gri_2003_m_46_b01_f10_031
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.134
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.063
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- WINNER - 65307005 - vanderfb
- 65307953 - jambery
- 65313037 - BludGeonT
- 65318105 - not-logged-in-d227b52bfb66b5c7144c
- 65324022 - RoboMarth
- 65324704 - marianne59
- 65326172 - not-logged-in-586e65183e929fe06efa
- 65328415 - not-logged-in-747d13474905bd567012
WINNER - 65307005 - vanderfb
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest,
I love you - Lawrence
65307953 - jambery
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your expressions and gestures, are so vivid and love. I was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the prmenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perpective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights raidate like fonts
Or ferms above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Comends topography.
65313037 - BludGeonT
11, Mansel Road, Wimbledon.16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it
is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of
thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your
expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I was pleazsed that you came to Hastings with me: my heart
broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said, I would I wrote a poem in the train which
I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a rom's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge roundlakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fons
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid mus
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest
I love you - Lawrence
65318105 - not-logged-in-d227b52bfb66b5c7144c
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it
is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of
thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your
expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I
was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart
broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love
you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which
I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this
evening. I love you, dearest,
I love you - Lawrence
65324022 - RoboMarth
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1946
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot
A classical landscape --
Fainted blue upon a plate --
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses --
Wishing for a painter's eloquence --
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferms above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest,
I love you - Lawrence
65324704 - marianne59
Dearest Sylvia,Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your expressions and gestures , are so vivid and loving. I was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like ram's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madam Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest.
I love you - Lawrence
65326172 - not-logged-in-586e65183e929fe06efa
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Of I love you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laded with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn.
Remark, a chiffonier,
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take my eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madam Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames of his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to the reasoned past
And to the wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Commends topography.
Now I must away to town but I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest,
I love you - Lawrence
65328415 - not-logged-in-747d13474905bd567012
11, Mansel Road,Wimbledon.
16th November, 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you so much for my weekend. What a pleasure it
is to see, hear, touch you and talk to you instead of
thinking about you and writing. Your presence, your
expressions and gestures, are so vivid and loving. I
was pleased that you came to Hastings with me: my heart
broke as the bus drew away and you vanished. Oh I love
you Sylvia, without reservation I love you.
As we said I would I wrote a poem in the train which
I have just revised. It is called AT HASTINGS:
Leaving the promenade and the flat
Horizon-hugging sea
Fraying into a surf of seagulls
We turned inland to shops
Laden with tables mirrors chairs
Staffordshire gentlemen
And cups fluted like a ram's horn.
A Bewick book, a pepper pot,
A classical landscape -
Painted blue upon a plate -
Where lovers edge round lakes
Spanned by perilous slanted planks.
These tempt, these take the eye.
The poet looking at houses -
Wishing for a painter's eloquence -
Looks hastily for words
To catch the cadence of perspective,
A three-storeyed bow
Elegant as the upraised arm
Of Madame Moitessier,
The scooped shell of a white porch,
And frames his pleasure at
Each linear verandah.
Fanlights radiate like fonts
Or ferns above the wellworn doors
Of terraces that own
Allegiance to a reasoned past
And to this wilder time.
In the foreground my vivid muse
Comends topography.
Now I must away to town I shall write again this evening. I love you, dearest,
I love you - Lawrence