gri_2003_m_46_b05_f12_027
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- Mean dissimilarity: 0.045
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Transcribers
- WINNER - 68958791 - LibrarianDiva
- 69409392 - jesseytucker
- 69608432 - Zooniverse2017
- 69641476 - ambaker
- 70811915 - Arabicstar
- 70890161 - Preacher357
WINNER - 68958791 - LibrarianDiva
AT HOMEA mirror puts they sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the east.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods.
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
excedes the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass,
the feet shy from metal.
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town.
Light alone is solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-successfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburne's hill no stately glide
of king-size women, sure to to/wer.
Whips that do not whistle down
are only hair at the temples-
adorable maybe, that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though wooden their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(1952)
69409392 - jesseytucker
AT HOMEA mirror puts the sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the east.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods.
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
exceeds the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass,
the feet shy from metal.
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town.
Light alone in solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-successfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburne's hill no stately glide
of king-size women, sure to tower.
Whips that do not whistel down
are only hair at the temples--
adorable maybe, that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though wooden their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(1952)
69608432 - Zooniverse2017
AT HOMEA mirror puts the sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the east.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods.
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
exceeds the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass,
the feet shy from metal.
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town.
Light alone is solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-successfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburne's hill no stately glide
of king-size women, sure to tower.
Whips that do not whistle down
are only hair at the temples -
adorable maybe, that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though wooden their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(!952)
69641476 - ambaker
AT HOMEA mirror puts the sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the cast.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods.
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
excedes the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass,
the feet shy from metal.
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town.
Light alone is solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-successfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburne's hill no stately glide
of king-size women, sure to tower.
Whips that do not whistle down
are only hair at the temples-
adorable maybe, that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though woodern their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(1952)
70811915 - Arabicstar
AT HOMEA mirror puts the sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the east.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods.
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
excedes the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass
the feet shy from metal
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town
light alone is solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-succesfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburne's hill no stately glide
of king-sized women, sure to tower
Whips that do not whistle down
are only hair at the temples -
adorable maybe. that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though wooden their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(1952)
70890161 - Preacher357
AT HOMEA mirror puts the sky
in the corner of my room.
A bed imports the cast.
The houses on the hill
hide the earth and soil
the washing of the gods
When I watch the sky
in the angle of my room
east becomes west.
The brick chin of the hill
excedes the hidden soil
and the buried gods.
WINTER
Frost is Paduan on grass,
the feet shy from metal.
Winter welds the garden
as it remakes the town.
Light alone is solid
in tangible rays and plates.
Buildings are shades we tried
half-successfully to conjure.
IN PUTNEY, LATELY
The doubts of daughters are refined.
On Swinburn's hill no stately glide
of king-size women, sure to tower.
Whips that do not whistle down
are only hair at the temples -
adorale maybe, that only.
No hamadryads in those heads,
though wooden their character.
Miss myth of nineteen fifty two.
(1952)