gri_2003_m_46_b01_f09_015
- Max. dissimilarity: 1.0
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.357
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- 65339426 - itullis
- 65345074 - _secunda
- 65386517 - Pathrunner
- 65407939 - not-logged-in-0fd116eb33dac859e919
- 65434756 - Bambina41
- 65658177 - not-logged-in-618798389078b67b07cd
- WINNER - 65925756 - not-logged-in-dc021d940ab793fb9c0a
65339426 - itullis
[11-10-48]A CONVERSATION PIECE
The small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among aysmmetrical farms.
But looking at the characters,
Formal in the foreground,
It is your privilege to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is -
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is a sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
GOLDEN AGE
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flesh,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasures of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm,
Glass flowers marooned on islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
I cannot write a letter now because of Hogarth
I am preparing a new poem for you already:
see what you do to me! I love you, I love you
Laurence
65345074 - _secunda
[11-10-48]A CONVERSATION PIECE
The small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the Level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among asymmetrical farms.
Formal in the foreground,
It is your privilege to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is--
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is a sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
GOLDEN AGE
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flesh,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasure of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm,
Glass flowers marooned on islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
I cannot write a letter, because of Mogarts
I am preparing a new poem for you already:
see what you do to me! I love you, I love you.
Lawrence
65386517 - Pathrunner
A Conversation PieceThe small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the Level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among asymmetrical farms.
But looking at the characters,
Formal in the foreground,
It is your privilege to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is -
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is a sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
Golden Age
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flesh,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasures of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm,
Glass flowers marooned on islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses, my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
65407939 - not-logged-in-0fd116eb33dac859e919
65434756 - Bambina41
[11-10-48]A CONVERSATION PIECE
The small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the Level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among asymmetrical farms.
But looking at the characters,
Formal in the foreground,
It is your privilege to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is-
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is a sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
GOLDEN AGE
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flash,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasure of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm.
Glass flowers marooned on the islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
I cannot write a letter now because of Hogarts.
I am preparing an new poem for you already:
See what you do to me!
I love you, I love you,
Lawrence
65658177 - not-logged-in-618798389078b67b07cd
A CONSERVATION PIECEThe small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among aysmmetrical farms.
But looking at the characters,
Formal in the foreground,
It it your privilegde to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is -
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is an sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
GOLDON AGE
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flesh,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasures of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm,
Glass flowers marooned on islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
I cannot write a letter now because of [rogant].
I am preparing a new poem for you already:
See [meat] you do [C] me! I love you, I love you
Lawrence
WINNER - 65925756 - not-logged-in-dc021d940ab793fb9c0a
[11-10-48]A CONVERSATION PIECE
The small valleys curve like roses
In the landscape near the level,
To fields where you pick mushrooms
Among asymmetrical farms.
But looking at the characters,
Formal in the foreground,
It is your privilege to guess
If one is a poet, if another
Is his particular desire,
And who their dark companion is -
What purpose links them on the lawn.
There is a sundial for an arm
To rest on as we pose, the grass
Is rich as salad underfoot.
Light flatters the Sussex house
And whispers to a woman's hair.
These people love, have problems,
But who they are you must decide.
They have not quite made up their minds.
GOLDEN AGE
An island of roses and statues
Covered with ladders of stars.
A dream of love, cupboard of flesh,
And hair shy of the gift of the wind.
Pleasures of desire, the birds
Who pant like girls against the clouds,
The fish, green biscuits of the wave,
Obsess the islander.
Smooth girl, soft secular one,
Bored by the wolf and the worm
Glass flowers marooned on islands
Sleep on the poet's tongue.
Victim of my senses my heart
Quivers like a rose by Fragonard.
I cannot write a letter now because of Hogarth. I am preparing a new poem for you already: See what you do to me! I love you, I love you
Lawrence