gri_2003_m_46_b01_f05_029
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.053
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.033
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- WINNER - 65312329 - not-logged-in-e82be4a931f6ccce0276
- 65319517 - ewrightlittle
- 65321010 - not-logged-in-67feeb5f6f0beededcac
- 65333843 - not-logged-in-a3676b22ba6a3d629db5
- 65333915 - not-logged-in-4f49b1849fc23efa2e31
WINNER - 65312329 - not-logged-in-e82be4a931f6ccce0276
The owl has made it, onlyJust in time, first light arrives
On time, and lights up lonely
Cottages on hills, their roofs,
Then little mullioned windows, beams
On much twined porches, brightly
Returns color to the garden, and schemes,
By rising higher, to make sight-ly
Even the ruin, fallen in,
Where the owl made it, just
In time, his feathers settling
After an entrance which disturbed the dust.
Phoebus' beams catch chimney pots
Which fifteen minutes earlier
The owl's wing grazing had found almost hot.
Farmers wake up, burlier
Than the elegants their wives dreamed
In beds soft as the inside
Of an owl's wing. Light has streamed
On them nude and now like owls' eyes they hide
From light their bodies - by means of linen.
Dead mice are epitaphs on stars.
The owl has got back to his ruin
As others have eto battlement and high barn,
To hollow tree and rot.
Owls (great eyes learned in the subtle half
Tones of evening and midnight's blot
Lovely and strong by night at whom day laughs.
65319517 - ewrightlittle
The owl has made it, onlyJust in time, first light arrives
On time, and lights up lonely
Cottages on hills, their roofs,
Then little mullioned windows, beams
On much twined porches, brightly
Returns color to the garden, and schemes,
By rising higher, to make sight-ly
Even the ruin, fallen in,
Where the owl made it, just
In time, his feathers settling
After an entrance which disturbed the dust.
Phoebus' beams catch chimney pots
Which fifteen minutes earlier
The owl's wing grazing had found almost hot.
Farmers wake up, burlier
Than the elegants their wives dreamed
In beds soft as the inside
Of an owl's wing. Light has streamed
On them nude and now like owls' eyes they hide
From light their bodies - by means of linen.
Dead mice are epitaphs on stars.
The owl has got back to his ruin
As others have to battlement and high barn,
To hollow tree and grot.
Owls (great eyes learned in the subtle half
Tones of evening and midnight's blot)
Lovely and strong by night at whom day laughs.
65321010 - not-logged-in-67feeb5f6f0beededcac
The owl has made it, onlyJust in time, first light arrives
On time, and lights up lonely
Cottages on hills, their roofs,
Then little mullioned windows, beams
On much twined porches, brightly
Returns colour to the garden, and schemes
By rising higher, to make sightly
Even the ruin, fallen in,
Where the owl made it, just
In time, his feathers settling
After an entrance which disturbed the dust.
Phoebus' beams catch chimney pots
Which fifteen minutes earlier
The owl's wing grazing had found almost hot.
Farmers wake up, burlier
Than the elegant their wives dreamed
In beds soft as the inside
Of an owl's wing. Light has streamed
On them nude and now like owls' eyes they hide
From light their bodies - by means of linen.
Dead mice are epitaphs on stars.
The owl has got back to his ruin
As others have to battlement and high barn,
To hollow tree and rot.
Owls (great eyes learned in the subtle half
Tones of evening and midnight's blot
Lovely and strong by night at whom day laughs.
65333843 - not-logged-in-a3676b22ba6a3d629db5
The owl has made it, onlyJust in time, first light arrives
On time, and lights up lonely
Cottages on hills, their roofs,
Then little mullioned windows, beams
On much twined porches, brightly
Returns color to the garden, and schemes,
By rising higher, to make slightly
Even the ruin, fallen in,
There the owl made it, just
In time, his feathers settling
After an entrance which disturbed the dust.
Phoebus' beams catch chimney pots
Which fifteen minutes earlier
The owl's wing grazing had found almost hot.
Farmers wake up, burlier
Than the elegants their wives dreamed
In beds soft as the inside
Of an owl's wing. Light has streamed
On them nude and now like owl's eyes they hide
From light their bodies - by means of linen.
Dead mice are epitaphs on stars.
The owl has got back to his ruin
As others have to battlement and high barn,
To hollow tree and rot.
Owls (great eyes learned in the subtle half
Tones of evening and midnight's blot)
Lovely and strong by night at whom day laughs.
65333915 - not-logged-in-4f49b1849fc23efa2e31
The owl has made it, onlyJust in time, first light arrives
On time, and lights up lonely
Cottages on hills, their roofs,
Then little mullioned windows, beams
On much twined porches, brightly
Returns colour to the garden, and schemes,
By rising higher, to make slightly
Even the ruin, fallen in,
Where the owl made it, just
In time, his feathers settling
After an entrance which disturbed the dust.
Phoebus' beams catch chimney pots
Which fifteen minutes earlier
The owl's wing grazing had found almost hot.
Farmers wake up, burlier
Then the elegants their wives dreamed
In beds soft as the inside
Of an owl's wing. Light has streamed
On them nude and now like owls' eyes they hide
From light their bodies - by means of linen.
Dead mice are epitaphs on stars.
The owl has got back to his ruin
As others have to battlement and high barn,
To hollow tree and grot
Owls (great eyes learned in the subtle half
Tones of an evening and midnight's blot)
Lovely and strong by night at whom day laughs.