gri_2003_m_46_b01_f10_046

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65318127 - darryluk
65327551 - Primpius
65332563 - Bethbeth
65340405 - Malina-B
65341294 - k8mielke
WINNER - 65343056 - vanderfb

65318127 - darryluk

21st November 1948 11, Mansel Road, Wimbledon

Dearest Sylvia,

You are always in my mind and heart, vivid, tender, witty, loving, sustaining my great desire for you. I love you so much and wish for our being together so strongly:

Ardent for your presence
In the house of love
I ruefully distract
Myself with pleasantries,
Attend an archers' match
In a green alley -
But find the arrows are
Directed at my heart;
Observe the lore of clouds
But draw no consolation
from the seraphic show -
As downy as a bed.
These and every other thing
Are symbols of my love.

This morning I finished another chapter - it has taken less than a week - so you see I am working for our Italian visit. The thought of you inspires me even as it rouses a desire not to be satisfied until the new year. I do little but write, either to you, or, about you, or for you (Hogarth). Have no doubts for the future: my dowry is not only three-penny pieces, it is love and care.

You are beautiful my dearest: memory places you in a landscape of wishing wells and mirrors. The wells will satisfy only one wish. But the mirrors compete for the most delightful image of you: all images are different yet equally lovely. But nothing can replace, for me, the exquisite immediacy of being with you. I long for you.

Thank you for your letter, it made me happy. Write soon please. You have not been unwell with your cold have you? It is a fine day today: I hope you take a pleasant walk.

The Muses are challenged by nine mortal girls to a singing match: the challengers were defeated and turned into magpies, but only because they lack the privilege of your inspiration:

let all the rest by magpies -
Gawky in the sky, or in the orchard
Peck unripe banks of fruit,
Jump, neurotic, at the scarecrow critic -

So, I, like Muses, banish
Competitors in song, for you possess
My poems like a wind the flag,
And lend them grace and wit, your merit theirs.

65327551 - Primpius

21st November 1948 11, Mansel Road, Wimbledon.

Dearest Sylvia,

You are always in my mind and heart, vivid, tender, witty, loving,
sustaining my great desire for you. I love you so much and wish
for our being together so strongly :

Ardent for your presence
In the house of love
I ruefully distract
Myself with pleasantries,
Attend an archers' match
In a green alley -
But find the arrows are
Directed at my heart ;
Observe the lore of clouds
But draw no consolation
From the seraphic show -
As downy as a bed.
These and every other thing
Are symbols of my love.

This morning I finished another chapter - it has taken less than
a week - so you see I am working for our Italian visit. The thought
of you inspires me even as it rouses a desire not to be satisfied
until the new year. I do little but write, either to you, or, about
you, or for you (Hogarth). Have no doubts for the future : my dowry
is not only three-penny pieces, it is love and care.

You are beautiful my dearest : memory places you in a landscape of
wishing wells and mirrors. The wells will satisfy only one wish.
But the mirrors compete for the mot delightful image of you: all
images are different yet equally lovely. But nothing can replace,
for me, the exquisite immediacy of being with you. I long for you.

Thank you for your letter, it made my happy. Write soon please.
You have not been unwell with your cold have you ? It is a fine day
today: I hope you take a pleasant walk.

The Muses were challenged by nine moral girls to a singing match :
the challengers were defeated and turned into magpies. This poem
may seen arrogant, turning other poets into magpies, but only be-
cause they lack the privilege of your inspiration :

Let all the rest be magpies -
Gawky in the sky, or in the orchard
Peck unripe banks of fruit,
Jump, neurotic, at the scarecrow critic -

So, I, like Muses, banish
Competitors in song, for you possess
My poems like a wind the flag,
And lend them grace and wit, your merit theirs.
Sona

65332563 - Bethbeth

21st November 1948 11, Mansel Road, Wimbledon.

Dearest Sylvia,

You are always in my mind and heart, vivid, tender, witty, loving, sustaining my great desire for you. I love you so much and wish for our being to gether so strongly:

Ardent for your presence
In the house of love
I ruefully distract
Myself with pleasantries,
Attend an archers' match
In a green alley -
But find the arrows are
Directed at my heart;
Observe the lore of clouds
But draw no consolation
From the seraphic show -
As downy as a bed.
These and every other thing
Are symbols of my love.

This morning I finished another chapter - it has taken less than a week - so you see I am working for our Italian visit. The thought of you inspires me even as it rouses a desire not to be satisfied until the new year. I do little but write, either to you, or about you, or for you (Hogarth). Have no doubts for the future: my dowry is not only three-penny pieces, it is love and care.

You are beautiful my dearest: memory places you in a landscape of wishing wells and mirrors. The wells will satisfy only one wish. But the mirrors compete for the most delightful image of you: all images are different yet equally lovely. But nothing can replace, for me, the exquisite immediacy of being with you. I long for you.

Thank you for your letter, it made my happy. Write soon please. You have not been unwell with your cold have you? It is a fine day today: I hope you take a pleasant walk.

The Muses were challenged by nine mortal girls to a singing match: the challengers were defeated and turned into magpies. This poem may seem arrogant, turning other poets into magpies, but because they lack the privilege of your inspiration:

Let all the rest be magpies -
Gawky in the sky, or in the orchard
Peck unripe banks of fruit,
Jump, neurotic, at the scarecrow critic -

So I, like Muses, banish
Competitors in song, for you possess
My poems like a wind the flag,
And lend them grace and wit, your merit theirs.

Love,

65340405 - Malina-B

65341294 - k8mielke

21st November 1948
11 Mansel Road, Wimbledon.
Dearest Sylvia,
You are always in my mind and heart, vivid, tender, witty, loving, sustaining my great desires for you. I love you so much and wish for our being together so strongly:
Ardent for your presence
In the house of love
I ruefully distract
Myself with pleasantries,
Attend an archers' match
In a green alley -
But find the arrows are
Directed at my heart;
Observe the lore of clouds
But draw no consolation
From the seraphic show -
As downy as a bed.
These and every other thing
Are symbols of my love.
This morning I finished another chapter - it has taken less than a week - so you see I am working for our Italian visit. The thought of your inspires me even as it rouses a desire not to be satisfied until the new year. I do little but write, either to you, or, about you, or for you (Hogarth). Have no doubts for the future: my dowry is not only three-penny pieces, it is love and care.
You are beautiful my dearest: memory places you in a landscape of wishing wells and mirrors. The wells will satisfy only one wish. But the mirrors compete for the most delightful image of you: all images are different yet equally lovely. But nothing can replace, for me, the exquisite immediacy of being with you. I long for you.
Thank you for your letter, it made me happy. Write soon please. You have not been unwell with your cold have you? It is a fine day today: I hope you take a pleasant walk.
The muses were challenged by nice moral girls to a singing match: the challengers were defeated and turned into magpies. This poem may seem arrogant, turning other poets into magpies, but only because the lack the privilege of your inspiration: Let all the rest be magpies - Gawky in the sky, or in the orchard Peck unripe banks of fruit, Jump, neurotic, at the scarecrow critic -
So, I, like Muses banish Competitors in song, for you possess My poems like a wind the flag, And lend them grace and wit, your merit theirs. /over

WINNER - 65343056 - vanderfb

21st November 1948 11, Mansel Road, Wimbledon.

Dearest Sylvia,

You are always in my mind and heart, vivid, tender, witty, loving, sustaining my great desire for you. I love you so much and wish for our being together so strongly:

Ardent for your presence
In the house of love
I ruefully distract
Myself with pleasantries,
Attend an archers' match
In a green alley -
But find the arrows are
Directed at my heart;
Observe the lore of the clouds
But draw no consolation
From the seraphic show -
As downy as a bed.
These and every other thing
Are symbols of my love.

This morning I finished another chapter - it has taken less than a week - so you see I am working for our Italian visit. The thought of you inspires me even as it rouses a desire not to be satisfied until the new year. I do little but write, either to you, or, about you, or for you (Hogarth). Have no doubts for the future: my dowry is not only three-penny pieces, it is love and care.

You are beautiful my dearest: memory places you in a landscape of wishing wells and mirrors. The wells will satisfy only one wish. But the mirrors compete for the most delightful image of you: all images are different yet equally lovely. But nothing can replace, for me, the exquisite immediacy of being with you. I long for you.

Thank you for your letter, it made me happy. Write soon please. You have not been unwell with your cold have you? It is a fine day today: I hope you take a pleasant walk.

The Muses were challenged by nine mortal girls to a singing match: the challengers were defeated and turned into magpies. This poem may seem arrogant, turning other poets into magpies, but only because they lack the privilege of your inspiration:

Let all the rest be magpies -
Gawky in the sky, or in the orchard
Peck unripe banks of fruit,
Jump, neurotic, at the scarecrow critic -

So, I, like Muses, banish
Competitors in song, for you possess
My poems like a wind the flag,
And lend them grace and wit, your merit theirs.

/over

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