gri_2003_m_46_b03_f04_014

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Transcribers

65840981 - Preacher357
66137284 - evanstonsherry
WINNER - 66267111 - LoriM
66370919 - k8mielke
66379609 - NVarellas
66448211 - gaart2

65840981 - Preacher357

THE MASQUE OF WATER FOUR

The liquid synthesis,
The flood, on which we move or which
We linger by on tilted banks,
Rhetorical or langorous,
Flashes by day and sighs at night,
As we follow the capital stream
By wharf and balustrade,
By scarp and flat and delta,
To the sea-shore and the foreign craft.

A Dolphin Speaks:

On the sea-shore at low-tide
When the remote sea is heavy as custard
and it seems the wave will never
Be furious and agile
Listen to the rumcuring shells.

Listen. Mermaids rise to pick
White roses every wave renews.
The shells confide to shells in hair,
Of powerful disappearing swimmers
Who are islands when we wake.

Of caves in the chest of pirates,
Of girls who were ships and now
Of the unchanged beared anchors.
Pearls tremble in your listening ear,
Echo the metaphor and voyage.

The Crew Chant:

From the bubbling lathering source, high in the heath,
Where ferns fold over the aprted banks, like lapels,
We came, launched by a sigh, down the curving flood,
To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions
Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes,
Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights,
The hundreds of lions in the thighs of the sea,
Our hold alive with images and more in the masts like monkeys.
We land on the Level beach and roll ashore our barrels.

Lion, dressed as a Captain, telescope under one arm, com-
pass in his other hand. An apple is struck on one point of
the compass; from the other point flutters a map of his
voyage upon which the river is coloured red.

The journey through I honour
The subject of my voyage,
Each gift a metaphor,
And every name a thing.

66137284 - evanstonsherry

THE MASQUE OF WATER FOUR

The liquid synthesis,
The flood, on which we move or which
We liner by on tilted banks,
Rhetorical or langorous,
Flashes by day and sighs at night,
As we follow the capital stream
By wharf and balustrade,
By scarp and flat and delta,
To the sea-shore and the foreign craft.

A Dolphin Speaks:

On the sea-shore at low-tide
When the remote sea is heavy as custard
And it seems the wave will never
Be furious and agile
Listen to the rumouring shells.

Listen. Mermaids rise to pick
White roses every wave renews.
The shells confide to shells in hair.
Of powerful disappearing swimmers
Who are islands when we wake.

Of caves in the chests of pirates,
Of girls who were ships and now
Of the unchanged bearded anchors.
Pearls tremble in your listening ear,
Echo the metaphor and voyage.

The Crew Chant:

From the bubbling lathering source, high in the heath,
Where ferns fold over the parted banks, like lapels,
We came, launched by a sigh, down the curving flood,
To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions,
Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes,
Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights,
The hundreds of lions in the thighs of the sea.
Our hold alive with images and more in the masts like monkeys.
We land on the level beach and roll ashore our barrels.

Lion, dressed as a Captain, telescope under one arm, com-
pass in his other hand. An apple is stuck on one point of
the compass; from the other point flutters a map of his
voyage upon which the river is coloured red.

The journey which I honour
The subject of my voyage,
Each gift a metaphor,
And every name a thing.

WINNER - 66267111 - LoriM

The Masque of Water Four

The liquid synthesis,
The flood, on which we move or which
We linger by on titled banks,
Rhetorical or langorous,
Flashes by day and sighs at night,
As we follow the capital stream
By wharf and balustrade,
By scarp and flat and delta,
To the sea-shore and the foreign craft.

A Dolphin Speaks:

On the sea-shore at low tide
When the remote sea is heavy as custard
And it seems the wave will never
Be furious and agile
Listen to the rumouring shells.

Listen. Mermaids rise to pick
White roses every wave renews.
The shells confide to shells in hair,
Of powerful disappearing swimmers
Who are islands when we wake.

Of caves in the chests of pirates,
Of girls who were ships and now
Of the unchanged bearded anchors.
Pearls tremble in your listening ear,
Echo the metaphor and voyage.

The Crew Chant:

From the bubbling lathering source, high in the heath,
Where ferns fold over the parted banks, like lapels,
We came, launched by a sigh, down the curving flood,
To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions,
Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes,
Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights,
The hundreds of lions in the thighs of the sea.
Our hold alive with images and more in the masts like monkeys.
We land on the Level beach and roll ashore our barrels.

Lion, dressed as a Captain, telescope under one arm, com-
pass in his other hand. An apple is stuck on one point of
the compass; form the other point flutters a map of his
voyage upon which the river is coloured red.

The journey through I honour
The subject of my voyage,
Each gift a metaphor,
And every name a thing.

66370919 - k8mielke

THE MASQUE OF WATER FOUR The liquid synthesis, The flood, on which we move or which We linger by on titled banks, Rhetorical or languorous, Flashes by day and sighs at night, As we follow the capital stream By wharf and balustrade, By scrap and flat and delta, To the sea-shore and the foreign craft. A Dolphin Speaks: On the sea-shore at low-tide When the remote sea is heavy as custard And it seems the wave will never Be furious and agile Listen to the rumouring shells. Listen. Mermaids rise to pick White roses every wave renews. he shells confide to shells in hair, Of powerful disappearing swimmers Who are islands when we wake. Of caves in the chests of pirates, Of girls who were ships and now Of the unchanged bearded anchors. Pearls tremble in your listening ear, Echo the metaphor and voyage. The Crew Chant: From the bubbling lathering source, high in the health, Where ferns fold over the parted banks, like lapels, We came, launched by a sigh, down the curving flood, To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions, Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes, Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights, The hundreds of lions in the thighs of the sea. Our hold alive with images and more in the masts like monkeys. We land on the Level beach and roll ashore our barrels. Lion, dressed as a captain, telescope under one arm, compass in his other hand. An apple is stuck on one point of the compass; from the other point flutters a map of his voyage upon which the river is coloured red. The journey through I honor The subject of my voyage, Each gift a metaphor, And every name a thing.

66379609 - NVarellas

THE MASQUE OF WATER FOUR
The liquid synthesis,
The flood, on which we move or which
We linger by on titled banks,
Rhetorical or languorous,
Flashes by day and sighs at night,
As we follow the capital stream
By wharf and balustrade,
By scarp and flat and delta,
To the seashore and the foreign craft.

A Dolphin Speaks:

On the seashore at low tide
When the remote sea is heavy as custard
And it seems the wave will never
Be furious and agile
Listen to the rumoring shells.
Listen. Mermaids rise to pick
White roses every wave renews.
The shells confide to shells in hair,
Of powerful disappearing swimmers
Who are islands when we wake.

Of caves in the chests of pirates,
Of girls who were ships and now
Of the unchanged bearded anchors.
Pearls tremble in your listening ear,
Echo the metaphor and voyage.

The Crew Chant:

From the bubbling lathering source, high in the heath,
Where ferns fold over the parted banks, like lapels,
We came, launched by a sigh, down the curving flood,
To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions,
Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes,
Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights,
The hundreds of lions in the thighs of the sea.
Our hold alive with images and more in the masts like monkeys.
We land on the Level beach and roll ashore our barrels.

Lion, dressed as a Captain, telescope under one arm, compass in his other hand. An apple is stuck on one point of the compass; from the other point flutters a map of his voyage upon which the river is colored red.

The journey through I honor
The subject of my voyage,
Each gift a metaphor,
And every name a thing.

66448211 - gaart2

THE MASQUE OF WATER FOUR

The liquid synthesis,
The flood, on which we move or which
We linger by on tilted banks,
Rhetorical or languorous,
Flashes by day and sighs at night,
As we follow the capital stream
By wharf and balustrade,
By scarp and flat and delta,
To the sea-shore and the foreign craft.

A Dolphin Speaks:

On the sea-shore at low-tide
When the remote sea is as heavy as custard
And it seems we will have never
Be furious and agile
Listen to the rumoring shells.

Listen. Mermaids rise to pick
White roses every wave renews.
The shells confide to shells in hair,
Of powerful disappearing swimmers
Who are islands when we wake.

Of caves in the chests of pirates,
Of girls who were ships and now
Of the unchanged bearded anchors.
Pearls tremble in your listening ear,
Echo the metaphor and the voyage.

The Crew Chant:
From the bubbling lathering source, high in the heath,
Where ferns fold over the parted banks, like lapels,
We came launched by a sigh, down the curving flood,
To the Thames at Greenwich where we paused for provisions,
Under the perilous bridges and dizzy cranes,
Till we reached, after eight days and seven May nights,
The hundreds of lions in the thighs of high sea.
Our hold alive with image and more in the masts like monkeys
We land on the level beach and roll ashore our barrels.

Lion, dressed as a Captain, telescope under one arm, compass in his other hand. An apple is stuck on one point of the compass; from the other point flutters a map of his voyage upon which the river is coloured red.

The journey through I honour
The subject of my voyage,
Each gift a metaphor,
And every name a thing.

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