gri_2003_m_46_b01_f05_052
- Max. dissimilarity: 1.0
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.497
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- 65312588 - Katiamiau
- 65318574 - highc51239
- WINNER - 65379930 - JET315
- 65380262 - Bethbeth
- 65431744 - tbain
65312588 - Katiamiau
[16-6-48]FRIDAY
11 Mansel Road Wimbledon
My dearest Sylvia:
Today I went to Hampron Court. The customary memories charmed and disquieted me. I wondered where you went today. I suppose you have visited the Louvre. I imagine that is an early step: were you there at eleven? I looked hard at my watch and wondered. I write in a room litered with papers: outside there are roses and the squeak of children. The typewriter drowns them. Have you sat in the Boulevard cafes I wonder, sipping a cold drink, looking England. I always said that. I always do that as soon as I can once I get to Paris. Paris, London: London, Paris. My tea-tray is on the floor: dregs of china tea. And you are where: how many miles of water, how many of a different gauge railway, are there separating us? However I am fairly cheerful: I am so busy for one thing. And there is your August visit. Imagination superimposes you on familiar Paris streets: the admirable Place de la Concorde (see it in the evening when the sun catches every lamp!) and, just by it, the Jeu de Paume. The Impressionist pictures: how well they fit, most of them, with the scenes that meet your eyes in the Tuilleries outside. (Except for some of the animal bronzes.) The children, the families, the iron chairs: it is by the fountain that I first read Proust. Dearest, I see I have quite forgotten to ask, did you have a nice trip: are you well now? What a trial to travel just at that time.
There is considerable doubt in my mind whether you will be at the Hotel Racine but I suppose I may as well Write as if you certainly will be. Then: I love you. I have written a sonnet for you: Cynthia is what Elizabeth called by Raleigh. She was flattered cosmically as if she were the sun, centre of the macrocosm, &c. All of that is refered to here and shifted to apply to you.
Promote you Cynthia, easy
You meet the flatterer half-way
By being as you are lovely,
Nearest to angels in the chain.
I do not call, for a rime's sake.
P.S. Dearest, do let me lurow about you scam never. I have tamed (no distinction) but rirep a letter is loaded time expectation I cale it tlal i am safe. I ceogar you crowed home sent me a cond milt are news lesamp you self crgeod. 2
65318574 - highc51239
FRIDAY 11 Manual Road WimbledonMy dearest Sylvia:
Today I went to Rampton Court. The customary memories charmed and disquieted me. I wondered where you went today. I suppose you have visited the Louvre. I imagine that is an early step: were you there at eleven? I looked hard at my watch and wondered. I write in a room littered with papers: outside there are roses and the squeak of children. The typewriter drowns them. Have you sat in the boulevard cafes I wonder, sipping a cold drink, looking a people, and saying why haven't they anything like it in England. I always said that. I always do that as soon as I can once I get to Paris. Paris, London: London, Paris. My tea-tray is on the floor: drags of china tea. And you are where: how many miles of water, how may of a different gauge railway, are there separating us? However I am fairly cheerful: I am so busy for one thing. And there is your August visit. Imagination superimposes you on familiar Paris streets. the admirable Place de la Concorde (see it in the evening when the sun catches every lamp !) and, just by it, the Jeu de Paume. The Impressionist pictures: how well they fit, most of them, with the scenes that meet your eyes in the Tuileries outside. (Except for some of the animal bronzes.) The children, the families, the iron chairs: It is by the fountain that I first read Proust. Deerest, I see I have quite forgotten to ask, did you have a nice trip: are you well now? What a trial to travel just at that time.
There is considerable doubt in my mind whether you will be at the Hotel Racine but I suppose I may as well write as if you certainly will be. Then: I love you. I have written a sonnet for you: Cynthia is what Elizabeth was called by Raleigh. She was flattered cosmically as if she were the sun, centre of the macrocosm, &c. All of that is referred to here and shifted to apply to you.
Promote you Cynthia, easy
You meet the flatterer half-way
By being as you are lovely,
Nearest to angels in the chain.
I do not call, for a rime's sake,
Sylvia Cynthia, but for
The allusions that it brings,
Complex macrocosmic matters.
Masques in your honor would describe
You centre of the court and sky
With emblematic characters
Grateful to be eclipsed by you.
Dancing you move universally
Silent your repose is Ptolemy's
(Ptolemy's universe had a flat earth &c.)
I love you, love you,
Lawrence
P.S.
Dearest, do let me know about your examination results. I have tarried (no distinction) but since the letter is loaded, I take that I am safe. I thought you would have sent me a card about the news before you left England.
WINNER - 65379930 - JET315
[16-6-48]FRIDAY 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon
My dearest Sylvia:
Today I went to Hampton Court. The customary memories charmed and disquieted me. I wondered where you went to-day. I suppose you have visited the Louvre. I imagine that is an early step: were you there at eleven? I look-ed hard at my watch and wondered. I write in a room lit-tered with papers: outside there are roses and the squeak of children. The typewriter drowns them. Have you sat in the Boulevard cafes I wonder, sipping a cold drink, look-ing at people, and saying why haven't they anything like it in England. I always said that. I always do that as soon as I can once I get to Paris. Paris, London: London, Paris. My tea-tray is one the floor: dregs of china tea. And you are where: how many miles of water, how many of a different gauge railway, are there separating us? However I am fair-ly cheerful: I am so busy for one thing. And there is your August visit. Imagination superimposes you on familiar Paris streets: the admirable Place de la Concorde (see it in the evening when the sun catches every lamp!) and, just by it, the Jeu de Paume. The Impressionist pictures: how well they fit, most of them, with the scenes that meet your eyes in the Tuilleries outside. (Except for some of the animal bronzes.) The children, the families, the iron chairs: it is by the fountain that I first read Proust. Dearest, I see I have quite forgotten to ask, did you have a nice trip: are you well now? What a trial to travel just at that time.
There is considerable doubt in my mind whether you will be at the Hotel Racine but I suppose I may as well write as if you certainly will be. Then: I love you. I have written a sonnet for you: Cynthia is what Elizabeth was called by Raleigh. She was flattered cosmically as if she were the sun, centre of the macrocosm, &c. All of that is referred to here, and shifted to apply to you.
Promote you Cynthia, easy
You meet the flatterer half-way
By being as you are lovely,
Nearest to angels in the chain.
I do not call, for a rime's sake,
Sylvia Cynthia, but for
The allusions that it brings,
Complex macrocosmic matters.
Masques in your honor would describe
You centre of the court and sky
With emblematic characters
Grateful to be eclipsed by you.
Dancing you move universally
Silent your repose is Ptolemy's
(Ptolemy's universe had a flat earth &c.)
I love you, love you,
Lawrence
P.S. Dearest, do let me know about your exam results. I have tasked (no distinction) but since the letter is headed Final Examination I take it that I am safe. I thought you would have sent me a card with the news before you left England.
65380262 - Bethbeth
[16-6-48]11 Mansel Road Wimbledon
FRIDAY
My dearest Sylvia:
Today I went to Hampton Court. The customary memories charmed and disquieted me. I wondered where you went today. I suppose you have visited the Louvre. I imagine that is an early step: were you there at eleven? I looked hard at my watch and wondered. I write in a room littered with papers: outside there are roses and the squeak of children. The typewriter drowns them. Have you sat in the Boulevard cafes I wonder, sipping a cold drink, looking at people, and saying why haven't they anything like it in England. I always said that. I always do that as soon as I can once I get to Paris. Paris, London: London, Paris. My tea-tray is on the floor: dregs of china tea. And you are where: how many miles of water, how many of a different gauge railway, are there separating us? However I am fairly cheerful: I am so busy for one thing. And there is your August visit. Imagination superimposes you on familiar Paris streets: the admirable Place de la Concorde (see it in the evening when the sun catches every lamp!) and, just by it, the Jeu de Paume. The Impressionist pictures: how well they fit, most of them, with the scenes that meet your eyes in the Tuilleries outside. (Except for some of the animal bronzes.) The children, the families, the iron chairs: it is by the fountain that I first read Proust. Dearest, I see I have quite forgotten to ask, did you have a nice trip: are you well now? What a trial to travel just at that time.
There is considerable doubt in my mind whether you will be at the Hotel Racine but I suppose I may as well write as if you certainly will be. Then: I love you. I have written a sonnet for you: Cynthia is what Elizabeth was called by Raleigh. She was flattered cosmically, as if she were the sun, centre of the macrocosm, &c. All of that is referred to here, and shifted to apply to you.
Promote you Cynthia, easy
You meet the flatterer half-way
By being as you are lovely,
Nearest to angels in the chain.
I do not call, for a rime's sake,
Sylvia Cynthia, but for
The allusions that it brings,
Complex macrocosmic matters.
Masques in your honor would describe
You centre of the court and sky
With emblematic characters
Grateful to be eclipsed by you.
Dancing you move universally
Silent your repose is Ptolemy's
(Ptolemy's universe had a flat earth &c.)
I love you, love you,
Lawrence
P.S. Dearest, do let me know about your scam . I have (no distinction) but the letter is headed final examination. I take it that I am safe. I thought you would have sent me a card with the news before you left England.
65431744 - tbain