gri_2003_m_46_b04_f03_023
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.086
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.035
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Transcribers
- 66658136 - etipeti
- 66740772 - Preacher357
- WINNER - 66770925 - BevB56
- 67884546 - tmeconverse
- 68328212 - jesseytucker
- 68407076 - Chris5420
66658136 - etipeti
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmerrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Porch
Travel like treasure, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Shaggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
To come on a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world I limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours:
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or has they been pushed.
'breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered a bride.
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in the lee of sleep,
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wander while I dream of maps.
66740772 - Preacher357
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmetrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Perch
Travel like treasure, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Shaggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
To come on a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world I limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours:
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or had they been pushed.
'Breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in the lee of sleep.
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wander while I dream of maps.
WINNER - 66770925 - BevB56
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmetrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Perch
Travel like treasure, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Shaggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
To come on a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world I limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours.
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or had they been pushed.
'Breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered a bride.
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in the lee of sleep.
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wander while I dream of maps.
67884546 - tmeconverse
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmetrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Perch
Travel like treasure, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Shaggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
to come on a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world I limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours:
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or had they been pushed.
'Breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered a bride.
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in the lee of sleep.
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wander while I dream of maps.
68328212 - jesseytucker
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmetrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Perch
Travel like treasure, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Saggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
To come on e a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours.
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or had they been pushed.
'Breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in he lee of sleep.
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wanter while I dream of maps.
68407076 - Chris5420
Petrarchan Compliment in a Native Form:Ambling along asymmetrical lanes
With Marjorie in the month of March
To where on the map a kissing-gate crosses
The path from Pett to the Smuggler's Perch
Travel like treasures, desired but untouched,
Because of the lions blue between cloud-lilies.
No Anti-Christ curses the church
Vigilant of vice and virtue on the ridge.
Shaggy towers of stinging nettles surround
The kissing gate hanging on rusty hinges.
O in a landscape of light bouncing on leaves
To come on a gate to be rescued from ruin.
In a derelict world I limped in a dream
Through crinoline hoops and cracking harbours:
Wide boys and widows lay under walls,
Fallen from windows or had they been pushed.
'Breath from his lips boils in the air', wondered a bride.
'Take pity on our pieces', pleaded the city.
But I left them all in the lee of sleep.
Free of furze and nettle I found the gate
And once I went into its opened arms
I met the landscape, mild in March, the country
Where you wander while I dream of maps.