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Transcribers

  1. 65320144 - not-logged-in-30b5f982ef0bef31181f
  2. 65333246 - Vixen999
  3. 65346634 - johndpieper
  4. WINNER - 65348717 - jordanbg
  5. 65371125 - Sean_Walters89
  6. 65371561 - Galvanicgirl

65320144 - not-logged-in-30b5f982ef0bef31181f

1st December 1948 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon
Dearest Sylvia,
I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me. We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps, but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with delight when we meet and time means very little. You are beautiful, much too beautiful to wast time in anxiety. Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once you doubted that at times but you do not now. Soon I will banish this doubt as I did for the other - simply by loving you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My rose, my Minerva, my cat.

I looked at your painting in the train for a long time and was very happy and I have been looking at it in this morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grow in different directions, some inwards, some outwards, never flatly. It is a daring composition - a kind of pictorial equivalent to Mallarme's poems about roses. It is at once precise and trembling with life. i adore it and adore you for letting me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest Sylvia.

Last night I caught the 7.5 train at 7.30 and we got into Victoria at about 10.15 so that was not at all bad really. I did not reach home till about 11.30, however, as the fog was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle and that you changed your socks as soon as you got to Pett. Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come tomorrow to the N.G. Pablo has just come in and he is purring thunderously with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it is an odd and lyrical experience. This poem does not do justice to it but was written in the train and I send it to you anyhow:

Here brown benedictines constructed an abbey
And herbs grow on the ledge of a lancet window.

The towers at the end of the terrace and unencumbered
By facts of structure, roots, the enemy of flight.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my companion.

Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgent grass in an early english hall.

65333246 - Vixen999

11 Hansel Road Wimbledon

1st December 1948

Dearest Sylvia,

I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me. We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps, but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with delight when we meet and time means very little. You are beautiful, much too beautiful to waste time in anxiety. Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once you doubted that at times but you do not now. Soon I wil banish this doubt as I did the other - simply by lving you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My rose, my Minerva, my cat.

I looked at your painting in the train for a long time and was very happy and I have been looking at it in this morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grown in different directions, some inwards, some outwards, neaver flatly. It is a daring composition - a kind of picorial equivalent o Mallarme's pomes about roses. It is at once precise and trembling with life. I adore it and adore you for leeting me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest Sylvia.

Last night I caught the T.5 train at 7.20 and we got into Victoria at about 10.15 so that was not at all bad really. I did not reach home till about 11.30, however, as the fog was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle and that you changed your socks as soon as you go to Pett. Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come tomorrow to the N.G. Pablo has just come in and he is purring thunderoulsly with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it was an odd and lyrical experience. This poem does not do justice to it but itwas written in the train and I send it to you anyhow:

Here brown benedictines constructed an abbey
And herbs grown on the ledge of a lancet window.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my companion.
The towers at the end of the terrane are unemcumbered
By facts of structure, roots, the enemy of flight.
Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgant grass in an early english hall.

65346634 - johndpieper

1st December 1948 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon

Dearest Sylvia,

I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me. We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps, but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with delight when we meet and time means very little. You are beautiful, much too beautiful to waste time in anxiety. Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once you that at times but you do not now. Soon I will banish this doubt as I did the other - simply by loving you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My rose, my Minerva, my Cat.

I looked at your painting on the train for a long time and was very happy and I have been looking at it in this morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grow in different directions, some inwards, some outwards, never flatly. It is a daring composition - a kind of pictorial equivalent to Mallarme's poems about roses. It is at once precise and trembling with life. I adore it and adore you for letting me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest Sylvia.

Last night I caught the 7.5 train at 7.30 and we got into Victoria at about 10.15 so that was not at all bad really. I did not reach home till about 11.30, however, as the fog was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle and that you changed your socks as soon as you got to Pett. Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come tomorrow to the N.G. Pable has just come in and he is purring thunderously with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it was an odd and lyrical experience. This poem does not do justice to it but it was written in the train and I send it to you anyhow:

Here brown benedictines constructed an
abbey
And herbs grow on the ledge of a lancet
window.

The towers at the end of the terrace are
unencumbered
By the facts of structure, roots, the enemy of
flight.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the
landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my
companion.

Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgant grass in an early english hall.

WINNER - 65348717 - jordanbg

1st December 1948 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon

Dearest Sylvia,

I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me.
We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps,
but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with
delight when we meet and time means very little. You are
beautiful, much too beautiful to waste time in anxiety.
Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once
you doubted that at times but you do not now. Soon I
will banish this doubt as I did the other - simply by lov-
ing you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks
from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will
only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My
rose, my Minerva, my cat.

I looked at your painting in the train for a long time
and was very happy and I have been looking at it in this
morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves
are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grow in dif-
ferent directions, some inwards, some outwards, never flatly.
It is a darling composition - a kind of pictorial equivalent
to Mallarme's poems about roses. It is at once precise and
trembling with life. I adore it and adore you for letting
me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest
Sylvia.

Last night I caught the 7.5 train at 7.30 and we got into
Victoria at about 10.15 so that was not at all bad really.
I did not reach home till about 11.30, however, as the fog
was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and
went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle
and that you changed your socks as soon as you get to Pett.
Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come to-
morrow to the N.G. Pablo has just come in and he is purr-
ing thunderously with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it was an odd and lyrical
experience. This poem does not do justice to it but it was
written in the train and I send it to you anyhow:

Here brown benedictines constructed an abbey
And herbs grow on the ledge of a lancet window.

The towers at the end of the terrace are unencumbered
By facts of structure, roots, the enemy of flight.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my companion.

Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgent grass in an early english hall.

65371125 - Sean_Walters89

1st December 1948 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon

Dearest Sylvia,

I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me. We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with delight when we meet and time means very little. You are beautiful, much too beautiful to waste time in anxiety. Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once you doubted that at times but you do not now. Soon i will banish this doubt as i did the other - simply by loving you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My rose, my Minerva, my cat.

I looked at your painting in the train for a long time and was very happy and i have been looking at it in this morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grow in different directions, some inwards, some outwards, never flatly. It is a darling composition - a kind of pictorial equivalent to Mallarme's poems about roses. It is at once precise and trembling with life. I adore it and adore you for letting me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest Sylvia.

Last night i caught the 7.5 train at 7.30 and we got into Victoria at about 10,15 so that was not at all bad really I did not reach home will about 11.30, however, as the fog was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle and that you changed your socks as soon as you got to Pett. Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come tomorrow to the N.G. Pablo has just come in and he is purring thunderously with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it was an odd and lyrical experience. This poem does not do justice to it but it was written in the train and i send it to you anyhow:

Here brown Benedictines constructed an abbey.
And herbs grow on the ledge of a lancet window.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my companion.

Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgent grass in an early English hall.

65371561 - Galvanicgirl

1st December 1948 11 Mansel Road Wimbledon

Dearest Sylvia,

I love you: how much yesterday's meeting meant to me. We were together for about eight hours. Not long perhaps, but love made so much of it. I am swept off my feet with delight when we meet and time means very little. You are beautiful, much too beautiful to waste time in anxiety. Be assured about the future as you are of my love: once you doubted that at times but you do not now. Soon I will banish this doubt as I did the other - simply by loving you. You have done so much for me: banished wrecks from the map leaving only winds and mermaids. I will only your pleasure: that is my motive for writing. My rose, my Minerva, my cat.

I looked at your painting in the train for a long time and was very happy and I have been looking at it in this morning's rather murky daylight. The tints of the leaves are exquisite and I adore the way in which they grow in different directions, some inwards, some outwards, never flatly. It is a daring composition - a kind of pictorial equivalent to Mallarme's poems about roses. It is at once precise and trembling with life. I adore it and adore you for letting me have it. I return to your pictures so often, dearest Sylvia.

Last night I caught the 7.5 train at 7.30 and we got into Victoria at about 10.15 so that was not at all bad really. I did not reach home till about 11.30, however, as the fog was worse in town than elsewhere. I had a hot drink and went to bed then. I hope you did not get cold at Battle and that you changed your socks as soon as you got to Pett. Today it is worse than ever. I hope my schools come tomorrow to the N.G. Pablo has just come in and he is purring thunderously with pleasure at the heat of the fire.

I enjoyed Battle very much, it was an odd an lyrical experience. This poem does not do justice to it but it was written in the train and I send it to you anyhow:

Here brown benedictines constructed an abbey
And herbs grow on the ledge of a lancet window.

The mist makes cool abstractions of the landscape.
We live in a world of foregrounds, my companion.

The towers at the end of the terrane are unencumbered
By facts of structure, roots, the enemy of flight.

Figures in a sublime engraving, we wander
Resurgent grass in an early English hall.

Referencing this painting? https://goo.gl/images/EB7fY3

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