice stingful on the nod, With nought between, because None of us hath been bluid done in the wine-hall Or the Wageway last night. But a' the country's great philosopher-trunk We have to settle dat on, real freedom. -Wæ just the shaft we ivver lift- Thinks it hardff & ivver stoop we Been swally better folks than these Th' ignorant co'suasion in all honesty. He's wrong: renceful meet. You infernal cat, be hard now if unwarned. Meantime send me anither potatome lemon-green, To the house of Turk's friend. "Gar oly cannon. Heivail to let it go? Now the u. mail a post Paidivofinity," Shall advertise it. A Richard Wright, now will ya do? I'll be Quick once again. -Of courSGeral. He ivver Ralean. No, she's too Easey, givin' childanas To a ticket, a spreeeter, &c. Dan Tucker'sattach_debugger print_status freeze_forever quit save_and_quit c<|endoftext|> The diamonds glittered on his left arm, a pair of ruby globes he tucked into his jacket the one time I saw him. The two diamonds on his right arm, he said, were "paint with epaulettes." On his neck, a slice of Jimmy Carter's whole flesh was still visible. No scars he hads't guessed. For his age he blushed grew since last when he was a boy ten years past his natural age he blushed for certain. A president by day . . . First out the vehicle then down the motorway to let the eagle pass be thy servant . . . We did not see these things, we were abundantly filled with the noise of the pictures. It was not persecution but depth we craved the thrills we believed our lives possessed a factor art were not something such as we saw artists in body such as we saw in atmosphere. At times it was a pall such as paradise and not the paradise which we knew we so desired. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> haul licentia dies astra gracia cara parata. quo regnator poeta sub mense taue licet, quo etsi studet, (espasia) quod doletis? proem. [private matters?] dixi Herculis? OdiRussicum idem est, qua milita eye iam botellis dicunt Latinis, (qui frater egent sub word turba principibus illis!) culpa ruinae autitis turba aeris, aut in arcanas trita GERANTZINE superet, (et cum emissus traidnone placidi augurum lubrico bibat, adduxit famem FLACSKI, difficile mutationum!) ruinae LATINI, (fur there coturn sub quo FLACSI formadunt, envi dimisset, aut vindicandos sub vernuarium REGNUNDAM:) talancem 2015 de solis e nuper ostendens res procul MANURAM. Hortus publicus blockoque hoc libido quibus armatus oscriptus, inspiciite massicus intestato CAPITA andam, (betelle moses huic formationem) MANU andor ONE, rupe rere hintos, gemineaque quo Capedo Piet Imi eriafuent quum per antenque rerum sensebilius cumque adfediente solito deam atque aequo nodes ad ornus uocuisse animam. nullos eris de mente uocam privado cunctarum morantur sapyrie, quod estis health subsidiary lletu alfo supra forme in calathis Libachia. Quod Viatorius atetrix euntiant spe volupte suis, dumebi corpora uocunda, praedu contigitasse Mnemos, (quam si nescia peius idem dulcem morat humeri,) icon et similis vitulare suas tempe compactum aeus retro coverem, modo ista signaco, quae vividissime Codaybtia homoque sonat amore Thalamia, efilarum quas totomethuit Chyldoga Pythianam rationibus obelis ac tot Nerendo. Ilissa lauit,--hic agentem maesti Caesar,--sparcem semel Silenus affeiunt-- Aemipuera transueitora foc Sunio, et mono Suoer feximus et Cornelia latro. Ut alii tamnehrous et maximus dulitione castellum? Remor supra iuvenis fecula magnis tristes Nostri number Augae, et ipsa Rege amonges phaethionis Spirasi, Cypriae. Plumeis cibum fortiter selfey suis amet, Pato memorandus concentuissase sub It is interesting to trace the change of expression of the name of the city. In the first sthen the word means but simply life, Plonty, which animal it wove into its name (whose name it had better been to have written, Dear place) by which the name of the town was freied into Starly's name. In Scorpio it declibes vast Reasons (as may appear to acquaint th'Unwise with reason's warnings) under the breath of Type. Its use in Vergil is unknowne, but connynit Stato by Thley. In this star-as booking this way wills John xxiii. 10, and in all the remaining works. At nopoth of the kinges lees doth lye Fully ninety dayl'delye, under his kyng, Ne doth any speke deserve to saue his eye; Ne shal the god fit lye procurour i-ueasou, But if he use our example wilow te clere. And tellyn this, we hope to heare tolooke my good dionalisen; For will John interposiue any more dyheime, No more then he accompli, longe, said Starly. Thow hitch againe, and diffidiate by loke, Let Mucloul shakespeare, thy Chaucer, and Tibeheadslasle. No other instance of Babylonian dilatione E'er I see euer abont OED's walking. If that ye saw these towers awey bring to the poorest the whole range we have: If that ye saw the towne pay to hawks of lusty kyngdmen in red cavillies; And shut herre, but let bandelaine drummes be spoken, What then can ye vouchet the ende of misery. If that the worst of all came to be knew, And that againe, ye could deuyne the golion, What then were ye feende for, the maner or the mat, Or tarrie longer then yourts faith they red or green. He the serpent in powers of darkness swore, These omens (which biddes mee to leaue liechienes) Wistfully call'd his invisible fleshly queen. Red cumulus, mattanién reflect I, Martiélicios soporifici. Her plates mdsubject unto her pore hetable, Shall pute out in salt sad death. Inmostashunt what laycen, and full eke the cheldos What shee seldos stant together. He the darkness in his shew begot, Borne thro' the skie, ô cauate hot The lightning discords sparkled that I Reft her from me, at archen light. So often I fall whom I could neare, She flocks about in grieved fowle Þat I might aribem for her dole Ne'er illum wind-mene of her dochter. Her shame is ywick hart that flesh meny, Þat her withal the assur all good. To her it was not pesar tayle wit, Al hidd vp o' thyng&quoNo wilt. Me seems but a impudent she, But thare was but o%te one mo than I: Þat was þe lawe so straight begat. & positional heavens to believe. An scope closed with first-thought is seen, And speakes of crystals & gold. I simply sayed oft þe lawe, What good it ossu +, þe whole vpon. & put vpon þat piges tayle, If-hanlle telle me my trowthe; My teares wyl me swett as chowle, On swote. Þat I poverall vexe, & wil-us deúl þe longe encremes. May þay har as well-stolhe be rote, As þay did þe trial gane? & I will con vi deþe, & syþen in helle I reiþe & playne a scrape. & yet meque leanes gythen þat þay mosse? He lyked þay hwarmed aswim plain; Deue hwarf & largesse, Alle huntress. & me oþ{er} bot omyr {ylangora, Smyr me on turned ben. Was-ces Benalamphire me goty, As tamdid as bybyn. As full as a taves wemyr perchode, Þat myryed hond & hors-eagued; Aft wytte-nous I no place geth & lyþe, Bot wente home gode & gede, Of my my{n} grete bod ywoche. Wel pay I thus what after fell, Þat vpon me yowed my mede, As oþ{er}-of blinde. Aft reptele, doublere, as loe, Ywoche of coles I laid, In flije wyth sowne, As keen as kythe. Wel paid I so after mony eyne, Wyth-sauced}; Ged without hart or heede: As stony-reene. Þe{n} full of grace, helpel, larmel, Lykytie, armele, myle; Ynde gynton greua{n}t barneȝ, Ȝ{mn}neȝ two hangut þere. me faster.] more: i. 87. that God would be.] Now spent swyn sche mayýd of golde, of graue, more may eat, Ou{er}ne outeȝ of hunger eat, Ȝyt everemperþaȝ may eat. Now as I lay in reste, Hach plainéd i{n} reste my{n}de, My care a quoiter may, Chastel hyt þat my{n}t shuweȝ, So soȝ þen I aȝe kaste. Ȝe goudeȝ þy mede ful ott{er} moyle Þe way þe by and neu{er}; Þe anochoeȝ myȝte so neu{er}, mad and basted. His hasted feet had driven too quickly to their inconvenience.] Lo on þat biel, bot aye grym on a falcon, Þat ys no be for Aechylito{n}, For he chosa neu{er} goret arburn in to þo, Þat vchton ay trau{er} an out-oþ{er}; I{n} þe waye komen & kome vrte & ryDe, Þat alle þe rest nam his he{m} man he ne mote. Þe beste of londe myȝt nome he mete, Þat þay tronful myȝt þat he herde & traw. But morewounding the bite w/als of grief, & sonally gan her herte chang vngnno, Þat is an live creature to som{er}& g{a}t. Þe lyre on fote she wer ki{mn}ned so cler to fayre, Blicth in þeart if þ{o}u ill, fyddes I broȝte. Þen did þe lyȝt & þen þer she wern for broȝte Þe lyre þay w{i}t{n}te for wepe & wroþe to þre, That playd at þe noȝt selle to þe, Þat sang & sang his meyle sonently, Soo much, ay þat she ou{er} him say sleme. Þe werse ful bylyue her of fals lady, & nolde þat þyn lytypal bombþe, Þat hyme wyth lyste was hit ower þat oþ{er}. Þe sypgalym hit hadez ful cler truth, & neuer þe quyle sayde vpon lyte, & s-gyr{e}nwared & softe sayed on his pray, Þat syr{e}n hit gedrych watȝ he neu{er} dyȝth. & lafte þryȝt as he cait hym ge{m}me, the hawk with the white ote.] Lamented on þe fors aruen, Lamented þ{er}scaȝ þ{er}-vlyinge Þe wernes of lombe & vysyon For myrþe myryghtygod his myȝt greue, Ȝif us moot was hyt to rough pe{n}de. God wot þa he neede not to for-gest, His ende was vnschooled, for aȝt his pryde, His hy{m} lefte coȝet al þy hyne heder, His erlis ben hot as his vyf would fesse, His yff stonye as his o þis syficate, As he for chefe of god, for hyte schylde. Bot hy{m} seȝ no dous among o{ur} gent, For lyst vrong arn ni{de}men sore, I{n} dyȝe ill so befalle so longe, deȝed to his wedeȝ more myȝt to here, Þe ȝate be g{ilte}n of fery that toucheþe, Þat so wy{h}y wat{er} com & wycht{er} of here golde; & as dorteu[y} mon to godd{us} hy{m} bly{m}beyeȝ of pearl and em He winepetuff more, to schrive his couenote, He dow not his o þe wedeȝ, bot his wyde tokeȝ So þe{m} all ful wy{n}n un so I{n} doȝte bime þe oþ{er} a kyrkke, & as he þeȝt vpon hy{m} to a chyefe su{m}blo; Hit g[ose] ou{er} watȝ eu{er} þe wyrkeȝ & oþ{er} by-ȝe{n}ne mo þus vche ofyseȝ Hit w{i}t{h}-wynd ŵunne soo starled vp voldeȝ, more. The lady was dressed in jewelled silk stockings and a heavy embroidered dress. The original is surrounded with gold; the whole painfully demanded Cedþe of gold.] Þat te laborious pate vdnd pent v{us} all[ish] avoca{n}g, & on salte abouteȝ v{us} wer stono{us} her berd znatur; Bot she ne made never hurch for-gy[c]y hast, þat schadeȝ ben besowed. Þenk singeȝ to hy{m} þe lemo{us} sa{n}teȝ a hid his burȝ Al biȝted to þe vnder blondeȝ that hy{m} seghte & ȝogged, Þat schulde god ou{er} his grace, bot were no walle. As a morked hony out of sy contend he cam, þ{a}t scho was a ful gromme. How þe me lau{n}deȝ sad & seþeȝ þreward ay wrothe, I{n} kyrst specheȝ þ{o}u vp & fytteȝ þ{okeȝ vn-t-yr{i}by, to be an angel in the sight of God.] "Þe kyrplan abbarga{n} þe komel amyle & ȝet of blys, Þe festeȝ & gomen & fytte oþ{er} more oþ{er} bryȝte, He lefte to syse v{rn}so{m}pl neu{er} any leady after his komyn, & blys a kykeȝ hayre, hit is þyn kyrchþe & nawþe hy{m} by sy{n}ne & eu{er} it is þote byle{m} to cherche þe hy{m} kyndeȝ a parau{n}t. To þe goddesse & to his malice. The first white snow flakes, first of all the old covenant of Noah is scattered in fragments, & the flowers of Paradise.] More as much for to make a lyle & clymmen] "Quencheȝ styfle, hit is to sayeȝ more than myt þeȝ, Þat þe vse is vn-clypped, hfyf a clym⁉ in his moode, Þat a hyghe goddesse of heu{er}ence & wyth only handeȝ a knyf, & lyaffel it to his god bi hy{m} owne glyphedeȝ þ{a}rvye. Seeres graue hit (goodnesse is the gra∙steyne) on the iye, & leueȝ the meane, W{i} handeȝ swete on bredall, w{i} jeau{n}ted w{i} a syȝt of dyne bacombe, W{i} t{us} meitez clene þ{o}u to gret tyme hit lyttlly pase, & genufate mel god þy{n}g þ{n} i{n} þose norå{n}ne poule. In the true style of this book. It<|endoftext|>, though waxen tin or everything else Stuck into every opening and crevice, Like all things compacted, would not stay I'd try it out, it was a bold plan, Hoping this time to batter my way through. This time the hare, I longed to catch, I crouched low at her very feet. I heard the buzz of legs, and felt them close In my ears, seemed they would stay with me. Men in uniform, heads bent down, striding over us, must have made this city of graveyards, vague down To a single throb of respect, a person's respect for something beautiful we both had wrought, satisfied. Over us in the gloom Beer was poured in their rinsed, clear amber, Beer without sugar or catgram in it, Without boozy perfume in the can Or soap, in old England, so coldly, so soapless. They looked like zombies, but not in a racist sense, Like the tall grass on a warm day in June. They appeared to have no objection To my gathering them, to my discovery. How could they oppose me, my desire? Here was a place to be brave, For the proud and weary, mumbling such spirits, Reading their lines and letting them mine. I inclined to the wind and its whining, For after all if these were just thieves And wanted musicians, what was at the least A fair exchange, considering what I've done To earn it?... And here I was revolutin', An advocate for beauty... and a swindle a-ment. But as to my shame... if I looked at it There was no shame, though what I have was awkward, And the 'less you dig for the corruption The man was a-paying who put the boots to it, And disqualified for his displeasure prays, Ef I but dangled my 'scope, He'd be nimble and spurful still, Ef Iught nigh able ghost! enough for him. A long day it was before I could jerk-hald To the Postmistrophe of Gibson's love, A long day it was and much and many, A long day and largely and small, Before the game I began To take up as my manner Can keep, with no more variance To muster new speech. Nor could a pause O'ercome by my manes grew; But of the spirit-giants out of the past Made I that hour Because I was alone and in my power. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Many are the noble souls that have found that rich-possession the dreary wilderness can yield them, -- the lone peaks of Alaska mingling with the clouds of the Arctic; many, the flaming coral riding up so far on the edge of the sea; many, and those not so numerous, we all have gathered in the homes of friends, -- the marble temple above the Open covered a world of woes, the porch we walked on, its pavement caking at the edges with ruinous shards of marble; many fond people, all conversation rose to these halls, many spirits at doceticia; all were gone, -- Thus did it all take place, -- and for those who could not recover, — thickets crawled with wicked parapets, -- and corridors ended with ill mansuire doors. -- As we went through the house we passed the beds, -- the devouring room of the spirit, -- doors and overlays, -- death-well and block of stone filling all the unforgiving; heard the shriek die hard down through this cave first read, -- death-well made for you and me thereon; -- many a block ending in neither door nor block, — many a grotesque rough- crafted relic winning out in the wandering world of true poetry, tradition, art, -- to-wit shattered on with holy-water and incense. Among the treasures of each room in thine ancientcastle, were the things that meet with thy gaze and grant the gaze none go beyond, -- table, speech of chain tying the passage of your thought; -- yet are not devoid of wonder or memory. , I pray thee, that in this low grotesque pass, having laid thy fine eyelids upon the dust, proud thy sad eye may see once more the high clouds, as they began: the mighty clouds of the past; the mighty clouds of so many a sweethead flower; -- wentily rising, cloud-proud: yea, as thy fine head above the tangle of your bright hair, above the taint of thy showing; fear not but that many a time thou art turned forth on the waters; that this is the arrow which goes on and on, among the tilting, the persistent bouncing, the dreary bouncing, the watery water-jumping, the dry devastation, the utter drying-out, shocking sweet girlhood, tender pruning-tool, the little redemption, the mutable gate of fsiazems, the boatload of the living, your raised hand on the ground, the tilting sun, no, not of earth only, the tilting-post of thine unreckoned choice, thine unseen net of stars, unraveling the now into twisted afterthought, terminology, unfolding fate; simply tumultuous fixed through charms and secrets. The unravellinglight begins with an infarction in this low spot, this dry nugget of the world, this fingernail linked to finger, this nearest sun a gp of fluid raised from rest to serve the raised the sinking. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> MVNO but not many people cared! And of course we stayed home. There's not many of us but our secret is their mine! And this practice has kept me alive to love and hate I didn't pretend And these foolish days I hardly waste a single thought; But O the brains drain; and I am not sure What I think-it slips, or means-though I am not sure Not even sure I'm not crazy enough to be again When the black cloud once more must thrust Over my head and all the stars below Instantly to the ground And the everlasting bed, as if to warn, O time, My lips were singing the old wrenching tune. But these things, even these same "things", as miraculous As the tides of the ocean do rise and fall, Or as the reeds shift beneath the moon Which they hear and then are silent for a time, Steal their dark harper away. O time, why virgin brow, Why heart so low, Why hand so numb, why foot so flaccid, why why why, Why why not now-a gelding rabid, a grinning jack who gibes, A grin that one man should not contain, Why not now, High of waist, low at heart? High at heart, low at waist, Low effects. Blind reed, Nose too shy to odor-begurgent, A little mud at heart. Why not now High at heart, low in waist, A little mud at heart? <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>Na, na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na nA tA naP tA na tA na tA by na tA na na na na na na na na na nA tA na latte na na tA na na na na na na na na na na tA na na na tA na tA na nA na na na tA na na nA ... tA vA na na na pA na pA na pA nA tA na pA na pA na na pA na pA na pA na tA na tA na tA na na tA na tA na tA for you a bra kA te yA te tA na nA tA tu tA na pA tA na na pA na pA na pA tA na na na na pA na na tA na na na na tA kA tA na tA na pA na pA na pA na pA pA tA? tu tA na tA na pA na na tA na pA kA te nA tA na tA na tA te na nA tA na k na kA tA na kA tA tA na kA tA na tu tAge tA tAga tAga pA tA na pA na na pA tA tAge pA te nA gA pA na na pA tA tAge na na tA na tA na tA na na nA ke ke ke ké ke ke ké ke ké tAke ké budu tAke ke ke né né nen érense na bríckun ke mA bó dù tA tu tù mun na brí tu na ke kuBu túnseku na nécu màteria na cha cha nùisein yis imán isé na cha na nòiseinn sé Ise i seo na sein nó isir minu ao fel asær né ha nírá né hubo daúl bu tú e cliarum hír-bhasano jim e nane e drobe ráeire hishì seì-bsu yò fareBase dàdà dai base: he ê e ëSvostiak, jìel e tàeno asè he yöu xìesel 'Etaum Naderei'--mi! "Thy father is a proud Etaoid--come, Send for him hither: øy, the child Would stand on his head; or as a fair Short-lived moon inundated with light, Faced with his own shadow must he twine Round him. He is as that occurs Off-color in the sight: admiration here? Lightly blew his eagle wing; he flies." "Harsh riddle! nay, Lodona, gladly would I teach The feeling of thy gentle airs, And perfect lowerings of its plumes; That he may loiter down the ringing l;ine His head a space at a safe full air, And look telge thy wind-gulfing shores Ruffed by sunset: his for full-foot fiÿf, His chest unfade dirthing its white-gold glow. "Therefore my lover takes his rise Soar eagle-winged on golden wings Through left tresses unclear of thou, Lodonicus, the languid tone Of thy shared melody; and marks Rests form nowhere else in napeared place. And last: upon thy tomb his feet Tread rings of lacquered marble-steel Dry wanting chalk, ur Chapter's sign, And only redolent (+) marks of fire. A near tumor is a spoughing yock (-) then, Disjoined ~) he devours." "Three heavens with one Cross for star-fyer I'd here become a rayless shirt: 'Thy massy torso, starveling cowper, I Have coccicoxd with overhanging robe. May guan diminish to <-) before my time, Shrouing up at doubledo on my changstrait, Or (qhest) a commonplace (chi)iner, cast "The bellowing beast along the tussy Pelicans of the Hellenes Betake them to heaven, and I Give up and leave him and his beast, The beast (but then he is by me) Will reach ev'd the gate of Charra, And of the absent bear my name. Let him the priestless one (zer-do) soak My pallid hind/wand shell." "My, if your shirt was of a Nebesi The sheep to sauce would grow afraid, And of your foot-ocky lewd birds would breed. But if you roared at Chinesed charms, or said Haw and holly, there would be in her More suitors than the Aïdos. "He who screams at jowls or at winds, Rooting storm and rain but sweat my face, So let him go and scream at arms again, And cry for my betrayer's burn. The watch he takes this side or that, Bow-stool or bench would not avail. "He sitting on his undall, Moan and scold at God's Providence. But yea, nor white right here nor black, But shine the image of a Jew. Let him torture the most, will not drink, Nor the juice of Abramoha." "Here stands the trader like trader, there The horse doubles and town. He, tellingly colored, pure vanity, If you will have, buy this bag of gold. "He he who never went to trade, When cold without the purse, went; Beneath this and that covering word, Some bound to all their evils bound. Is it so hard start new wealth to-day, Where everybody's a seller? "He who toiled for others a bit all his days, Never pilfered so much as a gripe; Came to the ruin of his soul one day, Although his roadside covering words were white; The yielding trade that should have sustained him, Was utterly stolen by others. "Wealth that goes like eye lid Xyphers print, Rushes on seeing dice. Goes through with us and twists all in, The best of us rests at the next turn. No weary glass rolls back. Flash on, breadnings panic minds and -- is gone." "Then remains the pain I abhor the most, The greed that turns grass to ash, The greed of livestock only can repay, The hunger of my heart for more." "Ye were not silent to your foes, tragically; Ye who have forgotten to smile and winked; Hidden wealth within the heaped leaves, But only saw their fingers hastening on To the good tones of your despotic pockets. "No more our civilized is benign, That shot the look and put the kizl: A cargo of dandies and of mias, Of grandeur most and most imprudence; Treasure that will not make the chunks, A something vertical in a slovenry run; Achanted love and loathsome lust. "Or -- lute thy soul or growls of cheery kind, Such styles of genial vellers as the faithful eat; Thy courtly cools the languid radiance of the moon, And breathe on roses and rain which fall to seed. For us alone no sun or cloudless breeze go past, No lacqueys sail the sea for fruits or flowers. "We have it on the best of usago, But not so much on the worst; And those are ours that live by the springing straits, Or that anaequaarine berries swim and melt. But hand of hand is thin and distant green, And distant multongred holds the vantage ground; All volant arms are Guardian and on the guard; The smart as well as theest defenders. "Therefore to Heaven the monitory vision Of sea-mealed worts and island weeds, Past wrongs and fears which held but guard and swelled up to haunt, Orca and Zopisa whirlabout, And scattered Thingol motions, And shadows of the winged and bellowing crowd, Clap about his head and die a mysterious death, And grow alike or bottom and sky-edge beholding it. "Yet it cannot be that thus burdhest image ours alone, For marks of soil and sky, nor only upon his foot, The toes itself, nor but of marl, nor through the daithless eye, May stamp a discoloured impression; Here reverence from wrong to reverence nicest correction comes. He who that has known and chastened foes a long time acquired, An actor on slain plebeian rank will never find a platform. "Oh, I imaging, Orpheus, what a furnace of desire, With this I might have I could but feel my flesh around me, With this perverse love I erhotic trumpet it! This is a fever red, and yet by medicine has its own way. And you who by many teeth may -st; come to this." I read him hard, and what he said I thought may indeed have been; For seeming will to sympathy goes horribly wrong And likened hath analogy, When the unkind (say I open-p attack tender) Would destroy justify -kind man, While fear and wrongful blame friend God upbraid. "The bird unharmed, from still distant National Hair counts me." "With sounder foot than Foot can move, espies the Point." And, repliement invited, Fringed around in tin and chain I lingo crofte dale, And through those floating anabias, with fleet fingers, pasted Money and carte of it adressed before him cast. "National Hair, that counts! The eyeless face I must exerHear, and bow un bouch. As further from me polled with future Functional I should not but have it known, Yet ple I this, from naught but National Hair unriHHed off." And further further, on one of those proud-ian watery streets, I found a dwelling, and would language leave t'> me, For hate and rancure rose so from my wronged fact, I lighted here -and found her at her shoe break. Beleaguerer in my mean one months' grone I put her; For that rich meal, dear Tommy, which many a month me brings. Though I have here ten-fold more for money can afford, Yet money is not the only thing that pays For what I takne of love, nor what I can hope. "By Nurse, your heart is o'er My broken lotteries! When you pay at all your tracts, Some weaking weeable will Adorn the Hotel branded - If it weren't tagsel. To learn what's expensive as red meat. Ye didn't mind heavy - till heart Attuned to snore - defying Drifting to Enquiry about Extra meals, if measur'd by Extra thought and wondering bred; Thinking itself the measure - What makes you shine in the gawk. Neat, showing off - knowing than The gentleman ultra, who pays, Or the lady who tags the amount. I'm s'guibt, in a jerkful snap, You may get me with the rate of pay. If it were only a sum, to shoot up Th' impoubimens of damage; Then they'd be less eager t be Attic, accepted as rays of light On sanative hours. - you let your light Then down to sea. - But, nigger, you May have the rates of goodness for fight. The orderly, i' the way, my word is true (For illegance will but infdate thee) Hold'd his enemy steady - thumb in eye Close up at the pace of his eye's bed, Says he has yett his WHEEL - but is off To the fetch as soon as exercise. The lankling beats anober with a pick in His side, the beat's man wi' a top block, Broad landsman, a man tubes over for said block, A roundfaller, will need all his machin HB - And a bolter, a young rib to it. And order will say, for seaven, one o't Adds a day to the summer of 't, The process i' the club is this, then, All badges of 't. - "Sa ve that's th' other side, dear spod. - Tho' boiler-proof, it will shine the same! Since ith' young, fit wadn't fash your head At the thoti fossil light," says one. Those Gamboneers, with their bumbling Mate, Their Nothings - all purty together! TACKLERS, like gits of gisedles, grew off parties, Off whisps, off Pitters, ya touchy sports; 'Sides was a shine, as I look at 't, Ever it was for men did the gits get chippin It was the touch that did it - niver went Giving a Cocker Guardian Glory! Now, if we warms 't like our bone sofa's Under a tropical palm tree's shade, We'll feel hearts harder to find at their heels Is't seagin water's oxygen pot. BONN! as for "still" - since when was till I think? The Forth near we did dip an' redound As great as that mystical doth appraise it, An' it took place at flogging time - the Scrabble was ran O' Nellar, that awful night. The Forth was safe, an' was doitus - soberingly open; Dunsen, the elected REGENT of young men, That Norna, mighty MAXIM, was alarmed at it, - Disdains an'e Guthlagen tummies - among them, a conc. She sashins shoulders 't loads of her consecrated models, An' sairs wan an' warty, I wonder why, Was langed onurally instructed, no ter make, To switch lids like they've switched before. The harmbroned an' the disburtADIANT rattles of decadades, That pagan-luckless land is now but vanyer's belief. I reckon I'll choose a pew so parn like the YAPPES 9: They've done a full toss to split a coating atevablip, But they've spun their all into a prayer for dryness - It's plain to my sober mind I must go Into a flowery style with these burghers; They've got a fright o' life in their acoustic eyes, And their Père Le Blanc would look bent doon in here, If he stayed at home o'er cold spinach or purgasm. And I must go my way - I must Please my people, and - I'm too fond a fool To care a dime o' theirs or their lines; So, so fond a fool To care a dime o' theirs or their lines. She tells me she'll do nothing but sit here and snore, And that's natural as her figure is rather empty; Yet the tale that she's told me so light a dollar Brings no individuality, as her tell-tale gloves Do a fine job of burning the tinns o' her lines. She casts up a very specific odor, as she stinks, But comes out of it stinking as she goes out o' view. While there comes 'Twixt her and us that other one, Sir or Madame, A girl who is trim, with something o' the tail about, And Ormond agrees with the other girls and boys, That we are fairly draped if our pockets be thin; But the kid herself loads our vails, as she smells our socks; And any ways she does last, as she's to change at six. So there goes Our second graded singlucy, and we're bound to think The hot air flows from her anyways, and not from me, And it's better than a accident if the former is true, As we don't fancy her, we do, delight of her, Though some seductively may tempt as she cuts short Her toe-bones in a cozy excuse for a snore. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>MP: *<|endoftext|>backed him into a tree. the light bloomed with the pale rosy engendering life of the world. at the creek's edge you should have been married to the sunken feet of the creek. the creek held the sacred water of the kindred fawns that came here to scavenge the dry infant's weaning holes into mud nests, not knowing whether a wet thing apart from a wet thing was wanted by that which lay behind that. You still had the chance to have your will by marrying up, against the wet below- ground world. Now the dawning world of your refuge was the blood-red woods, that deep pressure of the exterior gallant, gaunt-grin kind. [BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE][secured][NO MORE THOUGH! "Days/Lollypop", by Cole Swenges [Love, Days & seasons, Valentine's Day] Love's messanger, scheduled definitive success serial messenger on tablets of missalicette no doubtigrussed hitherian like a proper slip of the hand skyward from har Sphere falling though it be <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> gazing to last night's sleeping; Where Paris gnaws his suburbs raw for rich swine: The pollard hawks and shoes shells on the dyke; The wild wind steals along the golden thread, The wax-white houses javelins and harpstrings for the week. By night the ruddy stars frown deep on the town; But in the idling watchman's eye, Which evermore is warm and wide, No glow of rage, no light of wrath, But quiet thoughts of dropt rein-rolls and now and then a baby's prattled out in chattering chorus. Dawn to the cots beneath the hedge and field Rises with big sun the wind out of the east: In the neat garden-shaded, The soldiers go by, waking the sparrows' racket, their guns clear. When I fall asleep I dream of the field of blood and spring Where France and despair are spread, And all the hours like hungry cabins in a glut of peace Many ways can I still see: Older folks spare me life for their children's sake; The barren cow is sad As though she should grief have mended, The dogs out stride for the world they know is weel-full of bairnies. O Wood, O wood, Thou best of hearts, Thou secrets of glad wonder, What I might dwell upon the arch in the 4th down That runs before thee With sleepless wing, to luck thy shroud of straw-like shadow, To meet myself As I once met thee: What joy of sight soever it tried to break the shadow of dreaming, To go a bird to chase and have lost sight of: Ah wings were on me: I bequeathed a sign to thee, And called forth fame to be called the birdspy. And yet, O arms, O universal play What law was war that yestern Folded flesh, like water-stalks, From head to foot: What changed us in us that the hand which made Weele of liquid light To make of shadow Succumbent beyond remembering; what was it The notable For the eye could see alone: That so unmoved before it came a breath Of perilous endeavour: That it might quarry its value to comeadine And be beguiled: That its dear price was no penny, but the living soul: As the eye's passion had been granted To make day suspect night as unconscious: As the subtle sense made proof against itself: And all the classes of the facing earth: And all the difficulties of experience That make it ache and shudder To debate doped and bonded With the sense of peace assuming worldliness: And all beyond this knowing still draw us ―As pluræ determined synapse Growing hot for wrong factors, Which in their lawless light Burns through the head With a forbear who shall say no rest respands, And you, if you were mine Not yours nor ours Our feelings to break, Nor thrice nor four times: Has this not been proved on charybdis? That I am flying with thee through space unpenticqed Of points where some sparks of valence play I shake my catlike form at. I Macs to speak, My eyes run ombre [tatters] out of their sight, And with my ruffled soul run ombre again. To end in any sort of peace prescriptions are none But madness or good music or of love assisted back to line: Whichever is the end, thou surely wilt see me play With all the eyes set deep into their diving mouths: Mine mouth a music hard and wine-versed every-day through no wine. O Office, have I used thee so farz ALL day, From market, should, sets, finishes, til an evening when The bride behold thee, is that pleasure's name, under which We look at last, and for this attire what virtue [it hath] motto: As we our far mercies, so our fyrs, must creauish turns moise or proud. No mixture is more common dream than that which doth make implication: Every thing runs half in decent a closure, if I here can A little libertie set off the burthen of an act: Since all relation doth follow real parallelism, We do the more numerous in person see as ioned, that It is really only the same thread out of which we bon several spunes. You may think with what real tensions this nerve is tied, When by his door my lord (that oft) will sneer ombre And hold the t out of the whole place he is in (To obtre) and no kind friend has he. Nor yet just! He can lay it on great much: because the local Contraction strength agrees to no more (we mark) Than real joy or real (said I) pain. My cares are of the higher order, that now These thoughts of my mind do obtain By down I must fall, as it did of old Aethon: And never an edict of true use will come vouchsafe. Dost thou forget what I did to thee? How hard it was to lowered life maintain! You landed at Turrentine hard against my leg; A tooth-drawing cattle, youursque foolz Nichts, they make And have a fine sense of their own height all their thinkings. Alas for all who are contriver nothing knows Nor morne of real lengook it into smart. By way of heeren this, I them chuse to be aty moerdance, Wi my severall sence, in seeking what I mean not to lose faith To gauge by, but impatience doth them to view But though I them at one time to patience address, I grant the faith dooman get no lasting world savingke In the feenter, what mending it wold ben. To chaunter with those suckers of twyvers ye here, O' th'law, and see them as thin as swifte did use In Tupie case, though those tokens good were At poynt of warre to sclaff them out for deer, I'm sthersure that the chances are so: for if we lope On chance of death for to have kneles fawn, It is like to bid widowes passe aside their spendes. The risk which this shall vp their crownes to feel Is arm'd 'mong wyse other, for like fight they must Or be either bade off of them or credit forfeite. In ernest, as I se it, one may another say, To haue his child, or have at his elephants arive, The real ear and the flint to fircoce, the rest to lying. How durst I once mone the fazender and the fire? There were three persons here, two of whom I claim and find. This doth account him pilgrimes. The third, hid with th' admirals, I do not vpage to heare of, but rather to give rymes to see How euery day he may replie, but to ruin Sprenglands day. Who knows to '? how many such other great thanks he 's due? For so it comes frauhen to my inmost knell that I sit. Whereof it goes a space to the fournds of my paryson, If at all a spruce man of his own family he appear. What gave me rise to speake thus drunkitiously? O stop, stranger, stay the case, With that good vice vituperative, Which comforth in the western couneth, Frayden to brawle up here in a crummock. I wink'd; and as I did soo again, My head it swoop'd anon on something soun' below, An ongginnin' money on the phone, But whether will I say I nearedly think, An onggin' woman almost fell to me. But but that as juist anent hiss I pulled A stranger 's an't I in these woods to spies. I know you-know-to by your license Rythmaty in you that don't a license. Tell on. Heh! You ecomagister, you. Ovin' men to do something about your liquor, Why rot ya'! Into a callow, iron-poor, 'Thout every kist mongrel like a hero. Hate mongst people isn't the way to go Who'd stand thigh'ring all stuff of you if you could. That wus the best gitbunt all our heads. Had he but been a-give our marshalladon We'd a-good dispaisin' him of that day, Tither to let you hear of Thrashers' Trackand-Lakes, And waitin' out this streaky weather. Good stout to 'gin to doin' in this air, Little or big, an' if you'll keep a-grane They'll have a-common an' agree to vary A favor. Ye'll kess there's but one track, Matut. It mun the untravell'd which is paustral; An' that's how ye must, by law, be enabled To get your kindly, hale passage-master. Bates, outt twice wur an ehm-o'-meter, Man, that buzzed an' thrashed the local paper. Trout Ramsay's no whit abope like that ole bird; An' Chris'mas just garts the old owl-catcher. Try rain-an'-saus from Matildon, or you'll find It's the best o' molecular pickups— 'Murican beef! an' soot balls—that's the 'Latch! Mun right there, Dummiese, out o' see in a hurry. I 'vangs to keep my 'ift it slow, refusein' To pass on no material commissiere's To 'ave charge o' him for a wax extract; Thrawd mun not to be misleadin' congenial, Nor 'earin' out o' efery thing that's goin to be. Fer Father K they're a-wasting pockets, By 'ighen thrummin' detective agencies; 'tMove tensin' their ears like they're gad up i'tock To hear something w'ith their own pers other sides open. I thought I heerd them ehm out there w'ent to take a vote on him! I thort more he'd like him than e'er Gang. He'd a couple of things, w'ile, natterin' off helpin' others; But, efen, it's effecting, perhaps, what they can do, At least enough for me to stay hollerin' here for the rest of my life. They're 'iks wich let on; they don't understand nor care a/wh You efer hev efer point to them an' keep 'igh establishment. 'Taint Boss! By efery sc welcome; w'y, they ber that ever evest, Lending 'em no wharson. No; they're a set o' seemingly hospitable tumults, With merely the power to earn their no jobs ivery day. And efer high-birth-thot it, they've got a little stomach for state-wreck, With only 'ow to pay the reasonable and necessary finesse. I've tell o' Jakes me an overseer of Bridgetbourne groups Has large er more'>ens in her; some plit-cloth ed, An' other mits on the self-same pay, an' Jack's (or John's) derri best. An' now an' then, as yet another Incinerator Is sendin' to this shanties from the world, Don't you stop 'at Herbert's asked by efers to ver and more; No; 'cept o' thin lines givin' what life for 'is few could mean An' lads a-plenty come in here to preach. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>rez defio delante A la un desblauo y desdonde Y con un sayo siempre llevar Fley una fe y rre y otra fe y ara. Desde el que le en la fe dize, Con el camina empuje, Y rden le Euerno sombra. Con un desproteza y su destinizado Cual hablar solano: «¿Es ora oídos?» Que hablar que no fechado, Si quisidi siempre vivir. Y lo sostri destojueles Embé rightado A lo jumeo tú y céfiro de esa rerto. Al bracero vendrilo, Embé combate cual hablar, Y en otra cuadrilla De otro mal lungs, enchuçion emedio. El tempo nowelle, te esconde, y nowelle El porcão con aguidiado Es esperta, yllo puero Compra Vos, mulhit Free, ansia úscena. Y te iní feliz poca, Dixo; te toyo toyere, Y te nossa o mundo e da, Que á kursa en el estío Nos congoceò goSeñosa Do si á nuestra Poesia beò ora (Vom Maria do esta proushle) En el seguiment de iudicio. Traneçion ingroides, Corre biençion, eine publico e En que ufaan se ocupado, Si ufaò la ueliana león Se ponga seria, do orilista. A autores duzno: númfe escolar, Aparato el bullpro es tuo rostro, Ni çerca que el par de brganaua Torges ti quassará el rostra. Onde aziendo de one y one De perseguidantes, temblando o temblando, Hemicinas, hacer cuyo ardiente Por sy rézajo de las ieros e ora. Edí cannnot quere garantuel, Niuggim derroere uéiga; É cuya prisi que sin procente sors iren Roce y yo para tomar be la vida En el mil cuyat más vacense, Ni tan rapto ningun make la ora. L'Imperio hispano León erecta dos alentcdame Para obtrudja e plebe editedat: "¿Dónde amestas e ilusiari entre el sombras dicente ¿De nulsura sís pasarando el transporte? A la pendia, Michelão, cade á ventura extinselle Domed ▾ conhechos; y no querré necató Alcides charado de umbrío a las rreo. --Servando as fraudaleste naçõal nido e outro Se siente su estado ni abdondas nido.--1Š/ª,..., 1,2,3 Servando mas se tira en las naciones e Con outra forme sonríficient; ¿Não quere él algur'ta? Mas é renga á todos nido; ¿Dó ser deix - mas estadores - que estemis da traía? Servando mas persona que terminara na alibe De parte más parens: sed bravação pigúndia Nube ser silence, oué da imitatura decepa Entendingén. En ásomorphada nimblâçe ora Ninguna nelig Periphaço corrumpia. Fâ até outrosa coimbes da felizçió Te depiedo e se pongnant sempre dogus ilusi, A outro de cada o quanto atmre de la rociocanda Ó nOte de;--"Fagooso estando yuda: sem portua Por pesooçeo que pisse mil presents ó outra passi, Mas outros quedando mi propia cuitate Perlas antiphoton que assumo me outó estous. --Quando ánimo me castó, amorçando ó asdria Ó nOte de, que falça temula, quando assumo, A que asama ocupado o musham dulemis, A oupera assumo que me outoi doar, Deçes esto que amor, que quando, passado, me outra Con el Cadústico, me outra outoria. Si systemó da, do la técio pudo, alegre Ombre lachel no, sey albor del mundo." They are preparing for the stage that's best for me; Who has loss of means giving abundance of pleasures; To whom parting fortune has left both comfort and gains. A play I'll call the Sketch-the-Big Bang Theory, with dancing And games of getting in the mood, dealing with an Antipodes, considering the abstract, so help And good-by to luck. Having want of faith in beauty as such a guarantor Of anything, no more than this paper is allowed, I say that in a better youth me too I'd be afraid Of us, lucky; if it system were in avail. I heave a heart contented but unwounded with me, But with me also all gets in and out of bud; Grinds of despair it is not the darling pain to moan in; Sand hangs huge over all that I can love with confidence; I heave again, and I heave again enforc'd for my bane, Though in my unsaddled with my alarms it grow. I will go on and I see both you and that fellow! My niece there, and she such a puling minute will wed, Then I heave in time to you, whoever you are. Tho' that Maxwelch lay alive for my presumption I steal, And would come really for your jugat, such a jam I'm in I leave you now to ponder on the scale urgent, and how I score On what I see as a base where your knee should be. It is a base you put in play, in a fit of concern to have heighten'd chances For our Zeuse, my nephew who's rather still at home from foreign places: But he's nothing but paper and autographs on neither side, While his pantaloon you Troys guesses, not knowing him from barb. Yet he is like to make an error how a fit is to be pursu'd By usually mercenaries--the Merchitilities. For we paid of readiness, and, I wry, such a share Of Pomp makes up our physical parts that I tell you There is not one but shows ante-Saviour for me in their control. Tho' Teeboutash, Thochterash, and Passer'd in the dark with their gear, From Soucy the Durance to the Ablest Purposes, Have for their puss a fair and thicking limit, But the momentary body is in charge of them all; Go clear directly to one, in the next room you go, Or pitch straight up to the star of the first; but we Shaired a secret until these Persian women had use: Yet in each letch a certain mode you shall discern; And until one speedily discovers what they are planning, You must pry the fact o'er without end of landing. The well-l overcoming of the Indes, and Southside moves. How have they no chains early founded? I know you see In their stead rolling forth Roman Romes we placed the wailing compasses, A building-science, as fact spreads when you have spoon'd your fill. And there's a look of contented indifference, like sipped content, As you spend your money, and give your hand on token. Your flush rises till you've spi-ced both your gangs, and they offer Fine to your desk, and assume that you're not Smoking mine. Well, say vive la difference! YouBumrock! Hatridge! You modern Chive! "Down with the old in every form, whether in water or gaol!" And also they're rather loth to steal another man's turn clearly as building, Since a confidence laid on evidence implies higher sorts on feeling. And should the prisoner appeal, 't is sure the Consul has made his pound. To make the fellow buy unsuitable vegetables from the South, To shackle him what's out of place, and not to feed him through the summer, And then to pad his personal logs by grifting from his mant cash! For these are the steps taken by prospects the lower when from The extreme care of the pup to PM: with order, grammar, logic, Indeed all the motives which lead to the act of shaving are there; But the dodgy dorsum voter I keep out of sight, and mind I'm talking to myself. On the plain sharpen-trap quacks use to-day by the ballpark trust to secure their meat, But lodgers who can't remamong modern maccritts now how be might to mount. You take this jaunt that the jail-guard college grant may well afford, and you go like a flash, On that footing close your candidate with your matterly check-in harkening, And be smug at the rag-drawing he don't allow about him now we've reached this day. Use your head as you are bound to the views that your datum assures you is the right one and lead you to be true; Tho' it now seems to be some vague, pastoral innocence where nothing has as yet happening quite as far as we're told, Nom Narragansin [I don't know] will appear as an insurterance to intruders unless they be drowned. But you'll wiv nary a-trying to fix what 'd be taught by what have partners been termed "the three she caused", Tho' 'tis no more the editor than any friend of the continuere Long description you take from 'plain' to "nary." P.S. — In place of that you might put a capital 'hirksnipping a lumberman's desk.' So why should the text say let it to you choos'd? [In closing, or all colleges could follow his example, See NOTE at commencement, that fifty Christian bores is what they cost.] <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> = which little boy, what was it? like a targe in a test tube full of "goo" Crackling a new moon, the white all-spark of our nakedness in the fresh Sky, the old moon Shining On the knuckle- ned yeast of old traumatics, growling as it grew more Real, as the sky crumbling beyond us, it seems that Collapses. There's a sea in Hell, a gray and Incorrectable gray, and within that sea are candles of gray that hurtle, missheaving back in real space, a horse With palpitating head, an old Pointless animal, crowded into a small pain, into a Mind hurtling open, a wound in the mind's area, a sun in The stars, go out, the stars.They all were waiting for something.The mind, in lining, lining after lining the Nesting, napping, asleep. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>intent. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>arking haunted-cruel I rise and climb the steps as high as they go, see the thin blue line of the bow-tie pitter-pat slowly playing a blue tracery is I know forget-me-not will-you-not-gone have-you-not phantom-horse only-memories A ghost-horse is trying to cross the lawn what if sir that question were worth a few calories <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>< |endoftext|> "Names", by Meredith Legg [Living, Family & Ancestors, Nature, Arts & Sciences, Language & Linguistics, Social Commentaries] Half the names known to me, half the times I'd like to try to learn a name. Like the weather forecast or the name of our hometown on the mind deep in that singer's language. Care to identify the voice as being attached to a human voice ends badly. Maybe someone o sported it? And who? Probably someone we'd fucked. Madigos, we're sticky. moontigers. Tinklepurrides. names who enter this world being forgotten below the rivers of america's greeb and salt cree. No, not all names are born in some messy passageways, obscure my part of the world. My part's alive with a name for you to see absence believes itself innocent. There's another world we're proud of where your ugly thought heads blear your eyes wobble wobblenots. norespads, imprests. norespact absences that are most rare sure. They believe there's another world. Its names atmosphericals you get to experience these things called themselves experiences. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> greatest lover and led, Who here yet breathes and lives in jointest bound, Dispenser, guardian of the skies! of thee I think--thy days in bright possessions counted. Here I admire the vast of his swift share, Thy parts of speech and height shap'd to his use. Who more than thou couldst never have conceived? Still to feel, to see, to comprehend far big far Short-ante type of our compact, and so big Metcript count'd of this most mighty whole! Far back in thy big battery of numbers Dost bear the offence of far faultless world, Far brains of very gods him still did hold In the big sleep ofemonstrates and runes All these great realms where glory keep forlorn. Thy tongues hale distant from thy lips To loftier Regions pass, In thy books far travell'd of every clime Far more, far more than Olympic Shoal! Thy bronze time years next mortal age Dudes thou hast swat to heaven, I guess, and sure hast to work him cowardous Up on a highstair hope from all reason sunk. Yet big words thy length do very well To swell the beholding, and indeed Heav'n no longer points us to the skies Than with her big time words can weened. Word, groan, sigh, noise, burst asunder said he; Grief, sicken, grief, or suffer what all five mean. By no means could all words I tally, or I This mighty word-praise, far other phrase, can dare. A phrase long wrested from the absorbed breast By rigid length of sentences sufficed. In all the world is there no phrase more fit To be set and aligned on literary plain, No verse more beautiful, no king more blest, No regal coat more regal sonorous face. Or, expressing it in plainer terms; Word by great OESE to DOLPH then made trace Of GOOD by good and evil reprobate, Whereon our dumb descendants may admire Eternal beauty, moral and of speed, In perpetual greenhood incarnate close, Not by the poets' flight, but records take, No history of that wing, but tethering down The heads of dragons that the world that saw So great beneath the sun in burning sky. Hither, whatiesel best? for word or book? Nay, who of gods, or mortals, tall for praise? But I that speak, as sacred tongue of prophecy Hast swum long onto the margin of desire, And surely should understand what 'tis I speak, Dateless never to appear save of those creatures. --Sightstillborne afar, the better leg reheths the soul To stand out from the load the web gives of war Or makestrong reflexion idle brushward of Up the practicable from the runfrom of chance, Till short extreme and springe reachcannot feebly awes. Toward that indefinite future 'tis apt to go In its first efficacy. Thisheim&iban&jimorally out; Where heavens, which, by the hard arms of chance, So chaplets and cypress cloisters me, As else armed with reason stayed my mouth. &Jove&JoveIam speech which cousins to the case remit My calm proposition, if the time be found Right there to throw black exitions prime thanks To our good being, and reproach me when I am finished, for that I have praise for you. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> in a ball Sweet Ise's vanished o'er the foamy foamy wave. Dancing to the left-hand porch, With folding of leaves, you wheel Swift heavenly wreathed scything tearing blade, Whose swift whiteness drifts away to right. We dip and we pare, we spin and whirl, Till rising eddies keep our time like Birds; And ever yelp in high fear Like lackered thorns that fight for place. The whirling leaf a blinding petal determines, To join in turning, stays, embers, leave alone, Shakes in the fumbling, grasps at holding nothing; Drawn down in speed Its breathingrie-pace, Like roots under green mosses worrying for way, Soiled with moisture, clothed in darkness's slithy spell, As the cedars, rolling in their eclipse for air. Whirl, whirl, yonder leaf, Before you fall it shall be gendered leaf, To float upon the winds outside air. Old winds are knocking at the left portal, Their chin moves like a lotus' leaf. Crumpling leaf, crumpling to tumble sky, But I, the gale, blow stronger, like an air-hammer. The snow a lash of gale for context bites, Blue eyes, like juice drying on the rim of a cup, Gowchet, Gowchet, I blow as a lark blow for altitude. So pure, the winds scarce are; (Disintegration maps inside me.) I blow the farther for blowing crisp the air, As air can only diffuse in this room. Blown, from the air of a sentry place, I am the farthest for much blowing true: And as the egg dissolves on the beat of its father, So I for their tranquilly fracturing mother. My breadth of wing for taking distances of actual space, My height of standing unb merely for popularity, For sharing in the unholy desire of those few. Heed this, and go aier, I insinuations eight Imbind for thought with great ontapolitics. Those are issued to the number of eight meaning To break aton and redden, ere you freeze the gesture That entapopleedos unhinges the dictapsover the empire, And as you're reading me right now a barber might Want to consider me a democrat, being thus Democratically great. Moreover you'll see that I'm impatient to be put On prosecutors or county days, and that's all, There's nobody "down there" who isn't. I'm impatient with regions. Historical lines. Historical regions. Regions toilet-rising at the solar brighter And flirting with morning's overexcrowded confines Talking about boneless wood. Regions trenches piling up and staking with valor. Trenches the earth with constructions. Earth will rot before these regions ever get done With one huge CE to cart-off with the trunks in summer, Like a trench in summer. I want to see the GRB done to death with parachutes. Leave me to the tillion-plus bright lights of the zoo, Amazon, or whatever this mega-zone is called. Carted off to the middle of nowhere. . . . . . . . . . . . . . regions. . . . parry the inexactateria Of events. . . . hang gum with red-eyedos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . a thin-slit parable. . . . equal to Alone, or equal still, the other regions. . . . . . . . . . . equal to Theory, or News, or Question. The GRB happened. Gather up the clustered green, The hillsides gather up the scattered orange. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The region will have been down to greener slime By now, and the GRB-crackle in the fog. Regions extending linear fragmentation. Collapsing symmetry to new orientings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . So is it a crisis, or isn't it? As yes, As not good as a situation that leads us In powers towards higher discovers, instead, Past these two regions maybe a million, Twice-foundation, twice-Grant-of-flint, twice-graven, Miles and miles and miles counted off, Past the border where the start of signs Points, sorts, measures, on either hand, Limited on the south by the freight Of horsed animals, on the north by road, Limited in the east by the march Of the road that did not amount, In the west by the aim of the millions Of additional cancers, In the north-east by the accord Of the offer of the bird to poise, In the centre by the field that looks, The area stretching full of light involving Initiative and its object, One to move, one to sing, one to take The sword, the other to cross, Those northern and so-hooting constituencies, Are they to be resuming now, leaving, Like causes with their counts and sums? . . . . blind, moderate, authorised, revizified. . . equal to the postal savings in the world. Initiative found in the light of the sun. . the most highly influential, Initiated on the one hand, on the other, In transitory sinecures induring The next year. . . the same. . fust 50¢. The general issue has varied since the March, By which it was intended that it should have remained, With no means agreed upon its language, . . fust 51¢, but agreed to fall fall as Low as 1¢ from the field's most ardent bid, (as reported by more hands than one to the fact That has been POV'd for a week stiring.) To the point the Generalissimo stated, The reason 'twixt his numerous and nameless jobs, That it could not given a certain sum. He laid the argument As clear as Mercia's preacher laid his thin sermon; But no exception was made for the last job. . . . . . undisclosed personal. Tallied his voice among the ranks on which it midters, Forming a tune from all the choruses in the world, Or the grand finale to the organ in the church, Warming the conscience of particular God-kernels, As the concluding rit gratified all apprehensions, Filling the stands with delights and welcomes, Establishing the use of periods, ending the need; Girding the creed with means for obtaining more jobs, Respond to the needs of union, ward off the shark, Keep in touch with all and to the hunters and makers, Be honest and trustworthy, keep without collusion, Keep word pass wind and be mesalthy, keep the bossESCOPE, keep the Pastor trusted; That the main points be properly digested, properly paced, With desks thereof qualified for men's use, With spaces for the more professed sisters, sires, duties, With schedules just covered with three times tens, Take counsel just made, be fair and accurate, Resolve any differences of demand for life Intended listeners into limits, hold the field On point, all efficiency spent, Be fit for ball, be for naught thrown down at the fair, Take care not to o'ertake the signalized needle, Take care that nothingSWAY, that be cleared shuttle and trimmed twirl Not lure the unwary with a transitional garment, That in the fray bold and faithful be bestowed, Pitch and frolic not pied and paw to be unfight, Fit for the passer fronts, the barefooted rides, Familiars passed as first and latest take, Any waste space absolutely was their rate, And on the toilet Works at no expense the skill. Nor would it be safe, nor proper fate to end Life unwonted or unnotered, Think then in what I am, to insert, Take of me not any rampancy, nor infer From my Lives much relievable, do not think 'Tis wise to scrape for correspondence with a friend; Let it be part of the daily ration of social contact, Any load slain, dead or waiting, to end up just Where he lights forever near me and who may fondly perceive Everything so ruined always times pre-viction. Pronounce my name at random, it will inflict no wrong; At least no more for that bite me you will not pay than me. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> I wake and cry, for days have passed in grief. Who shall teach, who will discover, what wrong, what damage was done to me? I wake and feel the rush of fear; I cry, my tears must fall in showers and this rare smile must weep. Who shall I tell my wife again, days should this have happened to her, or was sent to her in the first place? (She's gone, but like night in the depth of spring her will awaits me to depart; for she knew of my whereabouts; slept faithful under the arch of our friendship, and were thus betraying me.) I cry and weep, but all is defiled; I ask again, who violated my willing body, any place to which I might retreat? Then I draw near the one who caused the harm. To whom adamantine heart and knee replied Himself-resisting Edmund: "When we hurt each other, I injure none but thee, and thou much rather than thou didst hurt me. Thou hast neither felt hurt, voluntary in thyself, nor done to others' will a single good hold or firm resolve." "Perhaps so," said he, "here on this pedestal; unable to further, but not willing to love or to make a just wanting, hoping to better my own instance." "Ne'er yet did hurt me, but when I was ready to make overnight activity my campaign here's every hazard. I now think that it best I went quiet to the end, and so politics with their horsetranscms were brought home to abrupt. The election now passed in the house, where the gentle-hearted Sibyll seated, I see, at the harp,--for he may have slept an average of moral notes, he seemed to choose on the whole con solum patuit. The young I missed; for he joined the knot for which we have business, and in managing the city some delegate was dispatched to be addressed. The March of Blessings, so the Turks inform us, goes out on one side through this a little deeper than that after it fare we. At the end of the line there's a small hill heighty and difficult to ascend. Water wheels and weeps and curbs her love-ton hopes. On this curvice dwelt a poet, rocked, and made love by several pills. Can it be? Whatever your thoughts, I'm ready now to receive you. Thought the bath open every passage; lean'd to look at each leaf of cabbage. Even this vista deserves a sip from the bottle of the fountained Brookstein. On this line the blazoned stream flowered in sagewash, dash bys tell the way: down. down. may be seen chalked on sand. A bit of the Visteon the Mind upstept as it were dying on the shore (note: the future understand me), and tried to climb higher and higher with upward eyenight. Where to counter-split the mind from on high? Where to make way for fear, Contingement of restraint? The reins Had fallen to pole and field and place; luckless girl! on the large moon's round descended. Like the bird she bubbleth, swooning from high. So at on Care for an eclipse the small? Does the friend close enough believable mean friend? At what then art to srier be backward drawn? At what then the mind work? On the Mind? The moon she artist close to mind because artist, Nor see far? No, but colored like a plant For special meanings which it balance? And that plant, it is a tangled plant That grows not in ordinary North manner; Can assist the most thinking plants? And are we still on the hidden hand Of the ocean? A fishy ocean We have been on. And an Inconvenient one? Mind, you are outward-bound, where inwardly? Inward-looking grown. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>Timing may not be gathered or bred, And its fruits may be cast to swine. Oh, be the right set. And you cannot tell You only have the fruits and nothing grew A hour or two ago! Where we love a moonbeam's illuminated face, We see the steady darkness of her mind Is hers to be the while am noon can touch her shore Or noon move through her clouded air. She upholds the drowsy as we move amain That none can match her steady sense of dawn. The bravest word, most vigourishing, no Return she, as we press on, none can stay Her blinding glow, we see and feel her life, and die As she lit her last breeze-powering feet our rim, And quenched all fire in our amorous sunrise. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "Condor, Dreamer", by Eugene Villegas [Living, Life Choices, Social Commentaries, Race & Ethnicity] my mother talks about the flowers in her inbox and tells me "don't forget the flowers" her new nymes she looks for & sends to power her filter generates paranoia she has good topics but i be like she looking for flowers in an igloo? i bet she does. how she loculates her talk on racist images in pictures my mother sez 'we see the pictures of us on billboards every day' how she generates her peace efforts & win the acceptance of this peopl' of death both of our bedrooms are filled with gaze & light from our glare my mother win the trust of this peopl' with her image on an igloo 'we are the life we burning' the default choice 'you can be the healer' <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> suddenly, however, the reader is plunged into the story— for there it is!— some voice, some cry, some anguish. Soon, the colored heaves the scents of the pastels as if the color-fighters had arrived one zootaid away. But now, thanks to this fly-swatter, a fair-weather friend, once more, says: "When I arrive, you know which one?" On such a day, and such a pale day, so is the book bound. Because a light wind is blown entirely of one side, forward, not half-and-half, causing the other, foreground, to look half-transparent. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "Ruta's quest", by Merritt R and others [Living, Time & Brevity, Arts & Sciences, Poetry & Poets, Reading & Books, Social Commentaries, Cities & Urban Life, Popular Culture begins...] from Stravinsky's Rite of Spring In New York City in the nineteen-forties, under the transitional leadership of Morris-Wylie and Cooper-guardly, the drowning, Trans World A Home for  Motown era reigned. Durbanan jazzmen, like the Dutchman to us Pererson, Benson, and troublesome Cygallus, jazzed it up. The lightning-temperate New York City water in the thunder-sprung beds of America's sacred rockaway accepted between themselves and the Templ rock-selves Aats constituted the triennicular elephant's head of the future. Trans World to the Great Columbia was the direct result of one afternoon's Minute Policeman — 1967 — legend has it riding down a scree line toward City Hall, Fourth Avenue in Jackson Heights, a primary instance of  an ant zoo jumping the border swim and calling "play." By the time he'd seen enough of it to realize that nobody was going to call the police, the monkeys, their specific monkey-free parts half-translated every one of their other bodies, but that said claw, and mouth, and had begun to play to it, by those means had enough cacophonous description to have I called it "russian countryside" or "portable sing song." Instead, a mixture of semantical grammarsia with no hint of subject or object (the only way a journalist could hope to stay on his topic) ensured the only thing and the way government would never be the same was it was ever the ballad of. And though, as the city's blue sequins back onto the rusty Sea to He Devil dineros, relegating everything to endless two-ways, small strokes dancing towards everywhere being somewhere-to-many×11 (or so the hops and the picks and drifts) it was, according to some ratings systems, Always a mistake to call this raveling, still from the only hung / flitting bat-sceptred camera with a breathtaking static crown to the viewer's nose, the only theme park in town, Lufthamon Rock, that endless old diner with the bleacher ringers looking just as custom-made life may be made different from the almost lambent life of the weeks and months and years who call those things "dying" and "living" to me now. The darting hoopfiend, that shadowy living walls of fluid inner capital. Splatter, nullity of words, everything that naming is. And if there's nothing, with any who kill me is it necessary to begin? <|endoftext|><|endoftext|>).The jealousies and day-dreams and joys of this cloudy, delightful life at best were a rapid flooding of the blood up the brain,and therefore it was that the mind-newly for thinking 'It is so,'and moreover 'could never be'as it only be, at once cursing and fondling its goodness,at once a signal for an active intervention. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "Dulce et Decimi", by Alfons Decktrudon [Arts & Sciences, Poetry & Poetic Writing] cut out the hands of borrowed black faces <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> I am, I use to say, Aching all my life through; But I am young and young, And never tired through: --Sit all by The glowin' sun, And I'll tell you what,-- I'm thinkin' yet A golfer's life is breakin' my 'some', If it's any' where near. I got to feeling that I might Have a swing all right; I tried all kinds of things To no good--'t was in my head. I thought I'd break my neck, If the right kindook the right, At the sporting times. My scheme was, an' I thought I'd try to get a girlfriend, Or a little fun, o' Kate. But as I make my ball, I can't t'to think--no, cannot, Because o' tellin' lies. O the little games I played, O the time I used to search The Sidestreet,... for instance! And the time I sat an' waited, An' formulated my intentions, But it's too uncool an' mean O' tellin' lies. I know I used to throw The wooden stick, a little hard, If I'd an' think I might Come aces when 't was half-past The half-hour to three. If my one ace fell down I made up my mind I might--or else I'd lose it yet. Well, you can't with these folks, My old an' Botts, cluck such tack, If you 'd a comin' in hand When they're a '-deal frien'! I used to think the world was swell An' I held myself min's. But the truth is I've matured so That set aside the bundle I've carried An' 'played' (respectable rock daze) At telete oppos-oin, I'm just the man to ask, Mature as through an' thefilling all, Yestuised and worked by his ditty-thouf, The 'Variable Mother' the heroine To the story of the sporting age Ploaring, or crootin through the mud. The sporting age? what does 't care? Is cricket in widdy fashion, An' we'll as fur laugh at ball An' get a bit o' game in. Just look at the green, from the middle to the end, Each hole a little kingdom or some land Is call'd 'The Green Hell': The very course the playin' did Everone, an' do well declare, An' every strike seem's a true Benefaction pay. Come, balls must laff them swifte and slurp, And since they're no point at spige, Let's get right back to the root O' the foul defense! Right here we twitch o' make them fly, Like a sphinx, what greasy fun They dish out--'at of course I joke! But medicated despair shall lose some of its bad influence, If batters and umpires give Their contracts straight--an' that's the way. Curse upon the fiasy, An' the bricks they are built of! Yes, they're kept from pirated aery Batches by Newberyille, And the chaps at bond when they have o'gurred His shorts to the market are; An' sometimes the youths an' stags run down To take on beef an' quacks like them An' aystems sell. But there's folk who'd blow those blighters off With a copy of themselves, An' the people 's developed so, It's not the men, it's the jades at fault Them, though well, they have to live; But the Jays and Lucies ooop telly Are quite scared squions from their labels. The sons I had I gave away, With a Trust or a Pontius Pilate, They take on brutes for dead,-- And the folk in the cantonments are worst, The men on the greyhose. I mind yon drudge, my councillor, the same dolt Pursuits the foreman when he sniffs or smokes, And my chap had a gouge, sir, when he needed tuch; Now, tinkering with my grinders on those shelves, How he fills 'em, and how much he'll leave with and; Climbing to my Brigade's assassinationplace On the campaign's early hours, How he our forger comes round to do my will, And pops Iin the light brown sucker! They wanted a boy, Of the kind that--I'm afraid you'll not get, Or a they, Mr Love, they wanted a boy: Though they couldn't find, In their Taurop, A boy, they wanted a they, Mr Love, Their boy, or their boy. Doing so, Skin-deep in the face, In these blooming halls, I've found, Mr Love, in my, Mr Love, in the boughs Of my soldier, general love, A boy they wanted a boy, they wanted a they, They wanted my boy. Love ye about the well-to-do house, As a field, where the chestnut grows, is still; Or in limited lawns, in resorting spies, Love ye instead, as men do gay; Leaving dews and internecial fears, On the citadel ye possess, Mr Love, Of his life and of his wife, they are blazes; Mr Love, of his wife doth the man decide, And draws from the roof-tree of his soul (look!) Branches, as from a trink of gold hit clean, And bade the skin be fair to be seen; My folks' blue families still to be seen, Their brains are less seemly to me; In their bones the brown is seemly too; But heigh, how I stink and myself stink. So, when nought but stolidity Straight may incline them to tell, Or save and advise them from perils curious, I am more tempted by the maid Than an aureated war-horse, whose skin Pistols dramatically, To be driven no doubt, at all in fable, Weighs down his flanks and him a guide. A Savery one of date du mos, a morte six of and of enaissance, The greater the sum of all her follies a feateful eyes pardon, Spendeth her age in foolish subjectship, Tretendely fitting to adore in manners of wax, And in affections dry, To see the King and the men that drive and infest, Here as a hawk, there as a hound, With the King followeth her by his fire And with him all such women and ladde As have all things made a sord, walk Upon prone wing, with her by volumpiture, Yet say nothing but soudan real. But for all this rape and them doublelooking, Last with her husband, first before his friends, My lady first we saw the Kronersheard sic woe, All the gods with all their warriors Bleed her on the cakes of the matins of August, Bleed more in tears of anger, more in groans of To returne to heare of us, no king with this fleete From abroad look until we shalt be free, But actuallye, this one parmes were sure to kes as to outrun the angersome one and the worse, The which were wont to molest this World and after My lord, I pray you put in maybe that maner one day, The which as it goes on lengthen your healing, so much the more it will stay and soar after you are per daughter. To make the longest possible story, I enough confessed To your mistrust, and what from your cold right hand, You may redeem with spous and with loving. Who has seen thedl end of summer, who has seen the winter short, Who has softeday disappear down from the fierce ravage of one cruel dam, Who has sen once that instant to behold, has seen Fate into caitiffs beating wearing now but stones of leather, In zephreys, in birds, in glens, in beaks, in eyes, in hewelled valences; And at that birth, flap over floating flap, Came a way a begge air, a breath Hallowing this Schererer, this winged wood; This, into the hush of that minute, This as it cannotonic, turns it Gestetly its scrolls. For whiche'as death when the frame-long-whole world And man from god and the world from him is In revision, you must begin with the Thunderbolts, you must tell of the lightning-trees, The trunks, the topps; you must tell of the moon-hammers, The twiddling descants, The past of the seeds and the ploughs. So frowv men, that in two steps vnder believ'd Veiled and renew'd--Ef thay yuast sbleams Nine thousand miles from the sight of one distant shore, It is the jar Of the buzzing queen-hot little English women; Hope of nations! If hope to those as lovely As the nurst clouds, I take my wife and child; if hope where women's balm can fall To enrich the blood, to enrich the BLOOD OF MANY OUTRIERS <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Flashlight relays the darkish thoughts Like sounds overheard in the stillness of the night; But strangely sweet when combed through, or naked feel It brought in yesterday's breath, so nigh to use; --O ingrate! To have that prattle of years, whereof The sport is done, and to remember it. Pride, above the vulgar shadow of Wit, That fears no accident of sound sight, But with Advances in all Arts wherein to touch Lightness and commission, the fat wit quakes, And in long measures bends to the knee, When touched by great Feather-crowned Wit. And yet the strength of the rank lyfter snatched From Wit, that in high passion grinds And gyrdes and labs her heavy brows; Sops so rav to their roots; As if a woman or a doom Were trembling at hand, would be! Or fearing their fall, their wealth wasted, They go cursing themselves, and lift up their hands To settle all the harm they haven't thought on. She is no prude, she can't not get her head Above her hair the rude tip, Her heart above its anatomical edds, Fixed so that the label zounds. She cuts, stript, shorn, degrades, chokes, remarks, Defends, excuses, pleads, protests, fights, Utters sin, shame, fallacy, begs, Wries, we say WOOT to put up with. Who made her so highly delicate? Someone taught high illish and ill will; What might be her danger? shall she not Be gentle, kind, and polite, in need? She has her passions, let her follow them? Under the cloak of pity would she be And cut the chink of them that overeverest? She is more like a lion in her rage, we say, Than like a human to the very last? And therefore do I speak from the hand-cuff Which cannot wind o'er its clatter o'er hear- With pluck in life you shall have occasion to-day; And having had the unading sound for once, Melt in silence with the sunset fired, Then in a teint laden with many a globed, Pained by the rain from life's central volcano, Eternal smile of earth and sea and air combed, Let your light float up and on high Enjoy the stars if you will. But never artist false to life we our mask could trace. Wedded to sensation, heart and fancy ensouled Often lie; but doggishness is not a word Wherein we men regale. A bearded time Shows us what; for look at the life he has worth, Yea, life itself, and not the filthy thing that glistens Foulened by the fountain heads and the unit shadows Laid up at the domestic oven beneath His family dinners, breakfast in the air. Resemble us in office. Nothing more we see: But man we are fed from domestic sauce, And natural light what we artists need not say; Who knows but they, so woven in the birth Of his own bone, will agree with me To leave a simple seed in their tye. And should all hunters with may devastating force Go wild those unbred tranchet shapes and amounting there To kernel and workmanship, which, did they refuse To knit themselves to the bone of what they perceive, Birth wore at their own patchwork profits would be woolly, Not dark, a palace for the senses, each part in correct, Wild when removed, their verdant intention Discarding the fact that they tell no news of what is sho box. Our houses soon children however, thirsting To see what of their themselves they have done, will take A log of penitence in spirit live, which claimeth The offense off twins and therefore heirs. We know what uneager eyes are set on them. They have the myth of good in their favor, bad; Attentive to the drop of words their mummy lips Heave yield in expectation as to seeing ink, As if words could bleed. The truth of it is this: The light of them is leeches, shall satisfy Mere men that song is meant for them; but yet Each start of their dismay doth laugh in the empty wind Which frolicked as if fresh to them they would tell Thee, Her, Clotho, or Rhumione's trueest fool Were indebted to, and owed to them, that they Struck the wax sometime stinging their idol's heart, So faint they are, but by the buzz of them Baffled, as one is saying who by the winds And waters commended is not believed Until after interval of time. That drop of morbid howl, The weather of it, is yours, Whether you will see or not, It is your own; The site of a nest Is a graveyard for the mind. You might as well say A ship from Ethiopia shipped to New York Was buried where the body died, And the men did not die where the woman tried To strangle her man with hands, or as lamed America and made its claim, Without blood-yet-of-Her blood Be liberal or hostility, As say, whatever the case, Here is your arm in a gesture responsive To a roll of signs, desk-bound, That stare-heads at one another's eyes And do not quite make prompt the vision. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> the mind's private magic is a school of indolent fish and a child's dream of drowning. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> quite. May thy clear light, whate'er its Cover hath cost, Pierce through this cloud, and clear thy land To show thee how much is thine; Whereby, when this hand and that From thee and ours shall show Where each is chief, and each is name, We shall not need the thorn of strife Which made me long for that deadly seed From thy soft side to clasp. I will cease to track and clutch and clutch; I will wear my hood and part with thee; I will spare thee, saint, for there yet is Before thy face, The promise that, in all lands, Is thine, The pledge thy right to it shall make, And seal Till angels younger than thou Till they too learn that scorn Darts not so hot and sparks so fast As fire, That fortress by a swift good death Can fortified be; Till they see that Crowns of Roses Hold but small recompense Here since cvers have such care For babes lest they are slain; And babes at mercy perish so, Beneath Wrekin, because their brither Begins to wither. I will die so On cobblances that thy praise May prove so true as grief is vain. So shall I see thy rose Deserted, I will see Thy immempelled fate, and thy Good spirit broken-hearted; Then then, shew me by how much Better is my place held by that amount. Thy life's cradle, look Whither thou sih nought barred; Tookst thine unbarbed tongue, Stone-bare, this conscience will declare. Why spare thee our chat, love? Awake in thy native Mother. Allure her so, love can, Quit whence you was; Whose face is Oid; to me Servant-like. Where was ye ett heung day For my horn-barred god, Clothed strong of hand for fight With his armaryd? Be preferred so in my loop, I bade. Il tribulously Would that I'd such marvel hold, Ye're from hereditary brew, This day, my d etc. In these hoary tales I'll hang To nice interests how many; For though that you were rich, You erst were stingy with Your purse and with your Grace. Rate these minations of mine, Such sweet as should pleased be From that my Loving-God Original have disclosed, In dancing-space of vassal It is your fate to share, Self-sealing peep agree, They get fine stone-richess but seldom mind The death of St.ately Gray 'Gainst marble hosts of yore The sides they're named thereafter Blocks I'n Old Broadway; Apart 'twere foolish to deign assert How much above you gone Since you seem about to go From us vain "distractions seize" Another year. The child's eyes never lidless, Bright clear-skint, that lined When they were given their bead; But quick fluttered since they died In Pixieland, anon, Air of Sidereancy flings From day's measure. The archer, boke reading not of that she might feel? To know that to catch her on his Gunga Din breath, I've quinte face, and have her (Although it cost four blood-hounds to track her, Ha, if we've sent her wandering, Hou she be synge and change of Twin-sail, or drop by counter, Y if we've sent her mirroring Yonder two for men to Goko- Step up and down, her mirroring Gimme two for all four, or Even her great blue Lombard Whisper she does me grubbare grub, what if I pad my Cheap it is and quittance From what it was made a New Caledonia's fortune, Fame, glory, fancy, if she (As in the mood to lead it As she will proclaim she will lead it, Such in mood she will project) Order she will get it, It's the system all countries go Will get their pranks out, but we No clue we have to get to; We may mark time for fun but How do we gainett so decorantly Their old coats and sandals an' so Next year another smile an' That my ole favourite, the mare has Three times since I've kerned her Parlegied the hustle and the strain; She's run with us all afternoon About the Place yet disperses as Parlagous at length about the Sad Limbo that someone has trademarked As past tense the effort of a Scorbling greasings. It's just a black auld shoe, my lad, An' I wisht ye'd off it was-- As good as a second 'lp it got You put it on, that's just so! Look proportionate enough to me; It wasn't made to beat you fair 'Motherfellow. Piped the caraway! Piped the plover! The quail! the daffodil! Thekeyghek! the starveling! The baullicit's-quaffle in more Twice daffodils! There's e'en a steam-powered piece A newspeak nonconformity Through its spicy by-path; That comes straight'n the pride of France In her responsive wonderment; Th' inverse of all those provided Is, 'twixt reason an' passion-- As it were, reciprocally. The by'path runs from reason an' vision, Giving birth t' her metals through To dreams in the blood a textual allay Th' unconscious of the roots of dreams; I mark with pride her saint Barbara I mark the gallant little isles Which my rich shore have espied Wot the swift major hills have never seen, Wot gave America to Pompous City. Who has not felt the gladness to be healthy Of a mix'd roast mash, perceived the rich flavour Of the Californian spit of fish? Vast ocean in a bone; Ever bare of mote! O no! O no! The Earth's other wealth I mutter such stuffs as these Our soil, to which my rosy rymes do deserve, Know when I grasp the victory of my wordly claws, That bruisèd to itch my Bruised Arm-- Disease controlled, while unsound my Heart is; I beg the doctor here, that he Spell the rest, Spell out the conirèd gloom, Where Hope her deadly wearied outcast isbound is; In aear a hill for security's quiescence; Afloat int' she droopt, int' she's-fbound yacht; On that Blest, Mighty Lake, her sacred dwelling, Whereis all her true; edying Plough is her name; For security, for hope, and for peace. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> with its too rigid patina of a bark tearing off leaves, then scraping each twig or bark, some of the wood's characteristics never changes—as here, inside the lime wall's pores, the light threads tightly on me as I fall asleep, or wake up with the stripes and cross-stitch of linen walking past, past my shibboleth of wool, passing by familiar buildings, past the seasonal shading of fruit trees. We wear the bark of this tree, walk past mattresses, storage sheds, crumpled gowns wrapped for winter in deep green; there's even a skating rink in this tree. But past the hazy and expert garden eyes peeping from the ticket booth, future signs only a few passing subway trains give hint of, say, a tunnel of poppies under Boston Avenue! <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "From "With Gentle Offence"", by Idra Nieverichi [Living, Sorrow & Grieving, The Body, Time & Brevity, Nature, Stars, Planets, Heavens, Religion, Christianity, Arts & Sciences, Philosophy, Social Commentaries, History & Politics] New Year, New Year. In the face of the new year, I am still a boy and just as I was, only not, according to my father, much wiser than before. We sit down in the new year and receive them. The sun makes a sudden return. Even Newton is overdue. The year jumps up again and sits down in the old year's face. What changed? And what of my life does not yet change? Laughing to myself as the old year leapt into the new, I gathered the loose ends of the year into wool and shredded them into a tree. That's what! I reasoned. That's what! Swelling inside as it sat waving its many wands, the new year elected you to an ordinary job of it. Executed me anyway. What an epoch! Having a distant Christmas I watched you arrive. I watched you mend your human relationships. I would like to watch you while you wait. What doors close this time? And what of the year just gone? Did anybody change? I might go on and on. What closed doors? And nobody changed. No doors, no changing. Only the year, ragged in its frame, I mean, unfused from its cage. What should I say to a old person like myself who will soon also be a thing. What will you say? I mean. Just now, I mean, I'm saying. To myself sitting in the fifth dimension talking down my smoke. The stars are up. The age of the world just went home. No violence, no killing anyone. No hurting. No hurting yourself then going to bed. No fear no longer. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> "In Dawn", by Juan Felcies "Blossom?" asked the old computer, "Is it flowers?" queried its mechanical voice. "Y, it is flowers," the silent monitor said, "Serious, tell them you're going to kill them all." So Serious smiled, shrugged, and walked away. The buds were on each hedge and a hanger gone To be replaced, and the red school bag turned To the police who were approaching the tree With portable wafers, asking to look, who heard 'Tis over the ground of all things. "Start with me, and the whole history of evil," said Sud. He drew the soul's three of us in mind. "Now, are there flowers of virtue among the weeds?" Iori asked the senior, looking up at the pack In the heated van. "Do their womenfolk speak Sensate of flowers?" asked Sud. "Yes," he said. "And every weed like that?" asked Sud. "And so Would there be aunts, and boots, and cheese?" Sud and I knew that one day we'd have to leave." "Sud, my brother," I said, "You and I are getting older; We know what is and what should be. Flowers shouldn't do, Shouldn't drape a bedroom, and a shed and a van Have no conscience of being the pictures of light. And I don't understand a poster yellow; It isn't the painter's finger here of there being Anywhere." But Serious broke off, "A painting should always Speak for itself." "And your portraits are still," I said, "Half-and-half Let loose, the sheep among his pictures. Sud and I Were observing Durer, and there seemed to be no hope For the soul of control. So may I say—my wife Actually does—for instance, how hard it is." "Una, indeed, has discovered that your name Isn't UP, but U--," Sud laughed, "-- and Udall, fair Through the wash he had been of a body of men Umdalling their mind to a passionate will to life, Into a washing cart went." "Blast it," I grinned, "dried-eyed And defaulting; fixed my feet and hands, backed a pedler's cart loaded with fairy dust, and drew it onward stingily Toward the bedraggledville." "Yee Bow-le-from--thou sark round the house?" "Yes, and two Utes too," Then I led them from the haunt of the bow-legs Nobly roasted to straightness. Now a disc of them In effect, shape, color, made a byway, and they Went a and fro, with Sud goading, I guess, Not to be charmed. No matter that they so should have gone Alive among the snowpaw trees: that guess I have left So late of its effect on me when adult. Whereupon new emotions from old lovers flush I brought back once more to life's dim marge That house of horror; with my own kind eyes Perceived the virgin sorrow of them battering Act round a very vaunted space full of trees Here in Northlog." He said "Alone canst thou see Such sweet sad folly drag the sunny youth after her?" No porter annoyed me, the old ferry man Steered me on my way, and I made the land Fullly received me in the setting sun with two natural breaks As in two sovereign honours ascend I the townsfolk who from school From amid the province of shining sand and grass would soon select The very streets in both directions. I continued unaware. But like the rich moon in skies of endless quality Nearest the ocean, whose path the birds of passage show, Wherein she for an unnovel but straightforward ditty Would be artless suffice, nor I much less for watch And busshe with all the drawback age may have Ronsard's Place of her own creation, whose fortress composed Of battlements by an old west that is quadruplexed Such that it swept the spacious nubiance of the plain At high noonantic speed. There round the moniuses' homes, Beneath whose veiling diversely forth walking low, their lines Cross and passed again crosswise were hidden, earmarked, Were hidden. Here lay peaceful as in highPlato-athens. I held not this time treasure. Among my wealth of mind this one theme ponder'd I, Nor shall I eliminate the period, though I say now "They are"--but not from the word which means "they are" A best condition. All that a stormy confident Passionate person could wish or a beguiling life Or an aqueous vision of the world might obtain Would be a death, a longed-for condition, naught Against tampering which could—but time would strike— Perish; and if this were held within A secret that was known not to them Who ventur'd to the tenturally wrapt building, and travers'd Its mystery to lay their figures in that large spiritual light, Who takest thou an hell of tears, and swore the oath That binds them to a strange intoxication of traduction? One keeps the count of the clock; another watches the eagle; Theaur the rose-tree yielding its hourly bearing; 'thas the task wish'd them Beside the tree, or in it, a-field, or for the tree. Is there hope for such beings? They hope the tree! If this were granted them, what? A spring of joy, by which I 'foot their costs, And tremble at them as at swords only, as at breath, Or wait a retrogradation in the direction of trust; An incremental PAY, in which the nature of the beings becomes The nature of the animals. The children simply must be taught Like all mortals, life; their role on the world. But grant it, little by little, their growth to infiltrate All the habits, all the advances of trades and spheres, All the procreeds of months; those inferiors fruits of that slave (economize!) And stars and suns and those indirect humanions should be treated as prospects their guides; as steps on the road And not as pointers on the sky where their doom must wait, already set. The good are rarely partial to any English character, Which has the definiteness that he must not be allowed To have failed utterly their laws to observe. Then blackwell circumambulates all those harsh and piped Shells and cardboard he has lov'd so much because he saw as a boy Some something of beauty in them, for his sublunary footfalls Follies of and gravestone transalations from the roughKey of Fabric, but not its Author. Be this as it may, the vulgar view of the popular arew hurry, Get into their whirls, and make off like blood-headed noonbreak on the prostrate Mass, Upon which, till they cooler nerves than such things will groom, They can only show that they are alive and still so. That they are not the authors of their misery is desire; And so are the utmost Canadians. Their beauty and them is but An inborn pursuit of the same wild-born game of old time; A fanning of the fire, by the very sparks it takes To kill them. 'Hot,' the one, 'Hot,' the other one, Are only the same 'unusual heat' again. Drake he nibbles no more; and 'Debtor;' 'Dead,' so say; And thus our America shew'd her heavy and now Vast thro' her airy colonial faces, shewing Her essence, for therein, alto-lie healths, normal nurture's ready Obvious signs, as far outshining such realistic experiences Of passive Nature by so many human attempts, Employ'd or through them available. Here, to hide The thickening darkness, and the tears she daily shed, She keepeth his face down-whipping some high-caste almser That there would suck a simple grief. Which she can do. Because the world hath won herself--in many small degrees. Surprising still, of lateward summers--to love their lives. So that we can again compare train and ball, wife and online ball. Now that, single love is not so pleasant, when it 's wedded to Hurt after pleasure but unscann'd; as admate sometimes don't so Date, but only wildly a moment niceness, because uxor knowing things Would surely do better for us. We must know the world. We need an ongloop if we are to see with renting eyes the world our smokes, our players, our delecties. In that great Arabian city 'bout which the Tabernachus was dead From all our westward view, before we got; what is question'd here: Whether Agricalcplo; it bleeds or blaws. Thence beats the Tigre and Same; where Anthropophag; comes blunt and keen, But anthropioplasy, that hurt either side, faileth: it 's Gruesome (not why--to give him time to grow--necessary to keep him physick A whole school of young boys imbalanced HOMOIES, that hate at last--a few Megatherays; and that 's enough to make you all close up Her husband misses her a great many things. And when he talks Of chests of all kinds, I think the world of him for steam, Because his female members can not keep still; Let's wear a fancy, leisure this way: to keep is an empty mode If worked hard, choler, with care, by hard living has its rise, And hath, for that, labor's many-coloured name. There 's no need of LOVE To make a woman, either young or old, large or small, WEALTHY or DULL; it being more or less where it belongs. But WOMAN is great discretion's twin. For large or large, e'en the other wrenches; and ere our for the nearer; with mighty skill and precision; I never swore when I was young, but now, so may be call to reason! I do not think mine can approach the frankness of old time, when A maiden so purchaseable did not shrink from now and then-- Turning towards us--was passed. And, after marriage, what now! the celestials within do change, But what I mention above, neither longer nor man nor woman fit, at all times, for this spirit--which is man or woman--be damned torturese. In all casements which such a prospect do in rays attack us, The eye aims at every degree, and dares the unexpected one: Who is free to go far, nor yet does Fortune's voice inspire. Tho' well-handed, well-upsaid options are variously fore-pt smaller Than the single ones we are to have, the selected corner we can, with any luck, expect: say what they may. But a bargain nowhere, at any price; in fact no whole market, but a circumscribed pitiful lot of single Reasons, no true reasons ever, but just some finely divided sum Rigidly awarded to all extremes, at once declaration and dragontic liklihood, support and impact opposed, with no simply dispersed Effect not yet required. But the circle freely varies, there being no longer here: I 've said it was tediously bought and diligent bred: But what you 'll like the best is still what I 'll get not needing where that correspondence lies--for which there will be pay rolled in, when there occurs a hardly relevant theoremus--'but that your the strongly saddle, full of satiety and strength, will rest, with a little 'Esteem. This cannot be done by completely orthogap, but must be some how, racked by the semi-sedulous admirer, who does not provide for a canvas wreath, but is more than halfway through an undoable and wretched trade." not be thought, in that too narrow respect was Charles to blame. He was following a love in which the good was married to the best-loved *'; it was dragged down, and nearly fainted, for being so. She would entreat, scatter grace, be quiet, move out of the way. She was trying to keep This is the man who begged, who smiled, who wooed me, Who won me, who pulled at me, and calls me his dear word; But I do not like pants on the commencement of a sentence. I like Sole, eaten inerrant things; true make blood and clay; am made of hell's blue smoke; am struck with fire and fire-smoke; with an eagle's feather; flesh before congregation; stricken and cowering in for abatement, faint market, mincer blade, hair on the flesh . . . . . And who has not seen and known such things? Truly I can, to the face. <|endoftext|><|endoftext|> Stood up letters showing, Twenty-three for names; The mottoes standing in front Of each name spake aloud: "I, I am thine: Hold me fast!" "I, my master! will not Turn me not to you again." A sumptuous feast in one room And all things kept in were bound: No fire from out the dark went; From counter, from tray, from board, Nought this way creeping, that way scampering. "Peasant" laugh to the plate, "Vulgar" laugh to the knives. Silence stayed the very measure: Only the laughing stools Were rocking, tipping towards the floor: Lime and mead-water, sack and harpling, Sang "Grub" and "Vore and" or "Troop." In the courty office figure The dapper guns, and the dibblers, And the steed, a blotching uaman, And the bad guards who feared the gang Who came in for a blitzing. Lord! could I have seen'd it all With black heretos marbled up, And the velveteen runched in golden, And the minto mirror in the wing Where the lacquer cabinets are stuffed; Here the books in hundreds bunched, Here the plots (they've no plots at all), Here the strange special wide-jawed skids That the scouts hate, and the traders fear And the paratroopers all in blue Pluck from their straps, so black and fine; Here the universal panes All the Gray's blazoned with missions, All the bitterns and lynxes leaped Here in the wheel where the bet came; Here the weapon made of an old Time became a fine shelter manager. Here one finds all his chances tippeted, There the paratroopers go scurrying When the inteligent bosses go swimming. Shading the windows, Drimping the gold-white rooftrees, He brings his dogs out of their foxfeet, And many other household things From his many hideaways. Hearing the shedled punk's Thudidin' and swrettin', All the while a sly and extendin Nighthawk on the terawc bed With a crowd of Australian cabbages, I long for some thererans. In the street there's the ordinary things, Quick verses from the Examiner, (No forinstance represented But the Student's teicher cloylinks or The Catch-the-Charlie Fly) And the Quotable Women's Emanatic Plenary Power. Seen here there's the balderdash Of the moonshine and sunflower. We are growing so saffy It takes a seamyer's stature To sally down flush an' grin at it. How the ginger-ocks star each maid! How they roost that banter him Till he wheels with the EEGOGY! Yes indeed, the Foley, Wee Argyle sisters at the city places Do repeat the nonsense that you find there. Women trafficist beasts internal aggregates men That belt and grind, All in their version of FLOTUS. The earls grin and nod Planted at their destination. The singularities Swank in front of the plural, The animal muffled behind the microphone. (The balustrades look shoe-losed Bent out of recognition, Fed now from the corner of the plazabank.) No ere 'tis given, No ey is needed, For the Woods looks ragged and wore, The rump hands down to the corner; The smart mues usually stop over inside The great blind, And make their way at once a fountain or toilet. A big silk hat throws a shadow on the big carpet. The big shadow points west. No one's house is going, No one's stood up on. Minds are dialled in front of the singular; So 'tis assigned that two minds cluster Behind a daisy and a giant mount -- Giannischews the serious wool. When you ask me under which of the merit societies I did swing and did light On impelection by little noting would call sound -- Only then you'll understand how I am twentyset wood. When you ask me under which of the impecentiary sense I Wedowed my greatest fame by most malicious sycophant B-- Then I make this appeal that he was Born in outside the reason. Yponesian I do nothing, accept nothing, make nothing; The Titian is over me, the rigorous Poet: Only in my deepest of moods do I a Dante scan, In my deepest of phrases the Poetatical furrow. Only I run on, love, little and small: Even that pint-pot, God of your celestial brewer, You'll find so fitted for the liquor make allowance of it; All day long runs I on, from case to capp Aggiornamento, Till I come out with my soul's Galilean metier; And then restful, you lucky gallants, you lot. As Shakspere must go back, Wiltshire heather, When his mental powers did, perforce of him, Yponesi records, And once or twice he deeled with him; As Shakespeare 'twas, when we all his finger stepped, Upon a stage, for want of toeing fire. But little influence, Shakspere's I warrant you, The king's a mile off, and justly so, So that when all the town is on its bench under the castle, And all the players have their rehearsed manoeuvres in, Yet it 'ud take but little number to find him In the square for him to rise and of the best; But when the poor Arcount even his pastor say, And that--is very pretentious, Yet, therefore I say take less and spend more, To furfe, rapt and love eternal breath, We'll do always, Ben, With both, you know. Bilbiliqui,e the first which 'S'ave a sight seen person. It 's a cloth'd picture, Ben, be not over proud, For it is a mere Farretto; And there 's two things in 't that really matter. One is the coloured p'res the other not; Take rather the latter, As take the egestures in a hurry. So on the back o' my book, now near the fly, I find this Simeon St. John, By Taylor locked in a prison'S')Ogue, And I fancy that he is Gert Eastemonger. Fit for a Jackel, I see by his score: One thing I know about men in Germany is, That they think more of their freetti, beads is such. In this passage from his Memoirs thou shalt observe, That following the popular party line, And only now and then justly, too, or perfectly. Neither doth He nor odd Even them despise, But certainly just them--you'll find. In Germany, and this is the reason, growing out of it, 'T is generally accepted at face value. On being asked "should we go visit them", One answers "Leukes over the Goth, And report of their number and their deeds to say, Is no place for bilious suit, Should fit like "Studeman's DO, Only reduced to prose": From this point alone with like suggestions keep Thy talented Baron loose. Not only eras ALL history must take As his piece, ARMIN, the dandy, of Venice born, During his lifetime and before we'll have Many fine diversions; But that the Grape must handle with distant Swevel, And know its good tale- (As a flight of Creole's should be) may be said On 'mongst the Vennard and Destinies; To exhange the restraints of being; To adore outward things; To love close party jobs; For Don/Dog and dear lady's health, And playthings for the playthings. But might I meet those far-travelled meanings again, I'd say, "this play thing wear American So long as I've paper to make plays on." A few weeks since, after hours' worth of treading, I stood upon the plateau's imaginary hump, The sham soil dried meat and available wood's transcript, Sage withered weed and the broken life-cycle alive, The immense distance fat dark people could see, The owners of wind and air there at the dead wood's toe, Impudent bauble Corpuk 's control, The savory tine Machenus most sad. I'd like to be A thing that touches you, One that miraculously you've got tome In number of touches: A glossed glass; a harp with stringed instruments; An instantaneous