gri_2003_m_46_b01_f09_066
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.031
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.018
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- WINNER - 65310924 - dmoola
- 65319932 - vickiechen
- 65320465 - Culebra78
- 65324298 - mburns629
- 65331273 - coraltreejess
WINNER - 65310924 - dmoola
25th October, 1948Dearest Sylvia,
If I were a painter I should like to decorate a suite of rooms for my lady with the voyage recorded in this poem. I love you, I love you.
EMBLEMATA AMATORIA
Along the silver bourn
A boat for lovers moves
Steered by the boy of love
Past willow palaces
And islands shaped like trophies
Parting the current's hair.
And in the boat we lie
Embracing as we traverse
The double landscape,
Lisping among the reeds,
Escorted by Desire -
The feathered messenger.
Swans glide like ambassadors
Before our boat and doves
Flutter like warm fans around
The sunflower on our flag.
There is a ruined city:
It is the past, and as we look
Left over a lawn of lilies
It burns like Sodom and is gone.
On the other bank temptation sports
Alluring livery, a feast
To honour only one of us,
Attended by kings and singers.
But these rejected with a kiss
We reach a gallant garden
Where there are mazes, every turn
Leading to the rose's centre,
Knot gardens fashioned on your name,
And peacocks boasting of our love.
Now Cupid tends the bees,
Or works with bellows for a wind,
Or shoots an arrow at a flower:
Always in the garden are
A beauty seated at her easel,
A poet reading as she works.
Lawrence
65319932 - vickiechen
25th October, 1948Dearest Sylvia,
If I were a painter I should like to decorate a suite of
rooms for my lady with the voyage recorded in this poem. I love
you, I love you.
EMBLEMATA AMATORIA
Along the silver bourn
A boat for lovers moves
Steered by the boy of love
Past willow palaces
And islands shaped like trophies
Parting the current's hair.
And in the boat we lie
Embracing as we traverse
The double landscape,
Lisping among the reeds,
Escorted by Desire -
The feathered messenger.
Swans glide like ambassadors
Before our boat and doves
Flutter like warm fans around
The sunflower on our flag.
There is a ruined city:
It is the past, and as we look
Left over a lawn of lilies
It burns like Sodom and is gone.
On the other bank temptation sports
Alluring livery, a feast
To honour only one of us,
Attended by kings and singers.
But these rejected with a kiss
We reach a gallant garden
Where there are mazes, every turn
Leading to the rose's centre,
Knot gardens fashioned on your name,
And peacocks boasting of our love.
Now Cupid tends the bees,
Or works with bellows for a wind,
Or shoots an arrow at a flower:
Always in the garden are
A beauty seated at her easel,
A poet reading as she works.
Lawrence
65320465 - Culebra78
25th October, 1948Dearest Sylvia,
If I were a painter I should like to decorate a suite of rooms for my lady with the voyage recorded in this poem. I love you, I love you.
EMBLEMATA AMATORIA
Along the silver bourn
A boat for lovers moves
Steered by the boy of love
Past willow palaces
And islands shaped like trophies
Parting the current's hair.
And in the boat we lie
Embracing as we traverse
The double landscape,
Lisping among the reeds,
Escorted by Desire -
The feathered messenger.
Swans glide like ambassadors
Before our boat and doves
Flutter like warm fans around
The sunflower on our flag.
There is a ruined city:
It is the past, and as we look
Left over a lawn of lilies
It burns like Sodom and is gone.
On the other bank temptation sports
Alluring livery, a feast
To honor only one of us,
Attended by kings and singers.
But these rejected with a kiss
We reach a gallant garden
Where there are mazes, every turn
Leading to the rose's center,
Know gardens fashioned on your name,
And peacocks boasting of our love.
Now Cupid tends the bees,
Or works with bellows for a wind,
Or shoots an arrow at a flower:
Always in the garden are
A beauty seated at her easel,
A poet reading as she works.
Lawrence
65324298 - mburns629
25th October, 1948Dearest Sylvia,
If I were a painter I should like to decorate a suite of rooms for my lady with the voyage recorded in this poem. I love you, I love you.
EMBLEMATA AMATORIA
A long the silver bourn
A boat for loves moves
Steered by the boy of love
Past willow palaces
And islands shaped like trophies
parting the current's hair.
And in the boat we lie
Embracing as we traverse
The double landscape,
Lisping among the reeds,
Escorted by desire-
The feathered messenger.
Swans glide like ambassadors
Before our boat and doves
Flutter like warm fans around
The sunflower on our flag.
There is a ruined city:
It is the past, and as we look
Left over a lawn of lilies
It burns like Sodom and is gone.
On the other bank temptation sports
Alluring livery, a feast
To honor only one of us,
Attended by kings and singers.
But these rejected with a kiss
We reach a gallant garden
Where there are mazes, every turn
Leading to the rose's centre,
Knot gardens fashioned on you name,
And peacocks boasting of our love.
Now cupid tends the bees,
Or works with bellows for a wind,
Or shoots an arrow at a flower:
Always in the garden are
A beauty seated at her easel,
A poet reading as she works.
Lawrence
65331273 - coraltreejess
25th October, 1948Dearest Sylvia,
If I were a painter I should like to decorate a suite of rooms for my lady with the voyage recorded in this poem. I love
you, I love you.
EMBLEMATA AMATORIA
Along the silver bourn
A boat for lovers moves
Steered by the boy of love
Past willow palaces
And islands shaped like trophies
Parting the current's hair.
And in the boat we lie
Embracing as we traverse
The double landscape,
Lisping among the reeds,
Escorted by Desire -
The feathered messenger.
Swans glide like ambassadors
Before our boat and doves
Flutter like warm fans around
The sunflower on our flag.
There is a ruined city:
It is the past, and as we look
Left over a lawn of lilies
It burns like Sodom and is gone.
On the other bank temptation sports
Alluring livery, a feast
To honour only one of us,
Attended by kings and singers.
But these rejected with a kiss
We reach a gallant garden
Where there are mazes, every turn
Leading to the rose's centre,
Knot gardens fashioned on your name,
And peacocks boasting of our love.
Now Cupid tens the bees,
Or works with bellows for a wind,
Or shoots an arrow at a flower:
Always in the garden are
A beauty seated at her easel,
A poet reading as she works.
Lawrence