gri_2003_m_46_b03_f11_009
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.066
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.034
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- WINNER - 65791081 - SREM
- 65810478 - Preacher357
- 65996085 - not-logged-in-e5e833399639562c10e6
- 66005543 - eacshadows
- 66085062 - gaart2
- 66245586 - 2416837397
WINNER - 65791081 - SREM
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Under ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the ear a landscape,
A limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have stored
The music of your voice.
Out of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city's corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Wear urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardens like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modelled,
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no sculptor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.
3 xii 1950
65810478 - Preacher357
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Undedr ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the ear a landscape,
a limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have strored
The music of your voice.
Out of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city's corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Weal urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardents like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modelled
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no sculptor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.
3 xii 1950
65996085 - not-logged-in-e5e833399639562c10e6
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Under ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the ear a landscape,
A limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have stored
The music of your voice.
Cut of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city'c corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Wear urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardens like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modeled
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no sculptor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.
3 xii 1950
66005543 - eacshadows
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Under ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the car a landscape,
A limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have stored
The music of your voice.
Out of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city's corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Wear urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardens like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modeled
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no sculptor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.
3 xii 1950
66085062 - gaart2
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Under ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the ear a landscape,
A limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have stored
The music of your voice.
Out of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city's corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Wear urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardens like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modelled
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no sculptor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.
3 xii 1950
66245586 - 2416837397
THE SONG AT NIGHTIn the sleepy cupola,
Under ghosts of white mosaic,
I dream the ear a landscape,
A limestone honeycomb,
Whose navigable streams
Curve to memory
Where I have stored
The music of your voice
Out of the yielding hive
Sleep leads a singer
Who weeps until I wake,
Whose words describe desire
Complex and soft as limestone,
Retentive as a cave.
THE MODEL
Shall statues of you at the city's corners,
Monumental subjects for the open,
Wear urban crowns, and regulated beasts
Share the marble with you and be polychrome?
In the gardens like crossing tapestries
Shall there be statues of you holding flowers,
Reclining in a grove, or bathing
Under the woof of a silver waterfall?
As table sculpture shall your flesh be modelled
In the tangled delicacy I adore,
The pulse I chase in parting lips and thighs,
And breasts the double of a cupid's bow?
But no scupltor, formal or profane,
But is defeated by your fund of beauty.