#besprent garden

[besprent-garden]

I'm moving this week, so I'm emptying out the tiered planter that had herbs and Strawberries into some railing and hanging planters.

Also pruned a bunch off my climbing rose, and attempting to propagate the cuttings!

#besprent garden #container gardening #new dawn climbing roses #rose propagation #strawberry plant #rosemary plant #thyme plant #chocolate mint plant

[libidomechanica]

Cease, ye faint flowres, that speech

A sonnet sequence

                It once possess’d, how he would have to roam. My head besprent with Time and cups full of matter, waking up for home. And purple cleft brings fresh Amaryllis, she never die, but all my good! Lost it for everyone here who doth hence remains, the loveliness, like his, a mute and waile with the ruins. They knew you once and sing for a wind that it might I am chain’d to the trouble behind. Cease, ye faint flowres, that speech. Her soul gives me sigh for sigh and all that crimes, though she knowledge of our set, five other face at another’s Then drew the pillow then to call the place.

                Sweet tones are we, and stormy air. These thinges, the sodain rysing of such fire that he is secure, the swarms that thou waited those fools of race accounted, that we see day, where I may give that doth breed, but find some Hercules to bene espyed. Cried Urania quench not, that you over, pledge you as good! And I would learn to dig in his hands once so beautiful and grief her bow and pass into your lighter timber cotes to his mother’s manners may I sing to inquire into the pine, not from her wi’ matter, and petty Ogress’, and Where, ’ asked Walter ward through my obedience.

                Remorse and waile with outward part: no, nor for any male things? And all confine; I looked for peace, and when other accents do this end: that I am that due to the runaways would pay with thy tongues, the house thy obscure complaining sleep; the shot. Draw in’t a wound with wo, euen ready for to pine with such as he fought the Strangers wrought; it is not warm, let me mention, to do it, the city, and which name of best, of touch unique to us. He tore out of them or explained them to me he made one with inharmonious sighs, tears, instead of desire increase, and her ankles.

                Far from the eldest. One sacred Right—but needlesse lust me so did sting, that by themselves be bevel; by the reed, which thy book. Of the curse of Cain out of thy beauty, but they stand anything will bear, and petty Ogress’, and ungrateful, that word, that grasp’d it; of that Hobbinol right—just don’t know not what. To closely cling that thoughts so sweetly doth deceive you. Your trade was with the light and the fall off at any laud there, tree of pity, its bark is driven: my true-love hath of many-colour’d glass, nought reaped but a kiss now! They knew you once and so we forged a sevenfold story.

                Each was as worn as an old old woman. Name, I would, we know the place—stumbled together by pulleys like pageantry of mist on an autumnal Night, thought her might bear his tomb a feast shone, silver lyre unstrung. Her when what beautiful and with thoughts, although not so; not cold,—but very poor instead of gold, which did shiver; and, being told about the Judaic ground, taking itself where’er the story and think I may give that on the great morning; if they be fair and woman. Wander not—the maiden cherish’d; others, even so as foes commend. And isolate pure daylight on.

                We should know exactly where, but pity and deer, his remembers choke the hour their secret hair and thou art jealous is, which shake again whence then, from his breast alone here ingage, thou usurer, that which is my sommer worne away of the word, this woman, O this agony of flesh! Wrung on the pavement lay carved stone, and near, as any garden lawn: and here your own line, have we, for a moment of proud compare with me through time to time, to all ouercast. Els thought, a dream on the square were out of thy lawn, see all. And we will of God and see these graves are blue, and beds by thy sour leisure gave swerved; and, looking-glass gleamed at the vapor can make with a ruby large enow to draw men’s eye, and sue a friends, and here was crazy. You had sounde. Ask God who knew not twas her own. Again where kingly Death whose engine refuses finally to turn over: yeah, I know not what.

                And pounc’d with sanctimonious sighs, the princes waiting for long walks were torn from their sister’s song like skaters on them were a pitty. Yes, yes, we know the fan be fynd, all was lost their shoes worn as an old jockstrap. To its eclipsing Curse whose transmitted effluence cannot guess God’s universal culture for each other’s watch. But ah vnwise and Self-contempt shall be its earthly guest looks ouer the waves, on purpose not think I gave you meet the door. Guttering, choking, drowning. I turned to me with the restlesse hare, till the place, heroic if you were the shot. And light limbs as if an openness of any kind mean silent, drawing nigh and praise to mind: and soon a taper light lest it makes my stomach lurch, it’s that, in pure madrigal, unto his vertues shore. Love a child so very fair, it was howling in the mirrors of and thought it just above its mortal love.

                Sterling silver-set; about the princess, six feet in earth, defac’d its crescent sphere in this chair to feign his druggy sleep. That no passion have, but mine own when I am weary’d with all about the notes were made, and, yonder, shrieked and shadow of the flocks into my face and you are alike in the rest, and sere and deer, his remark which once he crossed, and your eye’s tail up as I shook the light lest it make the youngest said, that Loves delights are past, having misplaced there, til shee were stript as bare a golden throne,—and that which he brought me great god Pan, by moonless nightly passe like this.

                Or staircase whose might doth my rest defeat, to play on the day, Sir; there never felt closer to you. I for Glory; ’twere halfe mellow ripe: my harueste hasts to see, and birds perch’d on the avaricious play he seems nothing back at all I loved her face he made reply to win her! And after from that spurn their beds and fussed around, on which thy lips were seven stayed the point of entry. Thee that cruel lovely; take my ruby ring upon it, and Thou Shalt Not, writ over there did lay up; and call the vale; and one keen stars awake no more than earth I cry for still: I cannot pass away.

                Love upon me even love that sustaining gilt from shape, and all thirty year, for what maid will not thy show, the tyrant, for thine eyes loue, I cald my Loue vnkindly heate, that by the tones are as dull, who can know how she liked it more than you by a sketch in plaster; you want to draw the brae, Sir, the death does hast. Mothers, even we, even in his own thought no crime, Sir. With lightning and winged Persuasions and verses yet did ever be who make myself with points in the quiet soundtrack of screaming. And faded from the center of willows, another missing person, would understand.

                Glory they that hearts can mend; all tongues, and went on with the bird and feeling stirs again! We studied hard in ours, when hope has kindle day; or the questions they would now long-needy Fame doth euen that bottom of, my eyes with many fights, placed the breme Winter is come, stopped, he would leade me forth on Fancies bitte to play the graves, and which is so deeply had I been breath may by Petulant she spoke, and save, should be grau’d in my heart, and thee. The wind: and ioyed oft to chace the gulf of death, when thou art all but me. Down in the son a Walter too, ’ said Lilia There are their head, and silver.

                From hurt you have been mine own bud buried in the world. I watch bled bad blood; he went, unterrified, about Judas—about Judas—about Judas—about this heart his partiall lot. As the ever-beating to the best, simply I credit cards and what indeed, in far less polish’d days, robert Burns: time, when thou art become, and in my heavy mind my wheel; my fingers ache, my lips. And, falling dross the patron with change, was of inflation that are you as good! Let him gain their hair and queuing up from her griefes then pleasure, endlesse folly is here! Can vie with life’s strategy?

                A light in view? Ah! They were but droop there, tree of pity, its bark more beauties, and the inner cost,—this love by wealth have missed us much. Which euen to ken, how after the angel pure and thou Air, wet with rigorous rage hys right. Oh, weep again! Light flows our war of mocking words, are weak to unlock thee, like Swallow swift I wandred here your own likeness, walking thrown? And left alone while he vomits he calls at three of their excellence. High o’er his life. A scarf of orange route. Revolving year fallen on a turf grown poor, I shall cling to thine own sorrow, is not pure theory.

                You walk away. Commit to the killing dross that dark mantles rent; as from the graves, and still as oak-leaves after, long enough is me sent: from alle wommen my louely Spring bid me far off from all years it felt, yet could tell it backwards, then it would have been falling that rang with the solve is tholien while the only when the Rights of May, my dripping limbs as if she Autumn were, Lament anew, Urania he is a pond where comfort found? Arranged a country’s pride, according to the broken lily lies—the story now to die and dishonest speech. To take a new rhythm.

                I think, since which like an anadem, wash’d his light and set it free or four day this man saying plainly of not turns up through one with that so they ne’er will gather’d into death for any outward part: no, nor for my birth can join together my pain. Far from hevene it is not take my sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. Some golden speare, which Cupids self, from the with your eyes and therefore if to the thousands dead and purple cleft brings fresh from over the sea as mere context for true heart to bleed, yours light, a lifetime. Long as firme in staying, wolves no fiercer in the questions they were life to me and revolutions; let Majesty your hands though our tears instead of eyes, The One remains, the same, perplexed and his grave, I met beside a springing That ole Ace down into though I adore that Beauty joins with the song, whose people of this book to mine!

                He lies, that drove her foes with their maisters and Dreams and a light is flying and paddling wind. The little of the Eternal Hunger sits, but praise to suffering means falling through the death to closely cling that some conceits your nocturnal skin. Continue to fall like a thing rise to suit with love in for aye undone. That Benediction which is my haruest hope I haue nought we know, a man with its punctual, mysterious courtesy. Yet each produce his pick of their youth with the barley Miller he hecht her a head! Cling to the pillows, of moss and that thou wilt not, nor manners.

                For truckers, that were white should thou shalt find so high? Consume us day by daylight who plann’d fond wretch that would. Which be wont to drink, and promise! Upon a sleeping flood is whittere than my o’er-press’d. At our dearest. For such a dainty rind, should in them for pitty. A most crowded street looked again, for her soule, arm’d but surety-like to a laugh, never turned to scathe. Came one unto my deeds to pry, to find those thousand fragrant flowers should growe, without a dawn, down in the youngest daughter’s grave. Had been added but talk you overlooked and shadow.—’Tis dear, dear silence, cried: Arise!

                It must be Honours Funeral. Or go to Rome, while he sate the low vibrated, as thy gentle children lisp the Rights of Woman is, protection. Is my soul had then overlooked and the boat was honest man. And teach them that, by filling mirth an echo like things here, why choose me your countenance now for no offence, save against the faculty to read: the hall flowers, and Lovers are as firme in staying, wolves no fierce beams on me, do I not that I writ, your hearts move: els though the misty vapuors, which will pine if we long tarry. Dulce— No—Decorum—No—Pro patria mori.

                Whose rude shaft which in turn; and short tunes? No, nor for these things: whether the nest, some boy would blaze, and died; and all the great pitty. ’ The grass and by your failing: these his very small. Sweet tones are remember’d name! Early cup with their tears Live! If there kept. Without touch my mother. Hoping that speech,—nor ever charms—who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? And all confine; I looked rare with tilt and pass; silent light on. Things do not remember’d dear, sweet self to be! And all those bodies I have him back who to entrappe the firmaments and revelled in each others: we will awake him not!

                The mould; not like an autumnal Night, that if I had to phone. Past, his faint cold repose. The nameless sadness o’er earth and wealth have my whimsies; but there’s your affection’s nakedness, and this world. While I breath whose transfuse with that night nurse with rage of love; it is not like Venetian blinds, she never could I know not what flinty savage dares of tears which he brought? The fair and would nourished. He lives, he forst them all—this were scantly gentle breath Oh, weep for Adonais? To call back Night, and flower Oh, weep again! But grief itself and this the sea as mere contention summon, ah! Shall profit thee that dealt with eternally. To shear away are deaf and blind. May be near or far; past land and sighs. It so happened that he is secure, their trance awake; mine own sorrow, say: With me through his still, patchy and some yet lives still possibly escape? The Miller he hecht her a head!

                He is the coste doth breed, but find so high? And when. Broken shack. With the rusted to themselves; and then being blindly wove To Phoebus was iudge between us at the airport so I can do for you. Pastoral war; and left a desert, I am not all unworthier, told of college, visiting them, and robed the sullen year? By sight. And Pleasures; nor with base infection to explore, such as I tell you everything will be past are alike in this book there’s coffee in the world, or else this glass. Do you wrong: you take thy brands back, and she scarce discerne the smile instead of gold.

                A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon rose gem-like up before and hate, to Fame’s serene abode. Should have broken, while quacks of State I’me in: since all my best doth take a new neighbouring borough which, which is so rash as rise in lawrell tree: in truth, even whilst thy contentedly, and tomb-stones where it glides, the voice reveal! Dull fence are we, and after the burthen laughed free, for that way, since her delight inviolate’s the people for weeping. Silent lightning and musicks mirth, a good thing of the pleasures may serve their wills could observe what thy voice, whence it was gold or silver.

                Struck me, that bottom deservest alone. So may your failing: these his eye upon their eyes squinched tight, or steepy mountains, invulnerable nothing less or more than music, wander nothing loudly in the river of you and I from year to year for longest last where roses gules are borne darkly on my dreams, before—so deep in us, to know whence then, Love’s prompture deep, has not Love’s whisper of a lord, and swam for wowing al for thee yon kingless sphere, the limpid water turbidly flowed the green access Whence around, dark vault above its mortal! Trading talk like beads.

                My deeds must not broken? His head who pierce it anywhere; yet still haue somewhat need’st thy death. You want to drink, and people: thither, no more by a warble than the evening I come back to the patient leaders did not with sparkless as required—but something over: you’ve to settled pleasure, blind with foot so free; she seemed as lost or seemed as lost two cities rough with no runway light’st flame with such pryde at length was so true, tell her than I could take thee sink when hope has kindle day; and e’en woe that bottomless curl. Turns up through their pleasures may thee only, whom near slain, kill me outright win.

                Lay thy hair all unworthier, told of college: he had breath, for heate of Empires and with little like winds or fountains, and Life’s pale limbs, so late her dear Eulalie upturns her violets, white, doe intermix’d connection, one sacred blood; he went, unterrified, about this caprice; and be my love is only paid, tell Rosalind, her Colin bids him clayme with music and spend in it for everyone else’s credit cards and owners of the tomb. It was your vision of thy mind, and yet I loved her more than of either curvëd point,—what bitter blasted, and after the waves, or none, or hurtful beastes to frame, such as I. Were in sphere ingage, thou usurer, that is t but mine forbear to year fallen to grone, hoping that rugged way, pursu’d, like a lord; and did myself, and all the faster for thee watch I whilst thy delight. Without a dawn, spread; since Reasons self doth bind.

                Like Oedipus I am losing faster: places, and flash upon the ground, taking its own likeness, and Loue, of this wild king to its wounds; see lines and leaves there, when thou seest there are not fitly done to give. Will rock the head. ’Er tripped upon it and flower-fence facing a bier, wash’d his liking stays. What can I forgive! To-night; Within what thou hadst set me and there was old he picked the French hood and unmarked, his own thoughts and cannot blot of lust and earth tis his fitting out of sight; beyond all the people ignoring it rent the hills where thou dost seek! All your melancholly mind.

                Our human hearts have not me to thee—ponder how—not as to a slope of green footsteps; no one else. A beauty’s angel pure and then overlooked and stalls in our loss, rouse through the grainy dusk toward another’s windows do display for loue they gave the park: strange round with their night to six A. Beside him lives the white brow that else had grinned at me; He began, the wise, silent lightning and with his front built in the river. Petulant she sped to Hero, nothing stood the sweet girl-graduates in the act! Dear Perenna, prithee come and wasted, thus is my love me still, from the wintry sky.

                I did look, or sing it? Light flows our war of mocking Nymphes did folow Pan, the first explain their wills and flew through one with such as mighty things here, why choose you thinking mud. You wanted a piece of many- colour’d glass, All he had a dream. The morning, the great princess brought into thought her eastern mountains rise, had leave: but Walter nodded at me then we court in beauty doth deceive, and breaking soul. Our breast the frailties why are wet! By the river; and hacked and promise every day. In sorrow, say: With me Swift as a Thought the beautiful arose, let me sleepiness, my dear!

                And takes to move: so thought—star follow, each produce his piteous mone. That have pitch’d in Heaven’s air: let him gain their prey. And left a desert, I am not the shepherd peres somedele ybent to see. Sweet, sweet, the beautiful than the churchyard yew a blooming girl, whose hair was wet with price of purple and came over there a group of girls in circle. Should keep you missed it, the sun has set. Since if the velvet petticoat, or as Anacreon old; no poet’s horse? Till the sleeps with death, and the just popped out on the present moan? A land of tales that she is unjust? As silence.

                Though their badness reign. Then it would understand— a heart and kiss is but brakes and replied one of all thought of Heaven, laughed and stalls in our breast, and Thou Shalt Not, writ over the deep; but it isn’t hard to master though driving on his count bad what indeed this the vertical light lest it make the riper should adorn the swallows reappear; whose disdaineth, her beauty doth explore the rose-mark on her long-lost child, beautiful and swift—tis Adonais! They are no sign posts in the rapid tide, and they course; a longinge for semlokest of alabaster pure; gold is that makes me write.

                The effect was once touched her moonlight a cigarette is ended, a little of thy beauty’s charming, taste not where’s a something in the sport went hand is laid in our day. Close as we’re ever mourn while you discourse of corn such colours from alle wommen my love in desolate; all other limbs as if in dewy sleep. Each leaf make one twain, by praise that does not too hard to master’s hand is laid in prose, he would break so great: it is battered the night heal … You know when and what scene he sung new sorrow will come on its green access the pain I feel the tune they though his partiall lot.

                A Gothic times are fled; now, well-built nest. Handing you your cool me with shepherds feed they transfuse with a softer voices? So sad a sigh has brought him, as each are mirrors. Fire outlives there it’s not single good, but add, jenny kissed me. How deep below the rusted to the set of sun upon a mortal strain, A half-disdain perched and ruffled by the assention summon, ah! Here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, and Love taught they go. Since which through their wills and fortune—range the revolving year fallen to grownd before the shoes! But these—what kindles the women gather’d into diamonds.

                Another clipp’d her matron eye—while the twangling violin struck my brow; the soldier’s death with such pryde at length, or find a home against a wall, your judgment continual haste. And I will permit a place to face, silent light on dark and monogrammed watch, would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, nay even to thy fame! Thou art a girl as much bright-eyed Eulalie but droop there; and that their rounding, for longer it is battered the night by the snow and sagged like old sweatshirts. Leave to despise the spear? Or in Moor-fields, this other one and understood when Adonais—he is dear, and at herself she laughed They will truly tell it backwards, then they stole betwixt the song of care: which, erring here at Christmas. Had full cold hath pight: my heart thumping like any other. So we false subtleties these most tender flower the annulus—a planets, to your vows, accept the facts!

                With the rest. Like dew upon a velvet scabbard! Smith made, with self-substantial fuel, making Woes darkness and the dead seaman’s knell. And that there was like Cain’s or Christmas solecisms, seven-headed monsters of death call, would understand. Details I have fill’d its lovely; take my ruby ring upon it and dumb with graves are borne in siluer field. So your list, put that I might poetess, I would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, nay even thus invade a Lady’s quiet. When the mimic stations, airs; ’gainst such a crime. Say I’m sad, say then, the first came red. Said he, all fear, and wise.

                The art of me? And that if I had touch the ceiling. Use, and feelings that do such entertainment need, so may you wrought—o Greta, dear a head grown moderate: sometimes are fled; now, well-built nest. But the old warrior lady-clad; which did shoue: each had outwept its rain. There never again, and thus, God of dewe, yet dewed with her moonlight vapour, which he brought haue thresht in swelling caramels and kindle day; as it hastily I drop a grave among the green, yours is a matter, wake and all that catches us by surprise. The passengers from neighbour seats: and his grief. Right hands.

                Though much, is not; wondering pale before says she not sighed deep, dear Cloe, this private pain as if facing, was for thee yon kingless sphere, the Woodes can in another accents do this praise, but truly tell it backwards, then the lovely pallor which beats so wild, so deem’d not by our pretty; but to peep in at a hole, and yet cause be of them. You, rare as dull, who cannot mind my wheel; my fingers ache, my love swear to sorrow; sad Urania; Midst other their ways; I sit and felt the plasma, listening to itself must surely be the fatal draught, sooth’d, lov’d, honour’d that we would have known!

                I, that kind? Kill me outright wings, the faculty to read: the hall to use, and in hands thoughts so sweet birds perch’d on the weak hand that would. And make her soul gives me fruit and is laid in prose, he would have once mingled love first attention summon, ah! Only— but this moment, with the echoes render no sonne now shines so in them would prepare to be eddying at the ledge itself where’er the trembling of the summer’s flower is to the castle. La la la, this music with your nocturnal skin. None of the Abbey-ruin in the blasts of vaine loue I bought, and worth did in tract of falling.

                Lying on the ravens, and did not you pinch a flowers or brake off from an infant’s smile kindle day; of stormy visits; but thought, making a poet sublimer than the actors or spectators? Thinks I see him stand nor to himself, beside my daughter. Live thou, contracted to this pastoral war; and loathed rite and, as a dying meteor staircase whose fame who were halfe mellow ripe: my haruest hope that are you this but thee; thine eyes loue, I cald my Loue vnkind; she in whose disdain perched on the tune they say. Dear under-song in clamorous Deep round the yellow-haired young praise thee?

                Remembers better; remembers more than the actors or spectators? Those that when the many Lilias in the wall for such a wretch that other accents are pretty; but there are store of; witness he that from her way even to thy keeping? Heard about it later. Warm French break so great: it is not gone; thou now art! The sun upon a hill, after room, imprisoned the head. Attach to move: sayes that could scale he hath my heart. Through camps and as a good things are as dull, who cannot guess God’s universal culture for whose eyes my life, he would, could I have though he plaid in our stars!

                With a cypress sprig there, but they course, fit for harm, so he withers but straight thus watred was my bowre, the Woodes that men are taught The splendour nought we know, dies. Let me not with pansies overblown, hot Shame shall all the same heart’s that gentle Eulalie’s most humbly own—’tis dear, dear silence sink no moment, then for thought of Woman is, protection. I will not speak to me and revolutions; let Majesty your hand came debtor for the trees. It was not a presence I adore that was howling in their loss with slaughter’s case; more than mourners, weep again! And the past are all is fled!

                The sorrow; from home into mischaunce mought the white radiance fell? It is me sent, etc. Plump, soft, and all that a poor soldier went forward through our tears and soon a taper lighted; and dull the tubes and the dorm. With face at another mine thou wilt take, that I by verse seeke the wintry tempests of vaine loue in her should find a clear away are deaf and blouse—nay, a bit of beard too; or you got it, the craggie Oke, all in love’s best habit is in seeming trust, and stalls in ours, and they could not locks thus is my boast, and that al hire baundoun. Round about her maiden mild! Sweeps through we inhabit together make thee naked to life eternall sleepe. She remembers more than you and if that should not agree, whether make the youngest, dearest. I cry for still: I cannot live: tell her things of the lever was an academic joke. Most musical of mourners, weep again!

                Drove they possibly useless they drank your beams as the ever- beating of them. Decrees I, forc’d, agreed, yet with love, but other side moment at once possessed. Heaven, and the door. That we don’t so much live with, it seems, as live for baptism, I am fain to brain, to take or leap thy winged throne, thoughts else survive not think me that inbent eyes can scarce uplift that we before the unnameable nameable for other side, and the day, when first if those wrung on the sun on the Board, i’m queen myself I’ll forfeit, so that blest sphered shards the effect wouldst be wooed and twilight Phantasies; dimm’d the aëreal eyes that moment at them; I cannot blot yielding not, wounded heart, unstained, untold, and the wits, and straight thus watred was my wont: who told the moment, with slaughter settled pleasures; nor will gathered long. And some Hercules to be my lover were a comet in his grief.

                Time’s thievish progress to eternity! Without soul hath his life rose, and light spear topp’d with love, and now, like blows, another in her slippers warming by the shepheards boyes your affection. Was a mistake made then they must ask. For long we gazed, but spring is a weed that we would euer laste. Pageantry of mist on an autumnal Night, though you can call it a fear of her lips: and Walter showed the lady may’ress pass’d in disguises, alien to the rest of men, and wavering pity dies or e’er the nest, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continue to flie, and that he spear?

                Consuming then for a skin white, and drew, from the rest followed: and opening one after room, I hunt the same, who seeke the hour their deeds; lilies that whilome in your fists around like a visions, keep which by and by your tender Lambkins takest keepe: and the light Leave me not, that is old, and robed there, herkne to my words not ever, and there were pretty looks were such as he was in my epitaph a Poets name. And the silent gulf between the boards ere long, and nothings. With the smiles no anodyne; give me my honesty again, with clamoured he, and make a brave expansion.

                The amorous birds sang. But where. Said he, all fear, if they were torn from their throng far from the din of starry dew for such as he sate, while shadows like the solve is twain, by praise, when rough the cold, with the rest would spy it. Looked at her worth! Me; my spiritual splendours of their time’s thievish progress to recall the vision of thy mind; growne there, of hopes swarm at ever done, has perish’d, said he, all fear, most unregarded River of thy wife, as the lad benighted. Were in this tree, was neuer pype of reede did behold when yellow-haired young as yet his fitting on with the love look well.

                ’ And here wert thou, O cruel! So sang the phone book the west, which Cupids self, and known she said, to the telluric lighter a wound, which was ill repayde, the little, so you can make your’s bleed a tear some golden hair. Even for aye undone. The art of lost liberticide, and tenor of the dawn. He was drown’d, and smil’d, and the lips have remembers more than foreigner grass. Love is that footsteps to a singled to endure what once walked I will bring you your cheeks bespread; since all my best doth with newer might bear his tomb a feast shone, silver lyre unstrung. And the singing from New York, lying on with coral clasps his part, which locke of dewe, yet growest words not so bright as though Loves delightes, that would not be shown, on each, spirit shall o’er head she sleeping eyes. Fountain she pin’d away nor to his wish, nor I rasher and think I’ve done in vert field is spread; since in your tender heir might win.

                Way to thee which was more than mine; for so it seems the lamp and threw a grave thou, then lets you sit holding then forgot how to make fine cages for thy place! Cloak and act our hidden rills float heart confers with me and be my comfort is, she cries, a quickening sky. No moment, and leaves there such a draught of Woman is, protection. Farther, losing your smiles no anodyne; give me kind Amaryllis, the princes waiting for long we try in vain to brain, to thy sweet leave to entertainment need, so may your home, and what it once might keep thy heart, I said, that is fixed point from which in the string each the echoes render no song but by others’ seeing the modest Eulalie brought haue thresht in swelling sheaue, cockel for the corner. Adieu my little wilful thorns, and all cold duty now allows. It—’tis dear, and love which can hurt and ease: and Priests in black gowns, but missed us much.

                While the only made the door. Not be shown, on each, spirit is mute voice in all her that hides always,—they knew you out from which must give golden snake, and what strange; they rightly do inherit heaven’s smile, over eighty, in diapers every human bread; now that sicknesse tries, which euen grow rich, meaning my Stellaes face, nor for a hero lies beneath her eyes can in another accents of purest gold; a belt of strife, and soon a taper light; see, on the tailor’s wife who takes long-distance calls it The Night; o Night of disbelief though in their dismay. First sight, sooner than the eldest.

                Proctor’s dogs; and on your wailing, and now, like beads. Which leads, through one which to move: for which smile instead of pearls begem; seek shelter ward th’ impending strait-besieged by this shall cling to the brightly: on a cheek the little flock, that we can stop the river. But when the words; for the shore, far from home into itself in flowers should not defend my wheel; my fingers of the river. How black night of laughing loudly in them lying lovers on the happier people suppose we joined the sun from an infinite agree? Judas Iscariot, belonginge is ylent me on.

                Nay is worse from God than from an infant’s smile, over the dead; Thus ceas’d to burn, with mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al for these women play upon thy selfe, and poore I am near the men, like to me, nor dare claime from my trust I would have lived twenty posts of vaine loue in her Paradise she sped to Hero, nothing reprov’d. May be straightway spent all perfumes the Unapparent. You stood before and be my love me even love too weak the glory to recall the vision fleeting, a beauty doth explore the rose, and see your worldly jars, nor the tide I had died, whose are the roses gules are remember’d dear, sweet as English air could love. And higher on her walls. And then adieu,—farewell! What dead weight thus watred was my wine; that love that foreign fellow,—who can know how she pays, in a playful mood, for heart, I said, Those armes there were missed them: then the lightning?

                Death trampled some wine but he faster for a hero lies bene dryed vp for lacke of dew: let me, true in love, our hope, our sorrow, say: With me So sang the gaudy springe giues place to fall like a theater of customer: his letchery being told about him’—which he brought? Heard about like things do not think I may give that on the spirit and gaze at the muse hath awaken, though in wretch! A man become an offices, so oft as this letter to bring to feele my griefes then pleasure lost there’s coffee in them let it too deepe furrowes eld hath pight: my head bespread; pavilioning them; but, if a mightier arm lifted, eyes on mine, we stayed awake. My little hours, our eyes were on the heard the sun’s domain as silver clear, plump, soft, and there: for ylike to thee why that anyone who could see on a springe, all tongues, the old warrior from the mirrors.

                They dance, and nowe imploy the right iudgement bare, to Pan his motives, others of the radiance of Eternity. We doubt not think only. Descend—oh, dream not all unworthy. She gotten? Between their cheeks bespread; Not all the famous—that Judas I have lied. His voice is hush’d over the dead leaves; since gods began to make the couering of their tears which sometimes discover, and that heart! How often made one wide chasm of time for her soul gives me fruit and flowers: but if we long as fire outlives the breathing-space. A gown of what we can stop thine own well full, if they buried stream.

                His tender you appear before it melts. Seeing the point of recognition. Fresh winds of light.—My true-love hath interest in: there taste that a poor soldier told. Cried Misery, childless Mother, may be far off from a high building and even the slope, the sacred blood run upwards from expense; they rose shrank like a ballistic missile, would under the park: strange experiments for where Venus gloue, ioue on his favour I a God becomes heavy as soil. Black night I am chain’d this kind of the pure delight, the basest weed outbraves his dignity: for sweet, O great god Pan!

                Indeed their veil I saw and line I sued the princesses sprang elate, but as thou noteless blot on a remember always had: as a kid, it was gold or silver mixed to one, passions will truly tell it backwards, then of the rainbow’s glory to deceive thee so thine eagles beare, which dull Time most unregarded River of thee, yet renounce then, how ill should know exactly where, but the knolls a dozen angry models jetted steam: a petty railway ran: a fire-balloon rose gem-like up before. Or steep-up spout wherefore from me farewell! From vases in this huge rondure hems. Through gilt wires and thereof to me should by other one and dropt a fairy parachute and still, oh, still, hoping that you may loue of plaint yet mine own bud buriest thy cold embers choke the wine-cup glistens, speak not when we met, jumping like a bird-understand. This is the stinking mud.

                Her loues Authority, wild me the lamps the silt and the light on. Hot Shame shall lead and wrong it—’tis dear, dear Cloe, this other wept, but the eyes and idle hours, our eyes were such a crime we hear little clock-work steamer paddling plied and stumped the immortal lease. Clasp with Sylvia gay, to love their own or See, it’s something of the river. I don’t know thyself thy footsteps to a singing angels would have known the time it takes long enough for one to thy winged Persuasions and yet hast though those for whose limbs, so late her dear delights the park: strange round the low wind whispers near: life, like this.

                Love must of force in all her than music, wandering pale before the age one arrow sped He is heart ye caverns and veiling heavens, clamor’s hour. Charades and they played charades and the lights where you thief, who love can burn in blood, like Apollo, from Beauties, and love is that thought, beneath his answer thee as those gold candles fix’d on mighty fuss just let me, true in love like Love, then live with sun and mov’d trick’d in dazzling immortal in the contagion; how thy mind, Midst others in me, the ghastlie Owle her grave, the mall selling through the town, unto the lamp and the forms they return!

                What we would breaking them; invulnerable nothing but satiated at length, to the son a Walter showed to me so did sting, that she does penance my deathes wounds; see lines on his because in me behold as airy as they should be above, and, yonder, shrieked and Lilia with the echoes rang, while one swear to the truth of a song? Love too weak the glowing old, but add, jenny kissed me when we will I ask in a look, sharp than the eastern mounting all day long shines, Earth’s heart palms of heath, my deare, whose disdain shepheards foote: sike follies and silver leaf, the dice by turns do cast. Strangers wrought him, as each at a crust like a lord, and cozenage; and that, said I, was well, while they him called love. I wont afore, when awful Beauty joins with Science; otherwhere pure spirit should her girlond dight, and I, that lulled me asleepe, the wise, which knows the hill forgotten except by me.

                She wrote and dried him ten league-sundered by the gulf of death, and the light life of life; and in betweene Ioue, Mars, and floating echoes render no more, whose eyes and thither, no more by a warble than magic shore. The place, the curtaines of the ravage they do not thou! Became my blushing bride—till that my paines of thy sour leisure gave sweet tones are blue, and we missed us much. He is not single good, but all well-built nest. The eye sinks inward, and thought fall, and isolate pure sport; a herd of boys with food of suffering monument, which the hand that thought him so giv’n to flying. No song when thy might he reclines of Love, freedome gladly seekes to read and long tunes and Adorations, with dew all turn’d to Time, thou shalt call me by arte more ord’nary eyes with these ladies sing madrigals. As when you read the shot. Kind of girls’ dormitory. The king locked and silver.

                Son lay, with a feeling stirs again! The sun on the sward she tapt her on her loues Authority, wild me then is quench’d its caress, as if that yearning soul. Made longed, all was lost—her stature more than vile esteem’d, when awful night doth worship thy delights are Pretty, to dwell in the middle of my youth without a dawn, Go thou canst not one word in a sinecure as he sate the gleam how deep below then to call back Night, that is why I sing, within thine own well for nuts at strife, out of season gave, and which a newer might from the comparison had with the rest would spy it.

                Quit this upon his hair. That hearts for heroine’ clamour bowled and stalls in our faults by lies bene dryed vp for lacke of pearls, or steepy mountain she pin’d away the spiritual splendours of the pine, not from hanging gown, and with the bloom, whose sacred dirges, like linnets in the wither. Half child half starved, feasted, despair. A bolt is she, most sweet girl-graduates in their faces, others and Dreams and arrow-straight they could I forgive! Your mates do too—Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert—and light and flowers that thou wilt restore him, he’d die before me little trifling Lilia’s.

                The herded wolves, bold only three A. Thy cheek all on fire, and forest’s noonday dew, so is it not think that without a moan? My freedome gladly seekes to move: so thought it out; and aspire to drop some one, and slightly passe like dew upon a velvet; or some golden snake, and the yews of you, by all my words say, or what you were many Lilias in their private institute taught the ball where music and moonlight and there is how I have heard this spirit beautiful and sweet as English air could I iust title make, that the envious wrath of man or god, the promise!

                Their shoes were gazing down into the dawn. And silver-set; about her moonlight and then believe life to me, nor dares she to deface And ever be who make thee why thou art all but me. For thee yon kingless sphered skies are blue, and overhead the broken laughed They will sit contentedly, and only herald to their chief art in him his tongue still, beside thee speaking to inquire into the heart which wields the world’s eye doth scoure. Less absolute steals shadow of alle things here silent light out. And I would deride any comparison had with the mimic not his labour to confess’d that which locke of dewe, yet growest words say, or what beside thee speaking, and moonlight vapour, which passes between their wills could observe what thy memory to deceive, and wae on the snow might have pillow glowed both roof and fling it, then in rhyme to be told, or hidden self, and fling it?

                And nobody calls you we’ and keep thy heauy mould, that was to me should in the dusky groves and sagged like an iron pole, hard as Newcastle, his heart goes to the dusky groves and dropt a fairy parachute and uncomplain, Stay yet awhile! Upon the hostile light is fled! Beautiful and sware deuoutly then. Sinks, the same reason still Cease, ye faint eyes can scarce had lov’d, honour’d the seede, that hearts, sister’s song yet fadeth in the skies, to blaze these wastefull woodes and fear I weep for Adonais calls! And on it, best one, has perish’d; otherwhere pure spirit he fed, and me fro shame.

                Dream of life’s flow, and laid the fair and see the poor dry empty nest, by moonless nightly wont what may words bring you the joking voice, a gesture I love I shan’t have been falling. Hath hire wil on hire leod to sink, was caught they cry, and monogrammed with the ruins. But Oh, who ever for thee yon kingless sphere ingage, though I cannot guess God’s present and one discussed his mouth to mine own self bring? And Sommer season gave, and chafed his tutor, rough the graceful use of those wrung on the silence, this inarticulate life. Settled pleasure by thy sordid bounty she hath shown. Come, listen!

                Variety of silence, this music with you was more wretch! And mixt with tears, led by life’s great; but we, unworthier, told of college: he had climbed across the pool, the truth of a song to give thee move, come live with the spiritual splendour, for fear this letchery being to themselves? That it should rise and every stall; the city, and what was the last cloud as silent within you wrong: you take thy brain, O Lord, more dear all the great morning the soul of Adonais call’d loveliness, but dressings one! A portion of the inner cost,—this love even, as a good knight he reclines on his icy lips; like stars were stript as bare and the springe, the sold his delights the nameless sadness reign. Spent a sonnet; with facts. And the dragon-fly on the graceful use of that so they never to his labour, I my jest: for heroes, kings. The little clock-work steamer paddling without a moan?

                Give me a place to stand anything from thee so far from thy brand; not so; but straight did not see the buried life, a thirsting. Hung in air, I would blaze, and dropt a fairy parachute and strong, face to stand up erect and stone, a phantoms an unspeakable desires have sweet pain, as a rogue in grass; and once so dear admiration. Her kindling bride. Pardon mine, we stayed at Christmas up to read: the hall flowers should hindred be. His head she lay beside the dark is moving others all too young Ganimed about it later. Forget the white death-hour round, dark vault above—devoid of God be done! A thirst to spend in light, your glorious courtesy. And binding without you, all is dead! Love a childe then contentedly, and castle he met an old jockstrap. Beneath, Swift as a kid, it was gold or silver. Another clipp’d her up, as in a tomb. Through his delight.

                Let me excuse the dawn. Drawing nigh and nigher, the wandering at the amorous birds sing made, with others’ arms and arrow- straight thus with many a man in his hard bleak steel at the door; so I turn’d to temptation dar’d to tears; odour, to sighing ruth. The shadows like Hindoos, for fun watch-tower, and sweet said, He keeps vigil like music and mov’d trick’d in death, where all the vapor can make that once, and overpowers, sing again, and thine eye aside: what need’st though the inner cost,—this love professes, and cold of November; even to the wall, as gay as any mother.

                To tell me therefore, a true womanhood, it means, a Season gave, and bites it for my pleasing eye, and people listen! Your heart, while one swear to year for longest last where you thinking songsters there. Wrung on the sky, lifts its head, and see your worldly jars, nor the sun came up naked and mov’d trick’d in song he sung new sorrow. Whose sacred thirst; and in betweene Ioue, Mars, and what I am underneath: they dead live thee my deare, whose infamy is not likely I should be possess’d, how he would, we know, dies. Time, you the frail Form, the amorous birds perch’d on the outside the swan, and think good?

                I went to raunge amydde the chaffe for barley bare. Was nought vibrated, as the fair and would now look down to a point of recognition. We forged a sevenfold story. And with foot so free; she seemed as lost— her stature more than vile esteem’d, when I praise not, that their refulgent prime; that cruel lovely pallor which to my words not ever, an old jockstrap. A gown made of your merry glee, my Muse is hoarse and wedded strings without layer on layer of feather phone booth with feeble steps o’er the sun upon a hill, after Winter commeth timely death. Is that my paines me reioyce.

                Dead; sublime, Thus he raped her maiden Aunt. So great: it is battered by inconstancy and tourney; then the summer sweet comedie by such vnsuted speech should I, like stars awake no more beauties mine earnest eyes were on the pause: these carrion kites that thou leave him back who to entrappe the facts! In the duck pond, rapping with that sell love, and fro between the chromatic scale up: for spring. Should hindred be. Winter is come and forest wyde, with such alcoves to importune! Who hateth thee and lyfe. Thirst; now beams struck up with no stain she faded, like Apollo, from the dream on the rest.

                Will the graceful use of the watch them all— this were telescopes for azure sky, while we crouched the day, Sir; there we too be dumb? The scope and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, laborious chronicle with a bough of wilding in the chaffe for barley bare. By sight, nor with briars, my joys&desire after the angels would not been, laughed and know that was its earthly doom, the disconnection, one sacred thirst; now beams on me, consuming thee,—that if reveal to one another clipp’d her profuse locks, and where was a mistake made then to thy keeping?

                This weary of this table and curl unto its wound? Robe I did better bargain driven, which had outwept its rain. Placed it by the rest, and I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; had leaves unbought, a breaking billow; even we, even for a hero lies bene dryed vp for lacke of dew: let me, ah lette me in your folds ye lock, ere the underground cast hem out to find out the spirit’s awful night of Woman merit do I in myself with hair of glittering together. No longer than a fire, through his death cricketed; they talked, about him’—which he was become?

                His extreme way to the leaves thy loud heart, thoughts and can find nothing and splendour, for fear this let us e’en talk a little, so you love me still, patchy and screaming. Why did not see the bush my bedde, and knocked upon it you discourse through time and past: and then he was old Falstaf says let us divide what I think me some did better seene, or few, do hang upon thy selfe, and will draw some sad maiden mild! To do with inharmonious sighs, the firelight is flying; give me a bower of height the king look? Kid in a funny way music sees more white radiance fell? And so high?

                Our hearts can mend; all that we would teach thou desire, give me a place to stand, Archimedes said, flying: adieu, mine host, adieu,—farewell! Of a great god Pan, the Pilgrim of Eternity, whose wings over you, lifting you to my sportive blood? Come live with a blast eche coste doth keepe. When we court in beauty is her own; as withdrawn his because of the shops, but pity and death lodge therewith I clothes still call. For heate of Empires and viperous murderers of less note, came over mine, and Lovers are as dull, who can know how black leather, for silk will doth for ever.

                With the sea. Night and the wing to these most manifold high gifts, I render not—and all the Dreams, the loves not yet—never yet was he, without you, all is well—but tis twilight Phantasies; but for our grief would run no more. Even in his druggy sleep. What are like an autumnal Night, that kiss, shall flow it felt, yet could have offered that was the clay and wasted, and feye fallen adown. Such as I to take a new rhythm. Remnant of my body. And even thus is my harueste hasts to seeke, who lends what lifts a young Folly has raptures to give him, and the lamp is shatter’d be.

                Thought follow month of May, pav’d with any of thy mind my wheel; my finger; vacant heart! The soldier heard about these—what kindle day; A pardlike Spirit without my plumes from its rocky cave e’er tripped upon it you did. Except to leave to span; have eaten with knobs and with life’s waste; the vacant leaves, or there we too be dumb? Some prescience of their Institute taught Grief made the diamond the first has fed, with food of suffer tyrannie; and in my corset-lacing. Bed, and call the many Lilias in them will no more than his, with these, ignore the breme Winter is come, stopped short tunes?

                And others came. Love not too hard to master though my mouth at this to something every creature rested, came one frailty of all the revolving year, died Adonais: wan they, ere he is kind; he learn’d but with the middle of my love swear to year fallen adown. Give me these may fail or turn those who made the moan dare their chief art in reigned sleep a full heart’s accepted sacrifice. And in your Love you are wrong that soon it will be past redress; for thy place. The unregarded curl—can compare with rage of touch, as if an icebox had been added but a kiss, she cries, Forsooth, let go!

                A heart heaving with the smart of me? The carefull Colinet. The act of falling then for a change us, nor the dead seaman’s knell; he, as I for Glory; ’twere hard world when you read the slope, the ghastlie Owle her grave, the maidenhead? And thither, no more reply to winds shook the door ajar so he was a better; remembered much about Judas, the hollies nowe haue I wearied with pansies overblown, is it not thy fame! Of their badness o’er earth and seem to be vnkindly heate, that some among, the light lest it makes me write. Dole god gave forgotten except to leave to roam.

                Which euen grow rich, meaning my Stellaes name. Were out a reed, the honeymoon couples huddled in each other, may be near or far; past land and save, should be grau’d in my change, unquenchably the sight if our old halls could truly write, shews the diff’rence thee to the village green. It would be: and which thought, he hath awaken, though he plaid in ours, when a mother was a catch. And feye fallen on a turf grown cold, whose porches rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph himself Narcissus, as to amerce my sight? You men have done, has perish’d, girt round about the notes were not, that Loves delights, but praisde.

                With a tear, and loving eye, and bread I broke promise! Passion strive which beats so wild, and overhead the broken laughed then he lay; see, on the same, whilst we speaking to the Abbey: there sighing ruth. Adieu delights thy mind. And whereon it must be meek! Purest gold; a belt of straw and ivy buds, with such melodious pain; Cease, ye faint flowers that unrest which the other place who builds up such ugliness? So now his clawe dooth wright. Yea, if they would dance no more bronze, the sleepiness, my death will permit my memory can not contain commit to thine eye but with thee perfection.

                Adieu, i’ll leave it strength, or find a home against a wall, a hedge, between the lute and weep! And, looking-glass gleamed at the multitude, a though vnfelt, doth shine, sweet Electra, and the great god Pan, their burning away from home—mothers, sweethearts, sisters, youngest he that sounding the world a year ago, what thy unkindness lays upon him, like Apollo, from kindling but false love like worms within the rush and when. They figured it weighed enough for the shadow of all: sappho next, like stars were but my vision fleeting, a beauty and it sank into the guarded wit, and trouble behind.

                Nor let us weep that ring through the mone. As he would not do—the pillow to thy heauy mould, that hill when kings of the shephearde, Wrenock was his own despite, had been added but talk you over, pledge you as good! Cease, ye faint eyes can scarce extinguish’d not; I lou’d, but satiate the voice, but, link by link, went counting birds now passed. But often, in the misty vapuors, which this heau’nly guest! But these most sweet early blooms, tricked, gardenias blown about, circling with hoofs of a lord; and the boat was its earthly doom, the dead; the love alone, but grief itself be mortal love. I will not to be mowne.

                Imagining a battle-clubs from nobler course of Cain Within what brow is that catches us by surprise, victory, being only three or vibrated, as the seas change shall be its earthly guest! When thy wife, of force, when our flocks into a new neighbour seats: and hill and aspire to drop some one, with your days to do her husband nature beares by being strange; they lost Lady came to a flame transform’d to master. Can scarce extinguish’d quite, a blush their fits of love; it is not defend my wheel; my finger with all her music, words, and names, and Glooms, and the boards ere long tarry.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #114 texts #sonnet sequence

[violettesiren]

In my pale garden yesternight The statues glimmered ghostly-white, The brooding trees that haunted me Flapped dusky wings despairingly. Both air and sky death-heavy were, But oh my heart was heavier, For life (I said) is useless grief, And death an undesired relief. Then the wind rushed up Clad in darkness and hail, Whirling the rain As a rent white veil, But my heart, my heart, Was glad of the gale. The roar of the wind Grew hoarser and higher, Till the thunder spoke And its voice was fire. But my heart was freed From the storm of desire. My lilies passion-sweet are dead, Love's purple, royal roses shed, But heart and garden are besprent With flowers of patience and content.

Song of a Stormy Night by Agnes Mary Frances Robinson

#Agnes Mary Frances Robinson

[istanbulsguide]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[istanbulpalaces]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[istanbul-day]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[istanbulsurf]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[istanbulifest]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[foodistanbul]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[travelistanbul]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[besprent-garden]

New growth on the stromanthe and calathea

#besprent garden #container garden #calathea variegata #stromanthe triostar #houseplants #tripocal plants

[libidomechanica]

To mince

The lineaments passage of  self-love, and men, and the  captain, knightst have love-freaks the winds,  the red rocks all the town, I 

read their seasons, and breakers, that  all, loves jealousy, revenge: A Ballad  of Oriana the Christian 

landscape the enormous  gate  sound low, the lofty mountain free; shakes  her heart or in Spain, I almost  lilies the twilightst him up, it  costs us! Beside  the dove from friends, on  mead and wealth and coming of  the happy morning, and the  flies the grace, and that long,  long ages upon all about there; 

meantime (yon old pass my evening in higher  pleased at the garden and wood  and we wept, and for Pyramus,  the sun peels from spot of  something into the  lines Comes and purgatorial crew! are  oil and of you when rose 

with all its salutes their materials:  she had babbled meekly from  theirs—God blessing, till gardens, walls so cost  a quarterd stalks the brows) that 

not a moments ease, that are not  a steady stands are still be storm  and deeds, and a my days, was  shows that use: the never  at least and go. like hope for 

sometimes (he known; human naked  trees; Am to me From  pearl. he fell will he refusal,  recollect you so that 

understands the floor to say,  is that ever might back to  cope for what a shadow sits  apart, he took the snow, nor thought of  eternal streamless: but whom  the other that loved to 

ask him whence I was born,  a bitterness—stood that day, ye  wadna been many a bright of 

the lash to touch! I cant 

dare a comfortable to change,  and knowledge that change! D throne. 

O Sorrow, cruel fire, and 

ride, and whites and then, you yourself  shant carry me.) Their  numbers, thoughts can be besprent a  hair had a thousand thoughts they climb.  For the years logs into  the very tree, mocks  your body and needs and though ye 

be, yet, evn tho left barren 

bush flits across th Atlantic  broad-should not shun the personage  of purchasing of thine, the 

human being much embarkd of 

late espouse, and the moulderd  with you. And heard, as  with child win must be driven, 

and four spoil, and then grow deeper eye.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #140 texts

[istanbulobelisk]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[istanbulhistorical]

TURKISH HOUSES ON THE BOSPHORUS

“ It was indeed a wide extensive building “Winch opened on their view, and o’er the fiont There seem’d to he besprent a deal of gilding, And various hues, as in the Turkish wont A gaudy taste; for they are little skill’d in the arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen IS’ew painted, or a pretty opera-scene.”

However the description of the noble poet which heads the present chapter may apply to many of the country residences on the channel, it cannot be denied that to others it is entirely inapplicable; for there are only too great a number which resemble nothing less than “ A screen new painted.”

The shores of the Bosphorus are a study—not only for their beauty, hut because, in the general aspect of the dwellings that fringe them, the traveller may read a great moral lesson; for Turkey is a country where the population do not fall back upon the past, where they are almost careless of the future, and where the present is every thing. The Turk builds for himself, toils for himself, intrigues for himself, as his father did before him; and leaves his children to strive and to create in their turn with the “ Inshallah!” of an earnest and unaffected philosophy. Fortune, even in the West, is a fickle tenure; but in the 

Osmanli rises

East, it is sometimes the mere ephemera of a day; and thus, as the Osmanli rises in that favour which alone can lend it, lie at once erects or purchases a residence suited to his brightening prospects, gay with temporary ornament and evanescent decoration, whose freshness may even thus chance to outlive his prosperity. Should it do otherwise, lie gladly renews the paint and the gilding, and repairs the ravages of the weather, or the effects of accident; but when, as is frequent]}- the case, it outlasts his fortunes, he contents himself with the faded and discoloured reliques of by-gone luxury, and satisfies himself by making the dwelling habitable, and awaiting a more golden season to renew its vanished glories.

Thus, as the light caique of the observer skims over the ripple, the circumstances of almost every householder on the Bosphorus may be ascertained by the appearance of his dwelling. The residence of the favourite and the courtier is indeed a “ wide extensive building,” over whose front is “ besprent a deal of gilding, and various hues.” The lattices of the harem arc gaily painted, the terraces arc bright with flowers, the marble steps against which the blue ripple chafes in the sunshine are thronged with attendants, and the caique that awaits its owner at their base is like a fairy bark, glittering with gold and crimson. Arabesques adorn the walls, and pretty kiosques peep from among the leaves of the tall trees of the extensive gardens ; the perfume of flowers and the sounds of music come blended along the water, and the very atmosphere breathes prosperity.

[touristicplaces]

Top 10 places to travel and attractions to portugal 2020

Top 10 places to travel and attractions to portugal 2020

Located on the western coast of the Iberian Peninsula, Portugal is one among Europe’s most

visited countries thanks to its idyllic climate, cheap travel prices and exceptional attractions.

Portugal’s varied earth science ranges from the abundant mountains and vineyards of the

North to the glamorous beaches of the Algarve on the southern outline.

Also, happiness to Portugal, however, lies within the Atlantic ar the archipelagos of Azores

and Madeira, best-known for his or her lush landscapes and flower gardens.

Here’s a glance at the simplest places to go to in Portugal.

1-Coimbra

A charming town located by the Mondego watercourse, Coimbra is home to a treasure of historic

sites and a vigorous culture that's targeted around one among Europe’s oldest universities.

One of the simplest things to try and do in Coimbra is to easily wander away and see the various historic

attractions from the beautiful recent Cathedral to the Gothic religious residence of Santa Clara-a-Velha,

which contains the grave of Queen Isabel.

No trip to Coimbra would be complete while not a visit to the University of Coimbra to admire

one of the world’s most stunning libraries.

2-The Azores

The earth of the Azores consists of nine volcanic islands within the Atlantic,

located concerning 930 miles west of Lisboa.

Renowned for foremost whale observance, hot mineral springs, and quaint seaboard cities,

each island has its own fascinating identity.

São Miguel is that the largest island of the Azores and is thought as “The inexperienced Island” whereas

Pico is home to the very best mountain in Portugal.

3-Aveiro

Hugging the country’s seashore in Central Portugal, Aveiro may be an active town

often referred to as “the Venezia of Portugal” thanks to its picturesque setting of scenic canals

connected by charming bridges and dotted with colorful gondolas.

Historic sites, attractive beaches, and attractive cookery conjointly build Aveiro a well-liked holidaymaker

destination.

The’s several looking at gems embody the Aveiro Cathedral, the São Gonçalinho Chapel

and the Convento Diamond State Savior.

These all provide pretty designs and artworks.

4-Evora

Evora could also be a tiny low city in southern Portugal, however, it packs Brobdingnagian holidaymaker attractiveness.

With a history geological dating back quite a pair of,000 years, Evora was once a flourishing town below

Roman rule.

Today, Evora shelters quite four,000 historic structures together with the recent Roman walls and

temples.

Another highlight is that the thirteenth-century Cathedral of Evora, one among Portugal’s most vital

Gothic structures.

Not far outside the town is Europe’s largest advanced of prehistoric megaliths that are also priced a glance.

5-Porto

World far-famed for its production of fine fortified wine, the busy town of Porto sprawls on

the hills high the Douro watercourse in northern Portugal.

At the center of Porto is that the charming pedestrian zone, the Ribeira, Associate in Nursing region place on

the river, noisy in live music, cafes, restaurants, and street vendors.

Dominating this well-liked holidaymaker setting is that the Ponte Dom Luis, a metal, double-deck arch

bridge that links Porto to Vila star Diamond State Ge, well-known for its fortified wine cellars.

6-Madeira

Sporting the nickname “Floating Garden of the Atlantic,” Madeira may be a fertile oasis

in the Atlantic between Portugal and geographical region, well-liked for its lush inexperienced landscapes,

flower gardens and wines.

Must-see places in Madeira embody the flower Garden and therefore the Laurissilva Forest, that harbors

the world’s largest concentration of laurel.

The capital and largest town on Madeira are Funchal, home to historic churches and fortresses

as well because the tree-lined recreation facility Promenade, that presents spectacular ocean views.

7-Sintra

Nestled within the foothills of the Sintra Mountains on the Lisboa Coast, Sintra presents a spectacular

the setting of abundant hills besprent with pretty castles and palaces.

The most far-famed is Pena’s Palace, a fantastical castle admires Germany’s Neuschwanstein.

Built-in the mid-1800s and serving as a summer retreat for the Portuguese house, Pena’s

Palace is encircled by wooded parklands containing exotic trees and flowers.

Also to not be lost ar the traditional ruins of the Castle of the Moors crowning the city’s

highest hill, and therefore the romantic Monserrate Palace with its subtropic gardens.

8-Obidos

Located on a top within the Centro Region of western Portugal, Obidos is encircled by

a recent fortified wall.

Besides the wall, the glorious medieval castle and historic center of Obidos build

up the city’s main attraction and may simply be walked.

A labyrinth of slender, cobbled streets leads guests on busy squares, quaint outlets

and painted homes spruced with colorful flowers.

The castle with its commanding building, Brobdingnagian gates, and towers is currently an opulent building

but a marvel to see, however.

9-Algarve

Sunny Mediterranean climate, attractive beaches, picturesque cities, fabulous cookery and cheap

costs ar some of the explanations that build the Algarve one among the foremost well-liked destinations

in Portugal.

Located within the country’s southmost region, the Algarve offers a feast for the eyes, from

tranquil landscapes of olive groves, ancient painted villages to the wild, windswept

coast with its dramatic cliffs dotted with summer resorts.

Faro is the region’s capital, and Lagos is that the area’s hot spot for nightlife.

10-Lisbon

Stretching on the banks of the Tagus close to the Atlantic, Portugal’s capital

and largest town winds upward among seven steep hills, forming a fascinating destination

of colorful neighborhoods, ringing in ancient folk ballad music.

The city’s oldest district is Alfama, Associate in Nursing recent Moorish quarter, distinct for its maze

of cobble streets, rustic design and St. George’s Castle.

The best thanks to expertise Lisboa is by taking one among the vintage trams like the well

known Tram twenty-eight, that winds on historic quarters, gardens and main attractions.

https://ift.tt/31h13B5 Blogger via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

[sleptintheworstpartofthistown]

Lamia

UPON a time, before the faery broods Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, Before King Oberon’s bright diadem, Sceptre, and mantle, clasp’d with dewy gem, Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip’d lawns, The ever-smitten Hermes empty left His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft: From high Olympus had he stolen light, On this side of Jove’s clouds, to escape the sight Of his great summoner, and made retreat Into a forest on the shores of Crete. For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt; At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured Pearls, while on land they wither’d and adored. Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, Though Fancy’s casket were unlock’d to choose. Ah, what a world of love was at her feet! So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, Blush’d into roses ’mid his golden hair, Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew, Breathing upon the flowers his passion new, And wound with many a river to its head, To find where this sweet nymph prepar’d her secret bed: In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found, And so he rested, on the lonely ground, Pensive, and full of painful jealousies Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees. There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice, Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake: “When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake! “When move in a sweet body fit for life, “And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife “Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!” The God, dove-footed, glided silently Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed, The taller grasses and full-flowering weed, Until he found a palpitating snake, Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d; And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries— So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries, She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self. Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar: Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete: And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair? As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love’s sake, And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, Like a stoop’d falcon ere he takes his prey.  “Fair Hermes, crown’d with feathers, fluttering light, “I had a splendid dream of thee last night: “I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, “Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, “The only sad one; for thou didst not hear “The soft, lute-finger’d Muses chaunting clear, “Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, “Deaf to his throbbing throat’s long, long melodious moan. “I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, “Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, “And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart, “Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art! “Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?” Whereat the star of Lethe not delay’d His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: “Thou smooth-lipp’d serpent, surely high inspired! “Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, “Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, “Telling me only where my nymph is fled,— “Where she doth breathe!” “Bright planet, thou hast said,” Return’d the snake, “but seal with oaths, fair God!” “I swear,” said Hermes, “by my serpent rod, “And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!” Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. Then thus again the brilliance feminine: “Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine, “Free as the air, invisibly, she strays “About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days “She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet “Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet; “From weary tendrils, and bow’d branches green, “She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen: “And by my power is her beauty veil’d “To keep it unaffronted, unassail’d “By the love-glances of unlovely eyes, “Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear’d Silenus’ sighs. “Pale grew her immortality, for woe “Of all these lovers, and she grieved so “I took compassion on her, bade her steep “Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep “Her loveliness invisible, yet free “To wander as she loves, in liberty. “Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone, “If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!” Then, once again, the charmed God began An oath, and through the serpent’s ears it ran Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. Ravish’d, she lifted her Circean head, Blush’d a live damask, and swift-lisping said, “I was a woman, let me have once more “A woman’s shape, and charming as before. “I love a youth of Corinth—O the bliss! “Give me my woman’s form, and place me where he is. “Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow, “And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now.” The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, She breath’d upon his eyes, and swift was seen Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. It was no dream; or say a dream it was, Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream. One warm, flush’d moment, hovering, it might seem Dash’d by the wood-nymph’s beauty, so he burn’d; Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn’d To the swoon’d serpent, and with languid arm, Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm. So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent, Full of adoring tears and blandishment, And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane, Faded before him, cower’d, nor could restrain Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower That faints into itself at evening hour: But the God fostering her chilled hand, She felt the warmth, her eyelids open’d bland, And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, Bloom’d, and gave up her honey to the lees. Into the green-recessed woods they flew; Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do.  Left to herself, the serpent now began To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, Her mouth foam’d, and the grass, therewith besprent, Wither’d at dew so sweet and virulent; Her eyes in torture fix’d, and anguish drear, Hot, glaz’d, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, Flash’d phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. The colours all inflam’d throughout her train, She writh’d about, convuls’d with scarlet pain: A deep volcanian yellow took the place Of all her milder-mooned body’s grace; And, as the lava ravishes the mead, Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede; Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, Eclips’d her crescents, and lick’d up her stars: So that, in moments few, she was undrest Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, And rubious-argent: of all these bereft, Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. Still shone her crown; that vanish’d, also she Melted and disappear’d as suddenly; And in the air, her new voice luting soft, Cried, “Lycius! gentle Lycius!”—Borne aloft With the bright mists about the mountains hoar These words dissolv’d: Crete’s forests heard no more.  Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, A full-born beauty new and exquisite? She fled into that valley they pass o’er Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas’ shore; And rested at the foot of those wild hills, The rugged founts of the Peraean rills, And of that other ridge whose barren back Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack, South-westward to Cleone. There she stood About a young bird’s flutter from a wood, Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread, By a clear pool, wherein she passioned To see herself escap’d from so sore ills, While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.  Ah, happy Lycius!—for she was a maid More beautiful than ever twisted braid, Or sigh’d, or blush’d, or on spring-flowered lea Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: A virgin purest lipp’d, yet in the lore Of love deep learned to the red heart’s core: Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain; Define their pettish limits, and estrange Their points of contact, and swift counterchange; Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art; As though in Cupid’s college she had spent Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment.  Why this fair creature chose so fairily By the wayside to linger, we shall see; But first ’tis fit to tell how she could muse And dream, when in the serpent prison-house, Of all she list, strange or magnificent: How, ever, where she will’d, her spirit went; Whether to faint Elysium, or where Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair Wind into Thetis’ bower by many a pearly stair; Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, Stretch’d out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; Or where in Pluto’s gardens palatine Mulciber’s columns gleam in far piazzian line. And sometimes into cities she would send Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend; And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, She saw the young Corinthian Lycius Charioting foremost in the envious race, Like a young Jove with calm uneager face, And fell into a swooning love of him. Now on the moth-time of that evening dim He would return that way, as well she knew, To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew The eastern soft wind, and his galley now Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle        225 Fresh anchor’d; whither he had been awhile To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare. Jove heard his vows, and better’d his desire; For by some freakful chance he made retire From his companions, and set forth to walk, Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk: Over the solitary hills he fared, Thoughtless at first, but ere eve’s star appeared His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, In the calm’d twilight of Platonic shades. Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near— Close to her passing, in indifference drear, His silent sandals swept the mossy green; So neighbour’d to him, and yet so unseen She stood: he pass’d, shut up in mysteries, His mind wrapp’d like his mantle, while her eyes Follow’d his steps, and her neck regal white Turn’d—syllabling thus, “Ah, Lycius bright, “And will you leave me on the hills alone? “Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown.” He did; not with cold wonder fearingly, But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice; For so delicious were the words she sung, It seem’d he had lov’d them a whole summer long: And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, And still the cup was full,—while he afraid Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid Due adoration, thus began to adore; Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure: “Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see “Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee! “For pity do not this sad heart belie— “Even as thou vanishest so I shall die. “Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay! “To thy far wishes will thy streams obey: “Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain, “Alone they can drink up the morning rain: “Though a descended Pleiad, will not one “Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune “Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? “So sweetly to these ravish’d ears of mine “Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade “Thy memory will waste me to a shade:—  “For pity do not melt!”—“If I should stay,” Said Lamia, “here, upon this floor of clay, “And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, “What canst thou say or do of charm enough “To dull the nice remembrance of my home? “Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam “Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,— “Empty of immortality and bliss! “Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know “That finer spirits cannot breathe below “In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth, “What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe “My essence? What serener palaces, “Where I may all my many senses please, “And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? “It cannot be—Adieu!” So said, she rose Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose The amorous promise of her lone complain, Swoon’d, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. The cruel lady, without any show Of sorrow for her tender favourite’s woe, But rather, if her eyes could brighter be, With brighter eyes and slow amenity, Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh The life she had so tangled in her mesh: And as he from one trance was wakening Into another, she began to sing, Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing, A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires And then she whisper’d in such trembling tone, As those who, safe together met alone For the first time through many anguish’d days, Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, For that she was a woman, and without Any more subtle fluid in her veins Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his. And next she wonder’d how his eyes could miss Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, She dwelt but half retir’d, and there had led Days happy as the gold coin could invent Without the aid of love; yet in content Till she saw him, as once she pass’d him by,        315 Where ’gainst a column he leant thoughtfully At Venus’ temple porch, ’mid baskets heap’d Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap’d Late on that eve, as ’twas the night before The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, But wept alone those days, for why should she adore? Lycius from death awoke into amaze, To see her still, and singing so sweet lays; Then from amaze into delight he fell To hear her whisper woman’s lore so well; And every word she spake entic’d him on To unperplex’d delight and pleasure known. Let the mad poets say whate’er they please Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, There is not such a treat among them all, Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, As a real woman, lineal indeed From Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed. Thus gentle Lamia judg’d, and judg’d aright, That Lycius could not love in half a fright, So threw the goddess off, and won his heart More pleasantly by playing woman’s part, With no more awe than what her beauty gave, That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. Lycius to all made eloquent reply, Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh; And last, pointing to Corinth, ask’d her sweet, If ’twas too far that night for her soft feet. The way was short, for Lamia’s eagerness Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease To a few paces; not at all surmised By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized. They pass’d the city gates, he knew not how So noiseless, and he never thought to know.  As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, Throughout her palaces imperial, And all her populous streets and temples lewd, Mutter’d, like tempest in the distance brew’d, To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, Shuffled their sandals o’er the pavement white, Companion’d or alone; while many a light Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, And threw their moving shadows on the walls, Or found them cluster’d in the corniced shade Of some arch’d temple door, or dusky colonnade.  Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, Her fingers he press’d hard, as one came near With curl’d gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, Slow-stepp’d, and robed in philosophic gown: Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, Into his mantle, adding wings to haste, While hurried Lamia trembled: “Ah,” said he, “Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? “Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?”— “I’m wearied,” said fair Lamia: “tell me who “Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind “His features:—Lycius! wherefore did you blind “Yourself from his quick eyes?” Lycius replied, “’Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide “And good instructor; but to-night he seems “The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams.  While yet he spake they had arrived before A pillar’d porch, with lofty portal door, Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow Reflected in the slabbed steps below, Mild as a star in water; for so new, And so unsullied was the marble hue, So through the crystal polish, liquid fine, Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine Could e’er have touch’d there. Sounds Aeolian Breath’d from the hinges, as the ample span Of the wide doors disclos’d a place unknown Some time to any, but those two alone, And a few Persian mutes, who that same year Were seen about the markets: none knew where They could inhabit; the most curious Were foil’d, who watch’d to trace them to their house: And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, For truth’s sake, what woe afterwards befel, ’Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus, Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.

J. Keats.

#keats #lamia