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gri_2003_m_46_b01_f11_029

Transcribers

  1. 65316348 - kanjoku
  2. 65357454 - frenziedgnu
  3. 65372421 - Sean_Walters89
  4. WINNER - 65376564 - MariluR
  5. 65381064 - not-logged-in-fb906b05423415b79fca

65316348 - kanjoku

[11-12-48]

PASSIONATE PAVANNE

Such music, near at hand,
Wakes the sleeper,
Sends the hunter for his bow,
Ship-wrecks the cartographer.

It is a beating heart
Sounding in the red caves
Of the body like a drum

A lyre accompanies
As when the wind
Draws his fingers through your hair.

PERTAINING TO CLOUDS

The clouds, victims of wind
And of enquiring wits
Who catch the fluent world
With nets of transference,

Divulge the news of love.
For who, the lover asks,
Could miss the heraldry
Of images on vair?

Scarves by the hand of Paris,
Galleries of arms,
Owls and cornucopias,
And sunsets like a swan.

SONG

I wake at seven, see
Holly nodding in the breeze.
You wake at eight, remark
How still the orchard is.

You eat white bread, I brown,
I eat at ten, at nine
You settle into your chair
And look into the cup.

At noon maybe we share
Authentic souvenirs
Or in the well of sleep
Obey a single oracle.

I love you, Lawrence

65357454 - frenziedgnu

Passionate Pavanne
Such music, near at hand,
Wakes the sleeper,
Sends the hunter for his bow,
Ship-wrecks the cartographer.
It is a beating heart
Sounding in the red caves
Of the body like a drum
A lyre accompanies
As when the wind
Draws his fingers through your hair

Pertaining to Clouds
The clouds, victims of wind
And of enquiring wits
Who catch the fluent world
With nets of transference,
Divulge the news of love.
For who, the lover asks,
Could miss the heraldry
Of images on vair?
Scarves by the hand of Paris,
Galleries of arms,
Owls and cornucopias,
And sunsets like a swan.

Song
I wake at seven, see
Holly nodding in the breeze.
You wake at eight, remark
How still the orchard is.
You eat white bread, I brown,
I eat at ten, at nine
You settle in your chair
And look into the cup.
At noon maybe we share
Authentic souvenirs
Or in the well of sleep
Obey a single oracle.

I love you, Lawrence

65372421 - Sean_Walters89

[11-12-48]

PASSIONATE PAVANNE
Such music, near at hand,
Wakes the sleeper,
Sends the hunter for his bow,
Ship-wrecks the cartographer.

It is a beating heart
Sounding in the red caves
Of the body like a drum

A lyre accompanies
As when the wind
Draws his fingers through your hair.

PERTAINING TO CLOUDS

The clouds, victims of wind
And of inquiring wits
Who catch the fluent world
With nets of transference,

Divulge the news of love.
For who, the lover asks,
Could miss the heraldry
Of images on vair?

Scarves by the hand of Paris,
Galleries of arms,
Owls and cornucopias,
And sunsets like a swan.

SONG

I wake at seven, see Holly nodding in the breeze.
You wake at eight, remark
How still the orchard is.

You eat white bread, I brown,
I eat at ten, at nine
You settle in your chair
And look into the cup.

At noon maybe we share
Authentic souvenirs
Or in the well of sleep
Obey a single oracle.

I love you, Lawrence

WINNER - 65376564 - MariluR

[11-12-48]

PASSIONATE PAVANNE

Such music, near at hand,
Wakes the sleeper,
Sends the hunter for his bow,
Ship-wrecks the cartographer.

It is a beating heart
Sounding in the red caves
Of the body like a drum

A lyre accompanies
As when the wind
Draws his fingers through your hair.

PERTAINING TO CLOUDS

The clouds, victims of wind
And of enquiring wits
Who catch the fluent world
With nets of transference,

Divulge the news of love.
For who, the lover asks,
Could miss the heraldry
Of images on vair?

Scarves by the hand of Paris,
Galleries of arms,
Owls and cornucopia,
And sunsets like a swan.

SONG

I wake at seven, see
Holly nodding in the breeze
You wake at eight, remark
How still the orchard is.

You eat white bread, I brown,
I eat at ten, at nine
You settle in your chair
And look into the cup.

At noon maybe we share
Authentic souvenirs
Or in the well of sleep
Obey a single oracle.


Written vertically on the right side:
I love you, Lawrence

65381064 - not-logged-in-fb906b05423415b79fca

PASSIONATE PAVANNE
Such music, near at hand,
Wakes the sleeper,
Sends the hunter for his bow,
Ship-wrecks the cartographer.
It is a beating heart
Sounding in the red caves
Of the body like a drum
A lyre accompanies
As when the wind
Draws his fingers through your hair.
PERTAINING TO CLOUDS
The clouds, victims of wind
And of enquiring wits
Who catch the fluent world
With nets of transference,
Divulge the news of love.
For who, the lover asks,
Could miss the heraldry
Of images on vair?
Scarves by the hand of Paris,
Galleries of arms,
Owls and cornucopias,
And sunsets like a swan.

SONG
I wake at seven, see
Holly nodding in the breeze.
You wake at eight, remark
How still the orchard is.
You eat white bread, I brown,
I eat at ten, at nine,
You settle in your chair
And look into the cup.
At noon maybe we share
Authentic souvenirs
Or in the well of sleep
Obey a single oracle.

In margin: I love you, Lawrence

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