gri_2003_m_46_b02_f03_021
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.291
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.21
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- 65647593 - EllaCate
- 65659872 - scully_67
- 65762630 - lolson
- WINNER - 65766043 - kbee333
- 66226760 - SailorVal
- 66272143 - RaeHughes
65647593 - EllaCate
"The Aubrey" 8c.21st March 1949
Dearest Syliva -
Thank you for your letter: it is by me now.
Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear
picture of the situation at Pelt is contained in
your letter except for occasional jagged
notes of anxiety and sadness. You ask for as-
surance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have
just written to ease your fear:
Even in the calendar of absence
That long life contains over works of love
We keep them busy whom Deine employed,
The loves altardant on the god of love.
Putti who lately quarrelled for the nose,
Made by our moth compete for letters now
On make a mirror of my tear
And bear it to you with my image in it.
With wire, likely make a golden Tyranny,
A net of memory to prison us,
On with their wings pillow as nestled heads
Of loves sleeping disparate & sharge.
Oh, in your absence love is not forgetful
And putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you, I cannot
say too often that I love you nor can I adequately
define how much I love you, Sylvia.
65659872 - scully_67
"The Aubrys" 8C.21st March 1949
Dearest Sylvia -
Thank you for your letter: it is by me now.
Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear
picture of the situation at Pelt is contained in
your letters except for occasional jagged
notes of anxiety or sadness. You ask for as-
surance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have
just written to ease your fear:
Even in the calendars of absence
That hary like curtains over words of love
we keep them busy whom desire employed,
The loves attendance on thee God of Love.
Putti who eately quarreled for the rose
made by our mouths compete for letters now
Or make a mirror of my tear
And bear it to you with my image in it.
Will wires they make a golden tyranny,
A net of memory to prison us,
On with their wings pillow to restless heads
of loners sleeping disparate and strange.
oh, in your absence love is not forgetful
And putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you. I cannot
say too often that I love you nor can I adequately
define how much I love you, Sylvia.
65762630 - lolson
"The Aubreys" 8c.21st March 1949
Dearest Sylvia
Thank you for your letter : it is by me now.
Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear
picture of the situation at Pett is contained in
your letters except for occasional fogged
notes of anxiety or sadness. You ask for as-
surance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have
just written to ease your fear:
Even in the calendars of absence
That hang like curtains over rods of love
We keep the busy whom desire employed,
The loves attendant of the god of love.
Putti who lately quarreled for the roses
Made by our mouths compete for letters now
Or make a mirror of my tear
And bear it to you until my image in it.
Will wires then make a golden tyranny,
A net of memory to prison us,
On with their wings pillow to restless heads
Of lovers sleeping disparate & strange.
Oh in your absence love is not forgetful
And Putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you. I cannot say too often that I love your, nor can I adequately define how much I love your, Sylvia.
WINNER - 65766043 - kbee333
"The Aubreys" 8c21st March 1949
Dearest Sylvia,
Thank you for your letter: it is by me now. Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear picture of the situation at Pett is contained in your letter except for occasional jagged notes of anxiety or sadness. You ask for assurance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have just written to ease your fear:
Even in the calenders of absence
That hang like curtains over words of love
We keep them busy whom Devine employed,
The loves attendant on the God of Love.
Putti who lately quarrelled for the roses
Made by our mouths compete for letters now
Oh make a mirror of my tears
And bear it to you with my image in it.
With wires they make a golden tyranny,
A net of memory to prison us,
Oh with their wings pillow the restless heads
of lovers sleeping disparate and strange.
Oh, in your absence love is not forgetful
And Putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you. I cannot say too often that I love you nor can I adequately define how much I love you, Sylvia.
66226760 - SailorVal
"The Aubreys" &c.21st March 1949
Dearest Sylvia -
Thank you for your letter: it is by me now.
Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear
picture of the situation at Pett is contained in
your letters except for occasional ragged
notes of anxiety or sadness. You ask for as-
surance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have
just written to ease your fear:
Even in the calenders of absence
That hang like curtains ones works of love
We keep them busy whom Desire employed,
The loves attendance on the god of Love.
Putti who lately quarelled for the roses
Made by our mouths compete for letters noow
Or make a mirror of my tears
And bear it to you with my image in it.
With wires they make a golden tyranny,
A net of memory to prison us,
Or with their wings pillow the restless heads
Of lovers sleeping disparate & strange.
Oh, in your absence love is not forgetful
And putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you. I cannot
say too often that I love you nor can I adequately
define how much I love you, Sylvia.
66272143 - RaeHughes
"The Aubreys" SC21st March 1949
Dearest Eugenia -
Thank you for you letter: it is by me now. Alas, that you are sad and worried. No clear picture of the situation at Pett is contained in your letters except for occasional jagged notes of anxiety and sadness. You ask for assurance of my love. Here is a sonnet I have just written to ease your fear.
Even in the coldness of absence
That hand like curtains over words of love
We jeep them busy whom Devine employed
The Lares attendant on the God of Love
Putti who lately quarrelled for the roses
Made my our monthly compete for letters now
Or make a mirror of my tears
And bear it to you with my image in it
With wines they make a golden tyranny
A net of memory to prison us
Or with their wings pillow the restless heads
of lovers sleeping disparate & strange.
Oh, in your absence love is not forgetful
And putti sigh in hundreds as I wait.
Believe me, dearest love, I adore you. I cannot say too often that I love you nor can I adequately define how much I love you, Sylvia