gri_2003_m_46_b04_f08_022
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.042
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.026
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- 66529111 - Preacher357
- WINNER - 66625337 - _secunda
- 66672746 - gailkoelker
- 66910698 - Sira7
- 66963365 - Frosty1
- 67002710 - Francie_T
66529111 - Preacher357
[20-8-51] Dearest Sylvia,The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many
Sunday duties: Poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do
in this letter is send you two new poems and, what is the same thing,
assure you of my love. However I will give you a few bits of news,
also: father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until
Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we
hope to write part of the book - the Tudor section: I am surrounded
by relevant literature (the Old English Mansions is useful). I have finished Ace in the Hole. Paul is coming to dinner this evening.
There. That's Lion's news.
Nightime
Stars are palaces now embassies
Bright for the changing owners.
Lovers are ambasadors who know
The place they represent,
Whose animal is rigid in the shield,
Whose treaties must be signed.
Lovers represent a world of water
Surging in every cloud,
A world of harvests sleeping in Spring,
A world of causal charms.
Ambassadors are often far from home:
Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows
The serpentine effusions
Of the narrow stream
But the drug of longing steers
Along the tangled tunnels
Of the buried veins.
Discreet and sober temples
Of the day are paragons
Of conduct and repose
But injected by desire
I see the world as emblems
Coming to a head.
Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps
Worn by you or part of you
Moss is a fetish
Roses are hallucinations
Sweet and purple, following
The hypodermic thorn.
I love you & long to see
you again. I love you
Lawrence
WINNER - 66625337 - _secunda
[20-8-51]Dearest Sylvia,
The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many Sunday duties: poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do in this letter is send you two new poems and, what is the same thing, assure you of my love. However, I will give you a few bits of news, also: father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we hope to write part of the book--the Tudor section: I am surrounded by relevant literature (the Old English Mansions is useful). I have finished Ace in the Hole. Paul is coming to dinner this evening. There. That's Lion's news.
Nighttime
Stars are palaces now embassies
Bright for the changing owners.
Lovers are ambassadors who know
The place they represent,
Whose animal is rigid in the shield,
Whose treaties must be signed.
Lovers represent a world of water
Surging in every cloud,
A world of harvests sleeping in Spring,
A world of casual charms.
Ambassadors are often far from home:
Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows
The serpentine effusions
Of the narrow stream
But the drug of longing steers
Along the tangled tunnels
Of the buried veins.
Discreet and sober temples
Of the day are paragons
Of conduct and repose
But injected by desire
I see the world as emblems
Coming to a head.
Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps
Worn by you or part of you
Moss is a fetish
Roses are hallucinations
Sweet and purple, following
The hypodermic thorn.
I love you & long to see you again. I love you
Lawrence
66672746 - gailkoelker
20-8-51 Dearest Sylvia, The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many Sunday duties: poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do in this letter is send you two new poems and, what is the same thing, assure you of my love. However, I will give you a few bits of news, also: father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we hope to write part of the book-the Tudor section: I am surrounded by relevant literature ( the "Old English Mansions" is useful). I have finished "Ace in the Hole". Paul is coming to dinner this evening. There. That's Lion's news.Nightime
Stars are palaces now embassies Bright for the changing owners. Lovers are ambassadors who know The place they represent, Whose animal is rigid in the shield, Whose treaties must be signed. Lovers represent a world of water Surging in every cloud, A world of harvests sleeping in Spring, A world of causal charms. Ambassadors are often far from home: Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows The serpentine effusions Of the narrow stream But the drug of longing steers Along the tangled tunnels Of the buried veins. Discreet and sober temples Of the day are paragons Of conduct and repose But injected by desire I see the world as emblems Coming to a head. Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps Worn by you or part of you Moss is a fetish Roses are hallucinations Sweet and purple, following The hypodermic thorn.
I love you & long to see you again. I love you Lawrence
66910698 - Sira7
Dearest Sylvia,The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many Sunday duties: poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do in this letter is send you two new poems and, what is the same thing, assure you of my love. However, I will give you a few bits of news, also: father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we hope to write part of the book - the Tudor section: I am surrounded by relevant literature (the Old English Mansions is useful). I have finished Ace in the Hole. Paul is coming to dinner this evening. There. That's Lion's news.
Nightime
Stars are palaces now embassies
Bright for the changing owners.
Lovers are ambassadors who know
The place they represent,
Whose animal is rigid in the shield,
Whose treaties must be signed.
Lovers represent a world of water
Surging in every cloud,
A world of harvests sleeping in Spring,
A world of casual charms.
Ambassadors are often far from home:
Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows
The serpentine effusions
Of the narrow stream
But the drug of longing steers
Along the tangled tunnels
Of the buried veins.
Discreet and sober temples
Of the day are paragons
Of conduct and repose
But injected by desire
I see the world as emblems
Coming to a head.
Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps
Worn by you or part of you
Moss is a fetish
Roses are hallucinations
Sweet and purple, following
The hypodermic thorn.
I love you and love to see you again.
I love you
Lawrence
66963365 - Frosty1
Dearest Sylvia, [20-8-51]The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many Sunday duties : poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do in this letter is send you two new poems and , what is the same thing, assure of my love. However, I will give you a few bits of news, also : father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we hope to write part of a book - the Tudor section : I am surrounded by relevant literature ( the Old English Mansions is useful ). I have finished Ace in the Hole. Paul is coming to dinner this evening. There. That's Lion's news.
Nightime
Stars are palaces now embassies
Bright for the changing owners.
Lovers are ambassadors who know
The place they represent,
Whose animal is rigid in the shield,
Whose treaties must be signed
Lovers represent a world of water
Surging in every cloud,
A world of harvests sleeping in Spring,
A world of casual charms.
Ambassadors are often far from home :
Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows
The serpentine effusions
Of the narrow stream
But the drug of longing steers
Along the tangled tunnels
Of the buried veins.
Discreet and sober temples
Of the day are paragons
Of conduct and repose
But injected by desire
I see the world as emblems
Coming to a head.
Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps
Worn by you or part of you
Moss is a fetish
Roses are hallucinations
Sweet and purple, following
The hypodermic thorn.
I love you and long to see you again. I love you
Lawrence
67002710 - Francie_T
Dearest Sylvia,The weather is charming and warm and I do hope you have not too many Sunday duties: poor Clifford, though! The main thing I want to do in this letter is send you two new poems and, what is the sane thing, assure you of my love. However, I will give you a few bits of news, also: father seems to be enjoying Paris and is staying there until Monday. Donald Parsons is coming to Blackheath on Thursday and we hope to write part of the book - the Tudor section: I am surrounded by relevant literature (the Old English Mansions is useful). I have finished Ace in the Hole. Paul is coming to dinner this evening. There. That's Lion's news.
Nightime
Stars are palaces now embassies
Bright for the changing owners.
Lovers are ambassadors who know
The place they represent,
Whose animal is rigid in the shield,
Whose treaties must be signed.
Lovers represent a world of water
Surging in every cloud,
A world of harvests sleeping in Spring
A world of casual charms
Ambassadors are often far from home:
Hence, puzzles in the night.
Thorns
The waterwagon follows
The serpentine effusions
Of the narrow stream
But the drug of longing steers
Along the tangled tunnels
Of the buried veins.
Discreet and sober temples
Of the day are paragons
Of conduct and repose
But injected by desire
I see the world as emblems
Coming to a head.
Leaves are conches, lawns are wraps
Worn by you or part of you
Moss is a fetish
Roses are hallucinations
Sweet and purple, following
The hypodermic thorn.
I love you & long to see you again. I love you Lawerence