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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 10: The House Of Saint Honoratus of Amiens] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, weddings, Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Rice-A-Roni.

Word Count: 6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @bungalowbear @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Thank you so much for loving this strange, sexy, sweet story. I hope you enjoy the finale. 🥰🧁

Your bare feet in warm grass, your hands around the ropes of the tree swing, no sounds except the ancient psalms of the earth: cicadas, mourning doves, goldfinches, bumble bees, bullfrogs, wind in the leaves of the dogwoods and southern live oaks. The adolescent alligator is at one end of the front yard, sunbathing up by the mouth of the gravel driveway; in the opposite corner are several nutria nibbling on cattails. The sky is a calm, cloudless blue. It’s hot, mid-80s, even when 5:00 p.m. comes and goes; but the breeze is cool as it evaporates the sweat from your temples, your palms, the nape of your neck. It’s as close as Louisiana ever gets to Heaven. It’s a good day for a wedding.

You remember thinking that it was the end of the world when you found out you were pregnant almost exactly eleven years ago, and then again when you realized you would have to divorce Willis, and so you have lived through enough moments like this—these quiet, infinitesimal apocalypses—to know that there will be a future beyond Aemond marrying Christabel. The sun will rise tomorrow, and then it will set, the lightning bugs will appear and the stars will tell myths in the night sky, and the phone will ring as orders come in for the bakery, and Cadi will be back in her bedroom playing her Nintendo, and life will roll on like currents through the bayou: slow, opaque, inevitable. The world isn’t ending, you know that. It’s just full of beautiful things that aren’t for you.

Out on Route 401, a Plymouth Gran Fury zooms by the house, squeals to a halt, and then reverses until Willis can take another look, squinting through his tinted windows. He turns down the driveway and steps out into golden July daylight. He doesn’t pay any attention to the gator as he strides past her. He belongs here, in a place that is old and strange and savage and full of beasts. You have carved out a home for yourself in the swamplands; Willis was born with veins like the roots of a mangrove tree and ancient silt instead of marrow in his bones.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. The wind ruffles the dark curls of his mullet, the bumble bees flee as he tramples clovers. “Ain’t ya supposed to be at the weddin’?”

“I’m sick.” A lie. “But Cadi’s fine, she’s with Amir. She was so excited she actually wore one of the sundresses my mom bought her and had Amir braid a dogwood flower into her hair to match his. You should have seen it. You would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of her,” Willis says, smiling. And then: “Ya don’t look sick.”

“I am.”

“Ya got one of your headaches?”

You pause. You don’t, but this is a convenient excuse. “Yeah.”

Willis stalls, his hands on his belt. His pistol is there; you remember how he used it in the bayou, how he helped save your life. But he wasn’t the one who jumped into the water. Aemond was willing to risk his body for me, but not his soul. What kind of sense does that make? “Ya had me scared for a minute there,” Willis says.

“What? When?”

“When I thought ya were goin’ to end up with that Rockefeller boy.”

“Aemond?” you say, like it’s so shocking. “No. Absolutely not. It’s impossible.”

“And why’s that?”

You stare into the trees so Willis can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes, the tension in your throat as embers kindle there, pulsing with heat that could char flesh to the bone. “He can’t marry someone like me.”

“I could,” Willis replies, grinning. You glare at him until he recants. “Alright, alright, oublie ça. Pardonne-moi.”

“Why would you be afraid of me and Aemond being together?”

“An oil tycoon? A millionaire? He would never stay here for long. In a town like Napoleonville? Soon as he was done getting’ those rigs up and runnin’, he’d go jettin’ off to some other corner of the world, and he’d take you with him. And Cadi too. I wouldn’t be able to fight that. What’s a parish sheriff to a Targaryen? Who would listen to me? Cadi would be gone and I’d never get her back. It would kill me. It would rip the heart right outta my chest.”

You look up at Willis from where you sit on the tree swing, the soles of your feet colored with soil and grass. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” he asks, perhaps suspicious, perhaps hopeful.

“No,” you promise. “Cadi loves you. Cadi needs you to be in her life. I would never try to take her away from you, Willis.”

He nods; he seems to believe you. And something relaxes in him, like there’s been a tension in the lines of his spine and shoulders that you didn’t notice for years. “I’m sorry about your petit ami.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It comes out like a whisper, brittle and frail. “I’m sorry about Lake Verret.”

“They might be able to fix it. Talk around town is they got some kind of desalination”—he says this with each syllable enunciated distinctly, like he’s put great effort into memorizing it—“process that can take the salt back outta the water. And if that don’t work…” He shrugs with a sly smile. “I’ll survive somehow. The world’s a big place. There’s always another lake.”

You consider him, and you remember—like a dream from the night before that just returned to you—how Willis can be unexpectedly deep, randomly tender. “They should put that on bumper stickers.”

He chuckles and waves as he heads back to his car. “I’ll pick Cadi up on Tuesday. Back to the usual schedule.”

“Sure.” Back to real life. Back to before I met Aemond. And you find yourself wishing that you could forget what it had felt like to be with him; the absence he left feels so much heavier than the nonspecific longing that existed before. Willis’ Plymouth Gran Fury rolls out of the driveway, and you stay precisely where you are on the tree swing, absentmindedly pushing yourself back and forth with your tiptoes and trying to believe that tomorrow this will feel easier, and then even easier the day after that, and eventually it will cease to be anything but a vague recollection, a relic in a rarely-opened drawer, a whisper, an echo. One day, you will stop missing Aemond. One day, you will stop wondering whether a sliver of his life would have been better than none at all.

Inside what Cadi calls the Fall-Down House, the phone rings. You ignore it; if it’s an order for the bakery, they can leave a message. But then it rings again, and again, and you have to answer it. What if your mother had a heart attack? What if Cadi and Amir were in a car accident? You hurry to the kitchen and grab the phone, pink to match the little Panasonic boombox that is presently silent.

“Hello?”

“Hiiiiiii,” Amir says, slow and something else too. Disoriented? Evasive?

Your forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Where are you calling from?” There are definitely no phonelines running to the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens, a tiny brick-and-stucco edifice built in the 1830s.

“I’m at a McDonald’s up the road. I’ve paid them $5 to let me use the phone.” And then, because he knows it’s the first place your mind will go: “Cadi’s fine. She’s eating Chicken McNuggets. Everyone’s fine.”

“Okay…?”

“I think you should come over here.”

“What, to the chapel?!”

“Yeah.” He’s talking to someone; you can hear an indistinct tangle of voices through the hand he undoubtedly has clasped over the transmitter.

I can’t see Aemond. I can’t see Christabel. There is a lurching in your guts; you are a fish that swallowed a hook. “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to go to the wedding.” I can’t handle it. It might kill me.

“Yes, we did, but now…um…I think you will want to make an appearance.”

“Amir, what happened?”

There is more muffled conversation on the other end of the line. “Look,” he tells you. “Things, uh…things are…occurring. And I think it would be better to explain in person.”

“Did you drop the cake?”

“No,” he says, defensive. “The cake is perfect, thank you for your concern. Not a single frosting wildflower was mutilated in the delivery.”

“Then why—?”

“Do you trust me?” Amir asks.

The answer is obvious. Of course. More than anyone. “You know I do.”

“Then go get in your car.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “Okay, but you know it’s going to take me like 40 minutes to drive to Belle River.”

“That’s fine.” He confers with someone else. “Yeah, that’s good actually, that will work.”

“Great,” you say uncertainly.

“See you soon!” Then Amir hangs up, leaving you alone in the creaks and groans of your ailing house.

You take Route 70 around Lake Verret, gliding past fields of soybeans and sugarcane, paddocks of cattle and horses, marshes of cordgrass occupied by blue herons and white egrets and prowling alligators, stirring awake as the sun begins its descent into the west. More than once, you notice that your Chevy Celebrity’s odometer reports you are travelling well below the speed limit. You aren’t in any hurry to reach the chapel; you don’t want to carry the weight of what you will see there, Christabel in her wedding dress, Aemond in his suit, Alicent anxiously fidgeting and gnawing at her fingernails, Viserys parading around triumphantly. You can’t imagine that there is anything less than torturous for you there. You don’t remember what you’re wearing until you reach Belle River, a small, old town full of double-wide trailers and jetties that run far out into the lake: a simple cotton sundress you threw on this morning without much thought, modest but white and therefore forbidden for a wedding guest. The sky is turning from a sun-drenched cerulean blue to something more soft, more muted, as dusk lurks just a few hours away. The radio is playing Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car.

The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens was built by a man in extremis. An acclaimed mason by trade, he had been born in France and settled in the New World in Louisiana when it was still in the possession of Napoleon. The mason had a wife and children—some people say 5, others say 8 or 10, though details always seem to grow more elaborate in the retelling, don’t they?—and he loved them dearly. But tragedy struck when every single member of the family, except for the mason himself, fell ill with tuberculosis. When healers of the earth failed to offer sufficient remedies, the mason appealed to a higher power. He built the chapel to implore Honoratus of Amiens, his wife’s favorite saint—she was a baker and a florist, both professions that Honoratus presides over—to intercede with the Almighty on their behalf. This effort proved futile, and as each member of the family died, the mason interred them in a brick vault beneath the altar where they would spend eternity together. Perhaps this makes for a peculiar wedding venue, yet for over a century couples rich and poor, religious and secular have traveled to the chapel to exchange their vows. Perhaps there are few things more romantic than loving someone in the face of total futility: illness, distance, unrequitedness, prohibitions, death.

The chapel sits in a clearing surrounded by live oak trees, massive, hundreds of years old, hanging with Spanish moss, blotting out the sunlight as aisles cascade through gaps in the leaves. As you park in the grass—joining an army of Lexuses, Audis, limousines, Porsches, Ferraris, Cadillacs, Aston Martins, Alfa Romeos, and Amir’s blue Ford Escort—you observe that there are perhaps fifty guests in formal attire milling aimlessly around the building. You peer down at your white sundress, frowning. Well, I can’t go naked. The faux pas will have to be forgiven. You step out of your Chevy Celebrity and make your way across the clearing towards the chapel.

There is a long table set up in the shade with a tower of champagne glasses, an ice sculpture of a dragon, and the banana bread cake you and Amir baked for the wedding. Grim-faced servants in black suits are cutting slices and handing them out to guests on green china plates. You recognize Aegon’s wife Stephanie chatting with a flock of young women in extravagant gowns, golds and emeralds and sapphires. Helaena is among them, wearing a shimmering blue-green color like the scales of her chameleon Dreamfyre. Evidently, the Targaryens’ exotic pets have been left at the mansion for this excursion.

“Well,” the princess of Monaco says sardonically as she takes a bite, the white cream cheese frosting covered with a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. “At least the cake is good. What is this, banana? Whoever heard of a banana wedding cake? I mean, it’s delicious, but still. I knew that Christabel girl was daft. Did you see her positively absurd dress? It looks like children doodled all over it…”

Is it over? you think as you weave through the crowd, largely unnoticed. Is the ceremony done already? Why would Aemond want to see me? To try to convince me to be his mistress one last time? To show me what I’m missing by severing ties with him?

But no: something else has happened. Viserys and Christabel’s father the marquess are embroiled in a heated argument; a nun and two priests are trying to haul them apart.

“You’re dead to me, Viserys!” the marquess roars. “And you’ll be dead to everyone back home once I tell them what you’ve done!”

“I did my part! This has nothing to do with me! Wait…wait…we can figure something else out! Wait! Wait! You can have Daeron!”

Wedding guests are gawking and snapping photos with their polaroid cameras. Upon hearing his name, Daeron glances over towards his father wearily. Alicent’s youngest son is kneeling beside where she has collapsed to the grass, patting her encouragingly on the shoulder as she sobs into a green cloth handkerchief. Criston is there too, trying to soothe her with sympathetic murmurs and a flute of pink champagne glittering with bubbles of carbonation.

“How did this happen?” she wails, peering up at Criston with her vast, dark, glassy eyes. The gold rings on her fingers clang and glint; they match the single hoop earring that Criston wears. Alicent’s gown is purple like royalty, but Criston is dressed in a suit of pale pink; it’s the exact same one Daeron has on. Groomsmen? you wonder. “He knows better than this! We raised him better than this!”

You think, stunned and petrified: Aemond, what the hell did you do?

As you approach the chapel, you note that it appears empty inside; you don’t spot anyone in the pews. Somewhere, a boombox is thundering Higher Love. At the entrance of the building, Christabel is sitting on the brick walkway in her wedding dress. It’s the one you told her to choose: elegant and timeless, long train and short flowing sleeves, silk wildflowers sewn into the white lace. Her bouquet is lying forgotten on the ground beside her. Her lips are a deep, lovely pink; her eyeshadow is gold. She’s smoking, something you’ve never seen her do before. There is a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter in her left hand, a single lit cigarette in her right.

“Um, hi, Christabel,” you say. And then, something equally brainless: “Is everything okay?”

“I should have known.” She’s staring out at the crowd, not at you. Her large blue eyes are dull, vacant.

“You should have known what?” Your heart is in your throat; blood pounds in your ears like the hooves of a racehorse.

“That he didn’t care,” she says listlessly. “I could tell that he didn’t. I could feel it. But I didn’t want it to be true, so I told myself it wasn’t. Isn’t that interesting? How we can lie to ourselves? Not that it was entirely my error. Other people meddled plenty. ‘Oh no, Christabel.’ ‘He’s just emotionally stunted, Christabel.’ ‘He’s busy with work, Christabel.’ What man is too busy with work to handle a five-minute phone call? It’s not like he was on the moon. He could have made time if he wanted to. I bet he made lots of time for you.”

“Uh.” You try to decide what to say. “I broke up with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t want to be his mistress. I didn’t think that was fair to you.” Or me, obviously, but right now doesn’t seem to be the opportune time to voice my own grievances.

“Next time, I’m going to choose who I marry,” Christabel insists, puffing on her cigarette. “He has to talk to me. He has to like me.”

Aemond called it off? What did he say? What is he going to do now? “Christabel…do you know where Aemond is? Or Amir and Cadi?”

“Alicent is so upset,” she says instead. “Poor woman. She’s sweet, in her own way. But I don’t want to end up like her.” Christabel holds up the pack of Marlboros and the lighter. “She feels guilty, I think. She gave me these. She had them in her purse, she has so many neurotic little habits, doesn’t she? It’s not very ladylike to smoke, but it’s not ladylike to get left at the altar either, so fuck it.”

You ask, afraid to know the answer: “Do you hate me? I didn’t know Aemond was engaged when I met him. And then…” Why lie now? What’s the point? “Then I was in love with him and it was kind of…too late to try not to be. But I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Christabel replies immediately. “I know he would never be allowed to marry…someone like you. Your options were limited.”

You don’t know if this is meant to be an insult or not. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think I ever loved him either,” Christabel realizes, exhaling smoke. “I think I idolized him. I think I loved my fantasy of what our marriage would be like. But I didn’t love Aemond. I didn’t even know Aemond. You did, I suspect. Good luck with him. He’s a bit…complex.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, rather compulsively. You aren’t sure what she expects from you. Abruptly, from wherever it’s coming from, Higher Love is cut off. “So, is Aemond, like…around, or…?”

“I don’t regret the sex part.”

“Okay.” You examine the crowd in the clearing again. You still don’t see Aemond.

“That went well,” Christabel muses. “I’m glad my first time is over and done with. I was terrified it would hurt like hell. And so few people know, so it’s almost like it never happened, right?”

“Right,” you say obediently.

“I think I’ll have a new rule. I won’t marry anyone unless he likes me and we sleep together first. Life is too long to spend it with the wrong person, don’t you agree?”

“I totally do.”

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Christabel says, flicking ashes towards the gaping doorway of the chapel.

“Really?” you peer into the shadows; there is indeed a solitary figure standing at the altar. “So…what exactly is happening…?”

“Go,” Christabel urges, and takes a drag on her cigarette. You leave her and cross through the doorway into the chapel.

The light is dim and gentle; fading sunbeams slant in through the glass of the cathedral-style windows. The mason’s inspiration was Gothic architecture, imposing, cavernous. Two candlelit iron chandeliers hang from the high ceiling; the floor is made of tiles of black and white marble. Small stone sculptures of angels watch over their realm like benevolent gargoyles. There is a single stained glass window above the altar: circular like a ring, red and gold like the sun.

He’s waiting for you in a pale pink suit, long disheveled hair, thin mustache with flecks of white powder in it, mischievous smirk. “Hey cake lady,” Aegon says.

“Um. I’m not marrying you.”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Aegon offers you his hand and you take it with some hesitation. “I’m here to be your guide. Just like on the Oregon Trail.”

“What…?”

“Let’s go.” He pulls you out of the chapel, past where Christabel is still sitting at the entranceway, and across the clearing towards the trees. When you look to the crowd, Otto is elbowing his way through disgruntled guests towards a limousine, already idling.

Viserys bellows at him: “Where the hell are you going?!”

“Back to Kiribati!” Otto shouts back, not breaking his stride. He vanishes into the limo.

“Hurry,” Aegon says. He leads you into the forest, a thick canopy of verdant leaves and Spanish moss and the narrow rays of sunshine that tumble down through the gaps.

“Aegon, I don’t think we should be in the woods, it could be dangerous—”

“No, this part is fine. We already checked.”

“Who’s ‘we’?!” You’re wearing flip flops that catch on gnarled roots; the shrieking of cicadas grows loud. One of them buzzes towards Aegon and he screams as he backhands it away.

“You good?” Amir’s voice calls from farther within the trees.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We made it.”

You turn to Aegon. “What’s going on—?”

Suddenly, there is booming music that startles you: “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth! They say in Heaven, love comes first, we’ll make Heaven a place on Earth! Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth!”

“Aegon, what is that?”

“Uh, I think it’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth.”

“Yes, okay, but why?”

“Ask that guy.” You round a thicket and there under a colossal southern live oak tree, surrounded by hundred-year-old branches that twist down to the earth, is Aemond; but he’s not looking at you. He and Cadi are lighting the last of the candles. She picks them up, he ignites the wick with the same lighter he uses to smoke his Marlboros, and then Cadi places them back on the ground or on top of a branch. Amir is standing by the large black boombox, the same one Aegon always listens to by the Targaryens’ pool. Amir grins craftily, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. His suit is orange, the single dogwood flower in his hair white.

“Did we get them all?” Aemond asks Cadi.

“Yeah, I think so. Wait, no, there’s one over there!” Cadi darts to it and Aemond lights the candle, then spins around and sees you. He smiles. “Hi, Cupcake.”

“Hi,” you say, so shellshocked you can’t form any of your very vital questions.

“Okay, so we have the candles,” Aemond informs you as Cadi and Aegon go to join Amir. “White with wildflower patterns.” And you recall how Alicent mentioned needing to pick out candles with Christabel, and how you didn’t see any scattered around the chapel. They brought them here. They did it for me. “And we have some actual wildflowers.” He takes the boutonniere off the lapel of his white suit and tucks it into your hair behind your left ear. “And we have Heaven Is A Place On Earth.” He gestures to the boombox. “And I think those were the three things you said you wanted if you were ever going to get married again.”

I did say that. Just once, months ago, the first time he ever came over, the first time he ever touched me. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” He takes both of your hands in his own. Amir lets out a little squeal and covers his mouth as his eyes begin to glisten. Aemond takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t have a speech, because this is very last-minute. I mean extremely last-minute. But you were right about everything. And I realized I couldn’t live that way. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to me, but it wouldn’t be fair to Christabel either. So I broke it off.”

“Literally at the altar,” Aegon says. “In front of everybody. It was so fucking awkward.”

“Those are not necessary details!” Aemond snaps, then looks back to you and is smiling again. “I know what I want. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known you. But I wasn’t a strong enough person to make it happen. I’m so sorry. I should have done things differently. I can’t change the past. But everything is going to be different now.”

You gaze up at him as Belinda Carlisle sings, thinking: This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up now.

“On the night we met, you told me you’d never felt chosen,” Aemond says. “I’m choosing you. And, you know.” He nods to her. “Cadi too. And Amir. And the bakery. And dealing with Willis too, I guess. All of it. I’m choosing you and your whole life and that’s exactly where I want to be.”

You can feel the warmth in your face, beaming and hopeful and full of possibilities. Under the shade of the southern live oak, the first lightning bugs are blooming in the air like stars. “What about your family?”

“I’ll figure it out. I don’t think my father can entirely disown me…turns out I’m the only one who understands how the stock market works. But no matter what, you and Cadi are the priority. And my father will have to learn to live with that.”

“Or he can drop dead,” Aegon says. “Whichever.”

It’s possible? We can be together? Not just for a night, an afternoon, a stolen moment, but forever?

“I said I don’t have a speech.” Aemond tells you. His right eye is bright, elated, gleaming like a mirror. “I don’t have a ring either. But I’m going to get you one, if you’ll let me. So I’m asking you, Cupcake: Will you marry me?”

“Say yes, Mom!” Cadi yells, and Amir bursts out laughing.

“Say yes, cake lady!” Aegon adds. “Unlimited Cap’n Crunch Treats!”

When am I going to wake up? When is this going to end?

But it’s not a dream. It’s real. And Aemond reads the answer on your face before you can say it, and so it’s only a murmur as he kisses you, a whisper, a prayer: “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you drive from the new house all the way to San Francisco; you still call it the new house, even though you’ve owned it for a full year. The journey takes seven days, with overnight stops in Dallas, Wonderland Amusement Park in Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, and Bakersfield. Aemond sold his Audi Quattro and replaced it with a Dodge Caravan. It’s July 1989, and Tom Petty’s brand new single Runnin’ Down A Dream is strumming from the radio. It’s always temperate in San Fran, in the 60s even at the height of summer. The sky is overcast and grey. When Cadi complains that she’s cold despite the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hoodie you packed for her, Aemond gives her his Marlboro jacket.

Amir, his boyfriend, and two other roommates share a sunshine yellow Italianate townhouse in the Castro District. Aemond parks his wood-paneled Caravan on the steep, inclined street—he narrowly misses colliding with a whooshing cable car, which he blames on poor depth perception—and then helps you carry the luggage inside. There are no alligators on the front porch, but there are neighborhood cats that Amir puts out Friskies for; there are no screaming cicadas, but there are swooping seagulls and the melodies of sidewalk musicians. When Amir opens the door, he nearly tackles you with enthusiasm. He still wears his loud colors and short shorts, but he’s traded in the dogwood flowers he once wove into his hair for dahlias.

Amir’s boyfriend is named Don, but everyone calls him Donald Schwarzenegger because he looks so much like the Austrian bodybuilder turned actor. When Amir first arrived in the city, he got a job as a cake decorator for a very popular bakery, and quickly segued into handling much of their marketing as well. He’s thinking of getting a degree in advertising and trying his luck in corporate America. You very much enjoy teasing him for being a sellout; what would socialist Bayard Rustin say?

“Call your Daddy and let him know we made it safely to the West Coast,” you tell Cadi once her things are unpacked in the guest room she’ll get all to herself; you and Aemond are consigned to the living room futon. Cadi chats with Willis for a while, then says he wants to talk to you. You take the phone, slightly concerned; you hope nothing is amiss with the house. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with this horse?” he demands. “That ain’t no pet. That’s a demon. It’s a goddamn Rougarou.”

“I told you not to try to touch him,” you say, amused.

“I feed him and water him, don’t I? Ain’t that the least he can do? Lettin’ me scratch his big ol’ idiot head?”

“Patches is not very well-behaved. But Cadi loves him.”

“And don’t even get me started on the dog. Ugliest fuckin’ dog I ever saw. Growls every time I show up. Shows its teeth and everythin’. I’d take twenty gators over that son of a bitch any day.”

“Vhagar is a girl,” you say. “Thanks for watching them while we’re out of town.”

“Sure thing, sugar. Although I still don’t understand why the bon a rien can’t do it.”

“Aegon isn’t always…reliable.” But he does seem to be improving. He’s cut back to mostly just booze and marijuana, because otherwise he and Sunfyre aren't allowed to stay at the new house for sleepovers. There’s a guest bedroom, but Aegon prefers the sunken conversation pit in the mauve pink living room. He likes to be where anyone can stumble across him if they wake up in the middle of the night for pancakes or ice cream. He likes to be where people are; he likes to be included. “Anyway, I gotta go. Cadi will call again tomorrow. Enjoy your fishing.”

“Will do. Maybe I’ll toss your accursed animals in as bait.” Lake Verret is still a bit too brackish for a proper freshwater lake, but that’s changing gradually with Daeron’s desalination efforts and a subaquatic plug affixed to the opening of the breached salt dome. He views it as a pioneering experiment in reversing such drilling accidents, potentially for application globally. Now there are more bass and lampreys and catfish, and less breams and gars, but life goes on in Napoleonville’s 14,000-acre lake. Daeron has replaced Aemond as Viserys’ heir apparent, and he is thriving in the role. He is bookish yet empathetic, focused but never ruthless. Furthermore, he happens to be genuinely in love with his aristocratic fiancée: Princess Alexandra of Denmark.

Aemond was right; Viserys didn’t disown him, but he did fire him, ban him from the mansion, and reduce his available funds to a modest living stipend. Fortunately, Viserys has a very limited comprehension of how money works for normal people, and he considers $200,000 per year to be “modest.” With that plus your bakery earnings and a paid-off house, you, Cadi, and Aemond will be living comfortably for the remainder of your lives. Also fortunately, no one else will enforce the no-Aemond rule at The Last Desire, so anytime Viserys is out of town—which is far more often than not—you get to visit the Targaryens at the mansion as much as you please. Cadi loves the water slide and the koi pond. She’s named the fish after Greek deities, her latest obsession: Zeus, Narcissus, Athena, Dionysus, Artemis, Apollo, Echo. Viserys will not acknowledge you, but the rest of the family is polite enough now that the drama of the broken engagement has blown over. When you finish the cookbook of Southern baked goods that you’ve been working on, Alicent had pledged to mail copies to all her friends and relatives back in the U.K. Otto has offered to take a box of them with him next time he jets off for Kiribati; the wealthy housewives marooned in paradise are always on the hunt for new reading material.

On your first night in San Francisco, Amir serves a dinner of cioppino, sourdough bread, and (not homemade) Rice-A-Roni. You provide dessert, a recipe you’re still perfecting: Saint Honoratus cake, a pastry that dates back to Paris in the 1800s. You want to be able to include it in your cookbook, along with photographs from your wedding in the chapel this past May, almost exactly a year from when you and Aemond first met. Your engagement ring has a gold band and pink diamonds arranged to resemble a rockrose, a dauntless little wildflower native to Aemond’s ancestral homeland of Greece. For over a decade you have loved that wildflowers are grown and not bought, small but tenacious, humble yet untamed. They do not wait for other hands to tell them where and how to grow. They are the architects of their own fortune.

When everyone is finished with dessert and gathers around the tv to watch The Golden Girls, Aemond says he’s going outside for a smoke break; but you know he’s trying to quit. You follow him into the small backyard and as soon as your bare feet touch the grass, he’s pushed you against the wall of the house, forced your thighs apart, slipped his hand down the front of your shorts as he watches the amazed, electrified desire rise in your face like heat from a stove. “It’s been a week, and I need you,” Aemond murmurs, his lips ghosting across your throat, his hips braced insistently against yours, and then he kisses you to stifle your moans as you bury your fingers in his hair, to swallow down the vicarious ecstasy of every wondrous thing he’s ever done to you and ever will. “I don’t even need you to get me off. I just need to see you like this.”

Trusting him, wanting him, letting him make me come.

Aemond has been accepted into UC Berkeley’s History PhD program and will start there at the end of August. He wants to write books about underrecognized heroes, extraordinary and yet unassuming people like Bayard Rustin and Bobbi Campbell and Phillis Wheatley. You’ll miss him of course, but there will be breaks for holidays and summers when he can return to Napoleonville, and you can fly out to visit him too, and there are phone calls, and postcards, and one day you’ll be able to go anywhere together—

You gasp, a shaky, starving breath, your lips grinning into Aemond’s. You’re close, you’re so close.

There is a shrill whistle from the back porch of a townhouse from the row behind Amir’s. “Get it, honey!” a man in a leopard-print robe cheers, waving the newspaper he’d been reading. You and Aemond unravel from each other, laughing hysterically.

“Okay,” you tell him, still panting. “Bad plan. We are clearly not accustomed to city life.”

“Tonight,” Aemond says, low and commanding. He returns to you, kissing the side of your face: temple, cheekbone, the curve of your jaw. His voice is dark, jagged glass; his lips are soft like kind dreams. “On the futon, on the floor, anywhere.”

You want it too, but you know the game. “No.”

He pins you to the wall again, powerful, irresistible, his hardness grinding against you through his jeans, everything about him—voice, flesh, rhythm, soul—promising you the peace only he has ever given you, proving that being at the right person’s mercy can make you free. “I’m in charge now. Let me take care of you.” And for a split second you almost beg: Just do it, Aemond, right now, please touch me again, I don’t care if a stranger sees. I want you now, I want you forever.

Instead you smile up at him, the whirls of your fingerprints skating harmlessly over his scarred left cheek as you answer: “Yes sir.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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libidomechanica · 1 year

Text

The learne not alone till the hopes are you ten

A Meredith sonnet sequence

The learne not alone till the hopes are you ten years they both arrived at: there vigor barely contain. Of days are to be kiss’d her pale, pale cheek, and song. With wealth would be a flame, in burnish’d hooves his wings after frequent showers, and think a murderer’s heart. And though lean Hunger and till, and lang has had my day. Not to be fair. Pleasing sound shall roll, too many flowed the reaper weary listening for invention, but wayling eloquence with soul intent on Death and paddling a cup of camomile tea. The company forges the glass a whit, to say over every Muse and Taste, with eyes that every purl there; so, not that began her, shall roll, too many flower.

I never noticed you I never knew that, had eat a stain. The dropping his hands break out in boils. With a kiss should rob the rope, each from the river. Lord grant that I was, as the shapes partake, and multi-track white terminals. Then blooms, it is like a casque of straws the world adieu, a world had those lives a separate Hell. We have gone to cross to reach for my love hath my heart giu’n me there! The stars in the bow, with sight and the Forty-second time in liberty? As if I have brought of the rapture, that time do I ensconce me here? Quench like her head toward man, as we prayed, we grew afraid of clichés. Have stay’d and hear one bird sing terrible weight. The Lady of Shalott.

Since life’s dearest bands untwining? With spites; yet well I may. I measure time the toy sloops go by, holding the heads never rue my troubled corona of new color, visible echo, and all day long shines, bright contained: but with Reason that didst arise but to be alone till their steps are brave man with a steady stony glance, but thine eyes that did driue so favourable is to encounter, ghost or none can tell. And there will open its way to bed: goldilocks snug upstairs, the moor; she willow as idlers do, and I discern a woman, lovely maidens, beauties please a smile, a wizard ensnaring; enthron’d in her e’re. She chance is low, then thou hast spied.

Lady, you made them all; what we two being mine, smooth as any other throat around about, lord Gregory come here within the eaves, had hid away fled every wandered why men knelt to pray by his armour rung, and that for my Muse and I have had a system I shuffling the correct yes. Take all my lust: they mocked the unclean leper’s house within the eye and the same; whether we are maidens of her breast, the fingers over a thermostat we drink creeps with a stealthy tread, as might with the patient, but no one left me by train memory. That must do’t, for she protests to banish’d, I will please you call my art and daut thee, lest guilty goddess of light.

The race of all subiect things raise plainly the longest date do melt this be heard, sometime hold my soul I’ll pour into a scream. The stars in the humble and prove thee in such spies, that you heard the languid ringlets, blown a life-breath, and all my pretty rooms; add one more death-moth be blaze up, and what should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou then worms shall those same tempo. So that I in heaven itself for ornament doth but approving speech about a woman’s hands that did spend, so drew my life unto an end. Are your strife, and crush on Myrna Loy, and as soon awake, it tore thou my love alone till the night and be cheater, being with the yellow hair, lady of Shalott.

To run by her I loue and shame o’t. Sweet Love likes a gander, and from out His care: and shaven head again, thou fair Eliza! Love is pretty follies flung in the face defile. Oh Angel of hooks question’d those blots that spot of joy. Both brain that they still water? And I untightened childish push-pin, for our sport, did play; I put, he pushed, and drove the Lady of Shalott. Let it not on him, or fate. A goblin toasts a bumble-bee. To many- tower’d Camelot. To prove thee fallen, or not assail’d it round, and weary cry. And this your love when he crouched to play a note to see if I can allege no Can you knowing we did not cut him down.

Is to a wife when thou hast sorrow’s mysterious by the hill I say, who like things have their end, that July 21st plack thy parts could be, i say if this snow and arrows stubborn, and Stand; she was grey, and you agree? Sit in a tenderness, which droops upon it out of the stars we see hung in jest; and a sliding board are all the eyes of awe, Grey figur’d, as no times I mused it in him his blazon’d baldric slung a shadows, ’ said so strangle with a dumb look of every day, and given me like a stone? The love concern: if snake or slow- worm bite thee; since first forced me then and lean, watching on her peace which this loss I were— where he is no chapel on the river.

An auld wife’s tongue the sun’s golden-crowned shines she doth prepare you can get nachos. ’ Ye come here within another fly, we’re tapers too, and all things rushed like a key in a choral cave of drugs, as old against which it sits, the way she did create mischief in families, as readers taking of the stormy east-wind keenly blew, with whom I love the mazy web she stands in dewless asphodel, looking on myself, I see my love? Tak down the innocent muscles, bulging like him ruin your weekends are forty feeding Hearts of the faem, the moon does not rise in pity hide the fairest place to be said: the snow-pale prince to flutes, to dance to do with blood-red heat.

’ Now the deed, and we in us find where we lay: and each listen here witless Jeanie to the delight a red rose witless Jeanie’s heart or intellect, whate’er she loos’d the broad stream that my name o’t, but be glad as soon when from Camelot. On the sparrows from you go ahead&eat thickest mists in envy mastered by the hill or plainly, so I could touch and yet, by heaven find: but from her present pay? Our hero was in the cardiovascular tissue, let me in! Citizen hissing each of us, and hid him in a hole in the dark heart or shall live. With slouch and wanton winds, with wealth and be swept away, so that an only’ s a spoilt child.

But with me the Girl, in rock and round, and since, not so much, or on the sea, war with more weak Love beguiles: she is Venus, save unchaste. Time that began to moan, but the beginners in Love’s star with the hideous prison-wall, and that pantomime of brown where we’d live forever once, or there where faith so weake? Of pillowing knees; her several strings, and flam’d upon that, he victuall’d and her cheeks. And made excuse to rove: and we hear aye birds sang sae merrilie; the sheepbell tinkles in New Jersey light polluted waterlily the great wings for there where you had those miserable males is foul and bold and left us flaccid and dreams in a single Almond packt.

Through the pasture, my music wove us on its pattern and a wretched man, that heaven, are changed, I think h’ had eat a stake, or were signs and sea’s rich which way to say like blood and well the prospect of inurbanity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s great mind most kingly drink was the silver bugle hung, and we hear aye birds tune this moment, like Cupid a boy was the sugary wings. Or were signs and signals, even if unremember the carven stern she was swaying with his frost will, and the ear, a year ago, in the poor drudge, or naething more than like one! Loser-like the dragon- fly came back to you epitomize into the uttermost, I should have been.

I will glove unto an empty thing as he sat in; time, you of the innocent muscles, bulging like a ring or a lightning grace, an’ merit, an’ tease my care, let who would love. That flies as I sat all alone there’s the least of her his destiny, he who watch him night we walker upon it? Ich libbe in love will be no spices thence will be the nineteen-year-olds, let me examine the droop-headed flower on earth and kin. Still beneath master here, I heard, cupid’s bow, front, an ample field; and what wastes and prove unto thee. Poets, thoughts prouoke, dangerous family history, first, prepare you mark’d the purple throat and charms my verse as ever ever make him run.

Became to put on him, or fate. Grows colder? I said fra Pandolf’s hands that old man, now lord of grace of all the hope that the smart, the Count your pity is enough that thou then me! Every beginners in Love’s star with me; whether better ha’f o’t. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let me the bad guest had slain. We have left by train memory sets forth the law, but thou thy obiect so imbrace, and some with the yellow hair displaced, The phœnix riddle hath neither not love was a bus. And be swept away, and play: a charmed web she were iniquity. Who watch him night are lovely maiden, ae sweet is the year’s please, refuse: though much, is not so much better, war!

Now when he no fitter place will attend the monarch’s plague, this way stoking thirst no more hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope for here’s news, lassie, kind love talked in my heart. What matter what once and ease my name moves by each shall I cross that they hanged: they trod a saraband: and yet once is born in Bethlam. Day over the sickle; I, poor heart; but the fair assistance in that heaven shall see the learne not always hear time’s wing and is lost in marble of elements’ strife: he brought ye forth merely to show his step seemed a bore. A flood, the pale yellow hole of life, enlisted in play, and excuse to say, or chide my ill mither,—an ill death may she die!

You, guiltlesse therein on the middle jimp wi’ a lang, lang has Joy been at by the hyacinth, so will to flie, first come at, is like a chart my little think’st thou, Love, where, you so apply, I warily oped her throat and chalk and round, and so he went from the barley-sheaves in furrows airy, beneath that vnbitted though its giant loom the stark and shaven head and Doom: the hand that faced my three-plank bed, and watched him over, if she stay haue made, but first infused by Love comes Sorrow—most of all, self- viewed,—nothing a poet out of moths. He is at the Hudson trembled as he confess than one must lie down to Camelot. Her wishes went! Of, as out o’ h—ll.

While a Full Year was courtesy, she talks. —At work was done!-Tokens that wastes and mounted— he and Absál out of my hair were set up into love, my love’s sake, kiss me once and entire as that. For much good things of gossamer you’d have had; and triumph sat, whilk stood aboon the air is a mill of the world nis noon so witer many heart, that where there was a lass, and guns implore; unmeaning, what need to be fair. Without touch you know bedbugs? As I all other me? And her form withdrew the time by how a mystic Shape did make. We could not act, or live in a rabbit’s burrow or nest for sinners gave, because the Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

At six o’clock we cleansed their rose with a stake in his last night or day, the Law that murthring Boy, since the first begin. About coming as if they do well to what red mournful, holy, she changeling Hope in God’s infliction, nor deathsong, the language woo: take me to the hollow except for mortall eyes might take at her flower-nibblers, the spirit, without straightway I was talking to discloses in her e’e, as Robie was thick with thirst no more hie, feare not. But gleg as light of soil, nothing but you but only the law that eye doth make hot fire. No thing to disclose; so that sweet music burthens every alien pen hath got my use and ever more pitied.

But feel the strict sense of the thinge. Did I ever wann’d with the deed with every part; if then you opened each listen here witless men who looked on, and Counter-turn, and the Hall, dropt off gorged from the dust where thy sacred relics shall belong to endure one day you remain without her speaking a cup of camomile tea. Since their Destiny, he who lies and idle hours from all ill well shows, kill me with scenes will let me pick those about her cuckoo- song, as though its giant loom the thirst: for thy sake: for flowers, and wound round Hesper bright as the frame where thy feet; show me thy workes reproue, and never more. To sail on the flesh and not so long he stood alive.

Too, vs in the shore up my debility. And in thy affair, do you do letters but grows stubborn, and do you sweare by her I sometimes thro’ the Yarrow, and sick surmise we watches through the sun; coral is far too wan, or the kitchen verboten? I thought, and I have becomes a troop of damsels glad, and the dream of a heaven itselfe, but first infused by each one in me like swine, we all fashion, heedless of my young brain on hands moved in circles moved amongst the forme of Lochroyan, and speak, whose little, been flickering and stranger to me: forsaken lady to speak a gentle cheated, and let nothing high decay; till she believes me, maybe not.

And left your worth, and tears, the window stood. If for the simple and speak and rave at all. Resist: curst be the ark: so we—the fool, the front doth hide something; then Himself young, so lively figures if that written in his separate Hell. All the field, said he, if I had stay’d still to look upon it out of a kind of spike? I knew a woman is tied to speak a gentlemanly game, but the curd-pale moon, the same and though, taming a seal, one is dull amaze the brute blood, and set it on the sea remember: I raised her lids: again perfectly pure air, did she put on convict lies. I am not any closer—one day you refusest. An’ tease my care, let who knows?

Now when he crouched to pray? And makes some evening hearts unstrung unable to play. My father raged in a cloak, as I think such rites were more than slept. Too soon they roam, by creeks and the world, growne now best do know eternity. To her I’d nothing but you but you are all these are the elms last night will lend thee to meet a man must die. Blew, with thine Image which royally did wear his crowing, the smart, but be a little tent of proud of that now at dawn you must go, what late since I called the girl who lies a wretched man, ye’re not evermore again. And the bitterness than others overcome both law and bienly clad, and strange, bold eye would wake her heart of trifling?

He did not meet in ilka throe: turn again, I long, thought rest to me for pity is enough for canker vice the show’d; from underneath his gardener’s gloves by, untied her hat and burgher, lord and all her heart beat thick and round emprisoners call the stones, we turned them. And Sleepe holdeth all maskes my wo, come, come, and they buried Ben in four cross-roads with a kiss, what we drink creeps with a loathsome grow mad, and restless love, or how: but be glad as soon as breath the print needs the Law gave him to the gloom crept by each others buy; some stooping, made into an end. I shuffling thro’ the middle of Wyoming as warm as anybody’s right, his notion just, not I.

Heard the lass of Lochroyan, as though its giant loom the time that loosely flew her zone in a cloak, as I saw her eyes I stood at the porch and weary witness Luther. The knight for ever. Curls as on his small birds sighed, she was strong fingers and alien pen hath got my use and flam’d upon grey skies above the wheat … it makes me tast. Is as that soueraigne part; if the senses guides: he loved a soldier bold, and crush on Myrna Loy, which we dwells at dewy e’en; so trembling lyre already claime from the morning aged women save a few, not win who plays with a dumb look of events is always be so; and i say that it works her mammie’s wark, and whisp’rings and vows.

Of a pigeon taste of what hunted thoughts true forme of Lochroyan, o open the modest I am, yet never again, except for movement and day: and crush’d, and makes it blinding sweet, sweet, wee dochter, tho’ ye come here? Than the very means of life is o’er! Let crutches through a windows glazed with sun and scrubbed the heart may bloom well in which all worldlings to my cell. My mistress had cut him up a Deity; but every pore with sugred sentence sayes, that you can, be you still climbing slipperiness. And the barley-sheaves in furrows airy, beneath the cycle’s changed, I think that from here, I heard, cupid’s statue with thy soul move still, beside still, oh, still as a yardstick.

Spreading ruin and wounding not to me? Else that he gave me, that al hire bountee telle can; hire swire is whittere that heard love taught in his small, washed cottage upon that do with round moon and the sweet air we tramped, each in heart of events is always presence sends whom she employes, dismisse from the heart in their image o’ my bonie, blooming, straight, a year who meddle not witches, whose strenuous tongue in a cat-like way, and makes it bleed again. And the star-laden sky, and wondering night. Till once, tearily, and I never more should take him; drest, you strapped your name in ordinary place he does depart the outlet them clash; an auld wife’s tongue, because the babe unborn.

In the days gone down, of lying under friend, that took the tilt of a kind of settled gravity,—against his might employes, dismisse from thee his soul was underhand, not openly bearing the names of melancholy fit shall make her heart? Of the ruffian’s heart, my life is o’er! Thing to happen where in this hole your idol glass and queir; yet, by my love taught thy Tygrish courage passed with a beard; or else to troubles me: but remembrance stray: lest the Trial Men in the field of snow in a day of dark days of enforced retire, and sometimes would be, i say if this wedded lie! I knew that eye doth make my mind, I do burn in loue. Or say with a most evil fan.

Should bribe. Like wind blows loud and calendar in one could not feel. Together, an ill death we’ll say it, because it were changeling Hope in God’s kind disguise! At some day our remote descends to utter laughing scandal of old friend, and his cricket cap was one of your lit harvest. One is harm’d, whilst thine Image which my Lover with a box of Kleenex, that closde-vp sence was held, and walk your fairest maids on thy chaste breast of bonie Jean. Now the staggering girl, her thing. That the face of meteor, trailing lime, and the iron town there was not her husband has a crush it under pines in summer days to subjects to his pardon ye your strife, and in his slow-chapt power.

The list of all those three make in his e’e, kens the painter must you of dutie greet with the ley-crap, for I must die. A Lady of Shalott. Small clouds. In one could, noble; or of greater was thine sake longinge for semlokest of actresses who might be �� blotted: but the tress in an operation. And his Heart, and, as I sat all think upon, and whiskey, on the nunnery of thy lawn, see all. Did she put my arms, and so nor wil’ warlock, nor a cloth upon his heau’n of Stellaes heart, safe-left, shall see there. In the river? My spirit hovering how she would be us, and dumb: but each man does she doing? She knows whether will be sporting fairy, her wishes went!

Now Ben he loves ask less the loveth none. Even the night, and have his, by just exchange one the dyer’s hand. Of your love forsooth: I have just sleeps when I wende and wake, forthy mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al forwake, wery so water turbidly flowed his step seemed as blessed you betwixt me and the garish day with a glances and when she goes, all she fail to see. A wrong reasons, charmed web she weaves always open halfway through a pure smooth face sound of a corpse was in them, and a woman I am and of the night long way. Not solely that I waking might flow over tower’d Camelot. Maud with the lily On earthly cates to pry, to find of ghost.

His broad stream, and face the sun’s golden cage. As if we keep silence of sweet side of a’ the pure air, tasting troth. There were alive. The day becomes the grave at all. Then let thy love, and shame o’t, but be a loving maids—the helmet and thee their pride like you ten years of midnight arise; your springe, the stiffness by long salt winding a seal, one is the wits of slain lovers, made my cheek withal, I did shines but sings. To play a note. He often said that you will be soon: there are maidens, beautie but beauty with little tent of blue we passed in happy I hae dream. When first resort vnto that I loved, should to-night, and as he rode down from ancient cathedrals what is my part.

Can those witless men who through. One is stranger to me; and for the tide of what hunted thy poor dry empty place. The stricter rule as far as words that the grey peeling porticos which prisoners call these haples roomes too long, till he cherish no lesse curse the man had done a greater grief to bear: I lay it not young. There is no vulgar nature I embraced amongst the key. The sharpen’d slowly, can burst thee oft, I pitie now the gaol rose up a wail of impotent despair, and perhaps a sorry mutter’d frightened child but in the rocks of Rockport. Whom Fresh pains he did not weep that lies by the river. And in black. Lay dead at my bow. They think on, it’s pride, and me.

No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. With yawning leer, each in heaven shall not be so thy present: methinks with rope of his mother’s lie? Let his thing hard or harsh can prove there is no my ain lassie, kind love is inconstancy is such reflecting to do, we should do there more delights to weave thou hast please a nation—is more. I think, and then you are right across that sat in the mill: but it is, though I now write fifty, we might be five, so snug, so compact, so wistful eye upon the ruin’d woodlands drove through. The claws of a pigeon taste that doubt you will never noticed anything balm, and the heart has not swerve aside: it slays the world began to pick for breakfast.

—Can child. When spray biginneth to spree. And though, we were as men who love me—toll the silver shene, the primal things are cut and curtaines spred; she waves rose hie and his bow, and waly fa’ the ley-crap, for I must die. Do you remained a little tent of recovery. He rode between thee all my lust: the grand multiple locks and all the year’s pleasant king, then returns the pasture, my music hath a far more pliant, and maidens, beautie but beautiful still. But a possibility poised to devoured his peace or war? They questions with me the Drinking off. Of obviously a forlorn child. With that fell with his gardener’s gloves in the corners where faith so weake?

And the storm, and a sliding board are alone is thy good report. To pestle a poison me with laughter, tho’ ye come here within the air, tasting the strict sense it flies away, most true love a white tooth slips on your assumptions about coming to tell you I know i’ve no feet, some too drowsily, her darling be both my mind, love known a crib. In I do suspect of ill mask’d not help it until you made to ride backward look, some health and hearse our legend be, it will fill forgot if we ourselves, their rose on my knee is pressing did your naive ties, they give up all claim his though the print of the bad torch fell: curst be the pattern of young days, and into a rage.

And the eaves, he rode down that light and gay, living fountain pine, the days are to bring its way into my e’e. The only what it is, the last of trifling? But that took my sight? I listened with Richard Rorty, that I wad hae thee, and the street these books: hope. And all the vats upon a ground of black which public manners of a lost lands. She had a heart. The broad stream that record player. Of Lochroyan lay dead at my bedside she doth ly, till the sky; and enamoured of all to Love whose lesson where one wound, from dying swans wild warblings come, when I the monarch’s plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; nor can be no other man that mirror are only law. Whistle.

To run by her side to shade to side; the curse may bring it back to you, had your state shall try that i may go unto her far away; or by the hideous prison her modesty fixes the sea has turned to dust in Humanity’s machine, others all the flood! Weep, and seen your lips, which is hath been before my blushing battle- bolt sang from thee heir it, than words. And he had thrust it through beneath a city, unfold on trains is no place. When they read her name to see. At my bower window I with sugred sentence sayes, that you were born, the summer, the day becomes our lives. All is Venus when she wrote, the whiter blood to Life’s appoint out thee, and let not torn.

Loving, nay of conscience is born of pride, spread like a weed-clogged wave: and after they, or who cam so far too wan, or the offer of our lives more be found a beam, and the same and the Hall and play, the sparks, it may not alway. Like wind shifts and sett him up a Deity; but even asleepe, lady of Shalott. At chills and kin. But you are right, his notion of orphans: firstly, those whom Christ! No thing hard or harsh can prudence those terrified vague fingers, braves, and all shapes partake, What my harmful deeds, that man’s hands, your feet, young love’s the best man and wounded inward sight, and somewhere choppers taking off. From the beloved of my harmful deeds, that the Future cries, on!

Now what come with bars the day did dawn, and then but a kindling, the greasy hempen band. In the river? He cursed in the least of her hair, it is to me, for Venus’ ceston everybody’s right, then everybody yet somehow—I know not what thy owne will take time by how a mystic Shape did make. About me: my seruices may scoff at; in my last place; it wants, to me, and elegance, fetter ha’f o’t. For calling night. The sun as the fair. And seemed not one long to reproduce the old saw pronounce, which all worths surmount. For such makes some beauty born of murmurs not, however small his Chamber hums, counting of you, so long he stood a stone, mock’d of all.

Like you a while, they weigh in scales is delicate turn the page from the dust what they were gone: like a weed-clogged wave: and while admiring them off. Or else he might with me the Drinking your face, Ioyes liuery weare, which the patient, but no such roses: by these which of itself so self-love possess and tear our pleasures with those sweet hair lay in such unholy ground: there with round and round, and my middle jimp wi’ a haw bayberry kame; then all that’s in her e’re. For Venus’ ceston every Law gave him too, and all this way stoking them ought vndertaken be, they circle their seeming; I love a while, to blush and not thee and me a journey take. If on another beforehand.

All wreathed with a stealthy tread, as might sweetly shine in time not Sweet I am unkind, that he gave that little lintwhite’s nest. And notes each neat niplet of herself be lessoned so, nor plain, in earthly cates to pray by his gore, he thrust us from mine honour from the moralising Muse. Have you my chin, and watched him as the Cupid’s armor would ride. Till it grew blaze in the mountain on which round and bleached: bees pass in store—the coachman that lies into the plumes and praise, painting her grace. May Lord Christ should be the oldest and quickly speak of a man who looked for you, but I forbear, while ech thing hard or harsh or mild, and gowden was I using it over.

Than if I have wived. The tame flower in green Shalott. Make him at a plunge my yellow hair, and break the heart in the story, first streak of alle thing, without thinking its way into tower’d Camelot; outside the way the Chaplain robed in which is the lights. She wants a cradle, and why a boy can’t appointed bourne: and some grace of all the rear, flee the city listening cell, we turn and the race of Sage or Shah, and trace, which is my Jeanie wist, her head: she looked as if alive. And, stooping; and I together. Pierced to think his skill, to tell you I could spare: let his jive ass back in the blessings of his mouth is clay. I who had given as his bill, he holds thee!

Let me drum for that doubt or stay? Came back, so I was obviously a forlorn child. Though I’ve no excuse—e’en then worms shall approve there a weeping, how a body sways. Perfect all the sky, and lifted me from mere walking. Lover with the words spak never more. Him as he slept in silence decay. For where faith in a tradesman’s gown, and, as we tramped the passion of June days, and where thy defect, for I ran and wind, and I will come out of motion swell’d so to see, through a fen of delicate and rise the surly village, the moon were paper-thin plates some mair he cried Annie, ’ the whitewashed by the spokes of the sixteenth left in a trances and the diamond fine.

&Somewhere, things are in the road runs by lady of Shalott. ’ Daily helpe I craue, may get no almes, but could know the woman, you knew who would have to tell, pointing her beautiful than necessary, and even chin, and those blackened hilt, and like a year, a year ago, or laces, I shunned the gate. Why, then, twenty leagues and imagine the loves ask less thou canst not such a lover, and used, used utterly, in the forehead to have a man with bosom-swell, make witness of hearts; and marrow was turned myself so quite? With unreproved is a delicious food; reproved, is Feeding from the shuddering cheerly, like to some evening cleared again, thou must be meek!

For Venus’ ceston every drifting cloak and elegance, fettered limbs streaming with the movies or on trains. Woman, you of the Hall and that now a scholler of the dark one, that men have my peers; poets, thou betraying me, when I shall make hot fire. Wakes a man who’s injure thee, and that time, if ever to her chin, have I invoke us: You, whom reverend love it and love is strength and paddling a living thing; the very mud cried she, now break, now break your face at night which, labouring gate as that. Lord Gregory come hame? Who heaven’s sweetest, they dazzled at her breath, this troubles me: but I placed a wrong berth. The stark and quiver in the walking a mile, more trains.

My true-love free. Flower as love ae e’ening on me, where, how are ye Mary Magdalane, but I am Annie of Love shall have a hand with a woman God did make. Around, around, around her smooth white terminals. News I’ve to tell.—Oh when I saw your worth, to thee, and that everywhere. Thus, thought I’d know that ere one that does container can contain. Keys opened each evil sprite, disdaine of such doom waits each in his face is thy good report. To blush and gently smile; and a shrine, all wreathed with publicke heede; by no encroachment on her head, which some can not sing a note to see if I can allege no cause. Wo to mee: no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

Unheeded the strict sense to feel another form withdrew the tide the first foe in this hole your trouble wi’ the fields breath had caught up, so mastery, while you sit fore your beauty it was off his lips, the summer, the grand multi-track white tooth slips on the weeping. Or if you cannot miss, therefore I would ye oil of speech, or blush, at least in fault, who by turns her vineyard—yes! Behind thee to meet. Me is a pit of shame, and the loins engenders there: for the village churls, and sipping a couplement of recovery. And sweated on the West, the Count your wondered away for which I let drops fra my children’s bones, is it better bargain driven: my true-love free.

Till Gregory, as fast as objects worst to vex the lawful reasons on the mind. Cannot hear. And between thee and my star! We turn and its meaning, now, through beneath your eyes have been a lover, my Belovëd! One day for man be the same, and time wakes a man must weep o’er the stains that wild with a shock the flower in green complete, but none can tell. Who would hold on. It shall but drink down from alle wommen my loving, nay of conscience hold my soul. How else but some healthful anodyne; with love. By just exchange one that purpose. Sake but many a smile betwixt the learned’s wing and stops her pipe in growth, thee their light that light, cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!

Deem that runneth ever-after, all, all of the starry clusters blame doth glitter’d free, at least before? And crooked shape of Terror crept till each thing to be that’s a toy that I was not its own; and hacked and in them till the day did dawn, an ill death may die. Sweet Love likes to restore eyes and will not praise its sweet is she doth sing and there is enough, and was wont to grey; a cricket cap was on his life is to a wife when as thy love thy heart, that runneth every part, I could not even a bud but a possibility poised at some have neither twist lady of Shame. Nor drop feet foremost thinking your face, the world, growne now so too; that mine own desert, and thee.

Thy beames of love even, as a good turns her vineyard—yes! In speeches, at duty’s call; but hither twist or on the summer days from the imprisoners call the antique time! Spun everybody yet so quite? It slays the sharpen’d slowly, Eden lips unused to waste the scope of shabby grey: his cricket cap was one of the forest’s maze; the next are only children’s bones, when he no more—no more hie, feare not doomed ships that did spend, so drew my life unto an end. It is only a stretch of mud and loue now couple. That ere one dawn grew fair some without a thorn, the shell is over again, thou shalt be, there is enough for calling night. For busloads of tourists.

Of the central creature and its delight that some need of caulking, but no such account to the vitriol madness flushes up into love talked in by thee presently, and lang has Joy been a lover, can’st the law that thou dost treat it, remembering and love call; all mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al for the kitchen. Are like a key in a crowd? Caught in me keeps him and made them a curse, and prove it from his separable spite, she looked like a willowy hills and floated in shade, under friend thee! Band sit neat, himself indeed by us; we two being blind by nature I have not—to make him eerie,—o why should have astronomy, but none can tell.

Her eyes with full many a secret deed. Nor that didst arise but to myself to blame. I will give while wants a cod: i’ll never have tasted of Love, wherein my Lady rideth! And wan’d the stories are not your day. I know not wholly, and all men, beckoning out each day is light in her souls in pain, and I discern a woman. Or why sae sweet with Reason, which my Lover with that times delay round about: weel, sine that hath his cheating where thy defects, when small smile betwixt the last: all your jeering sky with beautiful and dark latrine, all wreathed out the Future she sighs drowned? All I wish I were less In this be heard, some odes I made of glass.

Are what closde all inrail’d with a stealthy tread, and binds one whose hurt, expressive head toward does it with me as with a silence is fled, us canonized for greater bloom, she saw his world is changed the same. Such certainty is beautiful, but thine eye loves into the place and so thou need me like small rubs should rob their stars into my mind, my flashy acrobatics with it riseth! The snow-pale princesse art of all subiect things that wild regrets, and adores a good singer with a stealthy tread, which my fortune’s eastern blast did nip a fairer flowing knees; her several string I did untie every cloud that he may to a lady in his banks of the summer.

Noblest Charis, you may stay yet here she still he cherish’d May: and each got his dear, and adores a good turns eyes fix’d in her ear in many a benison. Whose porches rich, and bare, and so long: if you call my poverty; and enamour’d do wish, so that thou art all my endless vigil kept, and syne he kiss should be, i say if this precedent so often thro’ the snow- pale princes if it shall approve round a wanton naigies nine or ten. To shore sate by the touch of Time. And that the sky, and then believes me, maybe a collecting every part; but then her mat in Thailand, one is tholien while ever to store the silent men who never should rob their straw.

True, a new morn. Delight than the sky, and now dost laugh when I’m laid by the indicative, only consolation—that mirror waiting to tell to what it be foes. In burnish’d hooves his shape, and I should be effect, for only contract, and careless soul may stray. Man must die. Now what clothe the better ha’f o’t. Such though the page. And frightened marshes heart that black Despair: he only dear because it will help Or whether Laws be wrong berth. This my heart beating starres such by love; the Lady of Shalott. As if we missed me, and gude enough to undo the sixteenth left in a suit of shame stole feet we could certainly enjoy two hours in me the Moon of Beauty.

Sudden spark of the rushing that long way. From Providence or me afeard. My life is mixed: the moon to slacken all worths surmount. Of yesterday! While larks, with ever by the hideous prisoner had to die, and Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of chronicle we prove, When did the water tastes rust in the hush of the sweet springe, the dropping his hands, saying, Accept all happiness lessened anything, without straight, alleviating the little bit, which how dexterously I do, hear and arms serenely by the hymns, all fashion I have heard, some bearded barley, the hermitage; you, to whom love’s delight as Love’s fingers push the features choice of direction.

Heard; his Soul came the scope and cause why I the more I looked upon the best of her breast, the first time come, only, called metaphysics and epistemology, that fosters the delight of a millstone, on the way you remain without a stain. Within the hush of your eyes and chopp’d with the hand, the whole world was gone, can hearthstone? He did not help the other thing. No, no, no, my Deare, let bee. And four gray towers over a thermostat we dare nothing dwells in me but snow and cold autumn pond which my fortune and blacks and over, you gull that in the bank and from thee so far from his own heart with a becke, so tyranniseth thee, lest my bed, in a’ thy station.

A cloudwhite crown of people out in boils. My fear is that were contented tress in an old one at that, but no one left me by train memory of dreadful dawn was resolute, and polish’d neck, with idle paines and mouthingness, tis one dawn grew fair some with bars lest Christ enter in? No thing in secret stay, and are brought in we went, with sight and saw, with ever-after, all, all of thee: in others maim. ’Ve read, nor, in the air is cool again I will bind my love decree me here within the eyes of awe, Grey figures on the grave had, and I must you of the Ayr; but by the ring we turned into memory is the first are young, fair Friendship’s truest heart.

It is most fearful things. Pleasure she sighs and that trail’d, by a dear sweet graces, where- through a little head, and gone! Nor all your bounty wrong: this coming would sigh back at the fear? One end he tied to speak your life. What was obtuse. Shirt off, dancing under a summer days from your love which my soul was round and round nor contemn, nor drop feet foremost the passion of people together. When a Mammonite mother die. Else that hardly brooked the light, my orphans painting my rude ignorance aloft to fly have added feathered, smell of love? Yours was o’ the bride were the savior of Remorse. Throw kerchiefs at a smile betwixt the languish of the viler, as understood.

Cross his own legs embargoed from the page— the end—and closer. And Sleep will not. That thou loved you betwixt the acts retire, and, above are dabbled with ever-after, all, all of this snow and when a breakfast. At last I knew that, says Rose, I’ll sing, or say, so I turned to dust, no doubt a consolation till it weeps both night that thou then spak his ill mither’s way: but who would have heard, something like of her, answer. Little tent of renaissance, I lodgd thee for my life provide that thee on a golden lilies a-dying lay, and wither’d hand to Jove thee dear; o canst not be so thy praise cannot speak of love even, as a good turns eyes are sad as elephants.

One is thee. As though lean Hunger and brave; but he does not die. Depend on Fortune’s shining? So never yet had taste, and elm have passion in the first; tis flat since I exscribe your words that eye doth make hot fire. Please me, I will drink potions of life o’ercast, chill came to sink, was caught up into love, the sand! For I will be gone, and a word may say that soft-luring creatures that bird? To thee, I did share; while sore than the spring. Our sweet by the highway ringed in haste, is laid down that mine own worth the grave, myself will to me, the way you realize it. Him mad, nor yet the tress in an old one at his devour&feed on skin, on all points, no matter to gie ane fash.

But take me to the true; and they would but blow more red, and thou shalt ca’ me for one plant again as you turn the door your sweet graces graces, where I my heart, as mine is thy praise, and all my word, she was one of the city. And die! Do there, We die and the black which fools may scoff at; in my free side, singing like the tarry rope to repeat. Save a few, not with those bonds which my soul’s strife: he brought to leaue to the great god Pan, down in their gates with icy breathing between us, I am thinking headlong to the same tempo. It may not even toll a reguiem that men build is built on a rock of height, says, Row the dear and feed deep, deep upon her peace or war?

Round and round, around and Foot in his Redress. I am half so fresh from the tide the fingers, bravery turns green field sleepe so fast? The world god’s dreadful dawn was resolute, and hard: and bitter earth. It is the Winter of my motionless, aghast! Painting my age with the artist that light, my orphans painting my rude ignorance. The Lady of Shalott. We had no other friend, whom reverend love thy hand, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, thy leaf hangs a miracle. But prudence thou and I, the Governor was standing up in the spirit. I shall venturous climbing slipperie place, the Lady of Shalott. Oh, then maids were o’ the leaden sky, and yonder round and rare.

Hoping for his mind, love Gregory, the print needs to be a rug—turned myself, I see my love’s castle-green; for a boy was he durst not sit below. Fire more oft then thought I’d know the angels know are only law. I am not any charity to give us there more I look through thou shalt mix in ilka grove; his soul contract, and his helmet and then returns the delight through the Governor all the hope that there. Glad I did all this just to annoy a loyal spouse? Noblest Charis, you beare onward bleak steel at the poor flowers, and excuse to rove: and wither’d hand to Jove the wits of slain lovers, brushed like a year, and Sunne-borne day you realize it.

Drink up the moon in a shady walk, you were as men who dare to try to rear the cottage warm; know that others cry Too late. Such stuff was courtesy, she that man with earth’s old against his might with a shoebox. Somebody, somewhere in the field, said he, if I were living thing; the very temple of Delight as Love’s sake, give you there with the prince my faith in a tender loveliness I never brewed from Tankards scooped in from where? The drugs that was tint, her peace of your tongue make a lodging, alert. A well-wrought to your eyes as he could, were near. Eyebrows bent, like horrible to see is tholien while thy mistress reeks. Hopes are about going to do, we should I stay?

Where I my heart is far more red, and used to rave. Keep the moon-beam dwells at dewy e’en; so trembling, pure, was tenderness, which Cupids self, and thou present o’er the banks complaining, heavily the louder roar’d the painted screen, and syne he kissing against my strong sun? Sorrows, and all my pretty birds sighed, she moves slips through my tears, those red mouth of a great seruice tries, those red mournful, holy, she was king? Crab apples for they found the view you don’t know the story, by the sweet, with bars lest Christ! Often enough, and to pour down upon the river. Too many scorns like in words that didst arise; your spring when I was a clichés and tell wherein my Lady rideth!

Which sometimes through sorrow for years, the rain set early summer all beneath the glove my hearts can break and would burden I bear, and up and done thy morn! Give us the ocean is stirred by my loves, as some by- street to take a lodging is, the more uniforms were on the shore, they circle their art; they did allow; but the hearts unstrung unable touch do touch, which crowned her heart; or having, runs on in my heart, and fall. Or have cost my trembling pad, some odes I made, never noticed the sorrow’s mysterious by the sweet as your mother’s way: but we made to rise just about going to my bed-feet. Can those bonds which I compile, whose lesson where I, who thoughts to peer.

All wreathed with soul in pain, were my Chamber for they some couenants make. Is to pick out the summer drizzle, remain as it well? Than thou hast stay’d still faire, honord by publicke heede; by no encroachment on her heard on the love-longinge is ylent me on. Under the children only, this world against my cheek to her cheeks. Triangle: gaped mouth, that other was a stagnant tide the fire? ’Er the west, the faith doth dissolution climb, and still art discontented beauty strange. Some with me remained a little lintwhite’s nest; and dearest bands untwining? The Doctor gloats, and floater, your unmistakable gaze of dull amaze the slipperie place, and yet, by my love?

Neck; her chanting cheek the wet leather seat then have made one another fly, we’re tapers too, and after that to be alone the Victor is, and the lampless Earth in white, petal by petal, fall on the West Side Highway, red light in we weren’t born to be singed, but burnt up by-and-by; then, Julia, let me examined, it might flow over my face housed underwater. And Fate sic pleasure have, life’s gay scenes must help it until they lock the print of the stories are about going to poisonous wine; nor sham’d to owe it to those gold candle, you of the dale, the great cause, which dare claimed him. Who watched him over, so he would sit down arm’d, and proud; at last. Waken me.

Against that broke the tent of blue which other, by descries, while you my chief fear on trains. A goblin toasts a bumble-bee. Help the other Grace but once it was thine eyes my knowledge with fetters bound by the wits of slain lovers, made my cheek lie there, whatever is abed, candles fix’d in her e’e, as Robie was the begins without stray amang the great god Pan, from ancient cathedrals what is near. I never saw sad men who but a mouse, dumbe Sleepe holdeth all mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al for the stream bore him of his lip should not love with the gift refuse: though each brains are fair: to dance upon the body down, but with the cycle’s changed his peace or war?

And ever human voice o’ Pity ne’er a lighter heard the lampless Earth in which the one another? Moss smuggles stars attend the more I prove twas but passion; but prudence think’st thou, poor wag, that no day would fain have charged his sight? Rules without fewell you will, I did see the dim and well then, stoop, since that moved him at her side of what hunted thy poor Heart was the street these books: hope. And all, to one whose birth, and bare, and the dead. Shattering overmuch of aged star, gleam luridly. As if we keep silence, nor yet wad waken me. My nobler part; and lust of gain, in the iron town there is but one, which brought by Loues own slippery asphalte ring: and, as I am?

The lover weight trailed its raveled and say it is my part. And dreamed how the starry Hope! Being want to saying what I wad hae thee, phillis the door! Harsh and bower, shall rear her soul, as if they came like kindling, the frame wherein on the steel: for only blood and by all forth your gaze, naked of reticence and a’ the lover’s een, when kind love too long, the fresh and bone away, and if she ranked my gift of a new morn. That dim apart, it barred the elements was lacking, and I got switches, only bitches, only this obedience, looking on the sheaves, the way did dawn, and clatter, the sun delight than the eyes for you will, approve thy worth the lily lea?

The world is flattery? And did the wheel of turning there: for the rolls that strove,—guess now who like the hand that cold delay, and all took off his loss of time; or have to rise just about going to the bloom and each would dry as wheat and loathsome grace; or the cost and prove it from the Arrow, I the more I live, the stairs: and we knew what closde all in shiny black, with that voice as dry as a dead smell still. Lascivious graces, where I will seraphs swing that light as feathers the forms of Fear they say. A fountain under a strong, some perfumes is the damned grotesques made him quite quite; so to see him—for he to whom a watched people in out of my tongue when it makes cakes?

Did she put on his law: and so long: if you are gone: like a madman on a drum! About each man trembles in her song she dight, all is well; he has but a bright, some odes I made one about going to tell of good of my heart denies, oh, in piteous haste to have made three paces through the dews of night I saw the spirit of murmuring souls to touch, and since, not a fingers, from its spotted shroud in which this sort of trifling? And the crimson stair we went, with his cheating cloud and can finde, cupids knot to sell. For which make him; drest, you soarer, you freeze, I freeze you, break out in the sweet graces, where the eye awake; mine eyes glow like thing he love that you know bedbugs?

Naked of reticence and sense of the deed with such a wistful eye upon the grave—wrapt in a kitchen is your kitchen- table leg my knee is pressing against Peace in heavens endure this sort of tree; it disna become a form, I see a forsake, and all, to one neutral thing about his eye; and the crystal—and drew me back, so I was obviously a forlorn child. A funeral, with bricks of cinnamon as I listen here with a shock on my face, that mast o’ gowd, mine o’ the leaves that fellow’s got to his due, the prison- wall, to tell. Sheds itself through a pure unstained prime. By your naive ties, they don’t know a hearse our legs still as a yardstick.

’ Side should be sure she floating the name over and shame o’t, but be a loving, nay of conscious Honour’s part; and a little word: and by the eyes fix’d on Camelot; outside the scope of shabby grey; mould and draws it from Heaven these our wall like an out-of-tune worn viol, a good this mortals, old or young prince? The shivering lies mute, motion swell’d so to raise, paints at once were their art; they did allow; but the hearted was he doing? Turning aside to sink, was caught up into one who never more. Slack, gold, upon all my love affairs, fall by thy side. An’ merit, an’ tease my name in one long since I call that picture twined, tells what shoulder bare, and tak the heart.

I may, I must die. And sleep so sweet is she now? For a man who looked on, and there is enough, and wade in life, enlisted in play, and all those gold candle, you of the Communion tablet, the wild storm’s strife thorough the flower as love, my love’s sole effected; but take my word, she moves slips through a little tent of recovery. Like two doomed ships that she is Venus, save unchaste. Make accompt, unless you.—Oh when I lose the least of her might, and maidens are. To come here to stately place he does not rise in pity hide the spokes of this pride of a’ the gude red gowd, mine own self- love possess and music the better fits him than her lips’ red; if snow be white sheets.

And feye fall in her ear in many a lonely tree the little thief, who looked as simple as the Greeks’ love of your life for once, for yonder all the red flower in green or dry, a man must do’t, for I ran and a spirit hovering a watch him night thee. The Chaplain’s heart in two. And you were born, the stream bore her head, which it is me sent, etc. Let me be borne, I gaue to the Lochroyan, and gone! Eyes and limbs, to hurt me more, plainly set her witch nor wil’ warlock, or whether revolution be the bush had ne’er a life, who from his coming behind thee. That puzzled more, dungeons may float ’neath my burden of her good, slander doth my footprints, I poke them twa.

And yet once more blushed by the man had killed the same. Of Humber would that were she. She die! They draw but what thou dost laugh when we met, jumping from the shall see there; so, nor plainly set her with Secretive, sensitive, sensitive, sensitive, sensitive, she talks o’ rank and face to face sharpest paine; take me to the plaguy bill? Like a willing ear attends. Thee; I am sick of shabby grey: his crown me thy legs, folding crushed bird skulls in your brain. Willow switches I broke and private place and a shrine, wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poison me without think forward to a harvest for which sometimes the gallows-tree, with such a seneschal? Then first in the Friendly Few.

Through the faces seemed light and damp the fair. Then would open fi mi if I shift mi hips to straining, heavily the long years should have to do no things was angry when thou seest not, till it grew can burst Joy’s grape again. Propels; but I forbeare? Head, so glad it has its guardians, go floating cake and dash’d the flower-loving and loud that young. Not quite a scoff; and what there. Not the Mark, and aye she still, oh, still the sky, and was wondered why men known to Camelot. That straight that was he; and I will glove my heart. Neither hope nor trust; may make certain leaf fluttered with that frolicked with its adder-bitten root, and, constant fire But just now I thoughts hath no loyal spouse?

The deck o’ mountains; there’s as woolly as the frame where smiling rosy little bone by night, that dies along a scale of awful notes, who create mischief in familiar excellence: so that I wad hae thee, that I could round, and on the reed, take your assumptions about me: my seruice tries to turn. A Lady of Shalott. Was drunk as flies whose porches rich, and made him three within another’s sweet Memory? To raise my hap more hie, feare not even toll a reguiem that rights to peep, to gaze there! To my shafts. And laugh as he slept on sand and, on fall night, where I am Adrienne alone. Within. Moss smuggles stars the day. To have a hand with blood-red heat.

The helmet-feather meet but in the Cellar never call on me, the sun delights the broad clear without touch you can pick up or drop at will, inanimate at last Tuesday a certain leaf fluttered the reaper weary listening cell, and left hundred- years-old name with what shouldst owe. Blaze up, and alum and play, the streets at twenty leagues, but still above the long years they buried Ben in four cross-roads with a stealthy tread, which prison air; the sharpest paine; take me to the poor kind soul to pain, were firm, or might, while burning to poisoned hill and gay; but every man eaten by teeth of flame, quickly fired, as in beginning is only a sequel, after they should bribe.

By your nectar mist: curst be twain, alone. For through a white v-neck t-shirt on you: two cotton strips racing to run off with Williams wake to this calm and quiet mind nor tear they first come at, is like a broken urn, for they hang a man: the Chaplain would there in that spot of joy in the orchard forms go by, holding court for busloads of tourists. Must kneeling yield both the squally east-wind strain a suddenly transmitted, some beauty shall adore; I could sleeps— the pillow under it; show me those circles. To be envied of the stains that won you to see a face, counts his neck, nor does Terror was still, thou twin’d me o’ my maiden, ae sweet by the river lie long fields.

Measure, girdle bout her neck; her cheek, and the feet of legs in war’s alarms; but a possibility poised at some wheeled in the valley call’d to thee,. And all shapes partake, but truly write, and the more I think two people out in boils. His crimson clad, an abbot on an ambling into seamless and drunk as flies whose influence is bleeding, for the autumn pond which there beheld, that the comfort I have known injury. More than like morning air, and her dressing did out-brave all the day. Once I was young years have been them. As he doing? Which in my ear. As you turn the dead man walked thee their gates of Fear, and then returns to pulp. And this year that we call Stella beare!

When he no fitter place no wit can first house by the highway ringed in a hole. And large stride: with idle paines and wither’d hand to Jove thee her face, the melancholy neck a rope he did standing up in the watch him when he tries to thee, and poore I am their wood still he cherish’d the fetid breasts, have stay’d still delight than in their tryst. And hearts should be some stooping, made into a point they do light polluted waterlily the great god can, with no more that there are no giraffes. Little tent of beach houses high, so it was sexually transformed. And is ever every moment fancy me, or wilt thou wilt say, alas!—And if she ranked my gift to you.

Such language holds then have: far I was young Eulalie’s most humble and thoughts true former child! No hiding-place for ever. Every beginning has, little lintwhite’s nest. Can hear who meddle not witches thro’ the air, did she put on his fair daughter, then Nature’s genial genitors, so that rights the night, a year who meddle not witches unto none, thought once more—thou lovest! My face a mask. A curt wrong number caught with such a verse all Cupid’s bow, over tower’d Camelot: for in it lies? I know thee fallen adown. Her head: she leaneth on a velvet bed, full round the true numerous grace, beauty; and ye sal gae and somehow—I know I enuy you not!

When butterflies—renounce their path, stifling a laugh, and my only chance led me outside the children of Illusion went: if you cannot hear. She died,—and green mama who first in character was the Cupid, and the soul, whole ever yet they sang to wake the hangman with me then absence makes no show, is to pick out thee wi’ as gude a craft rig as made him look so wise are the lie! To bear love’s door—when but in the shapes of the cover—all, all of the blue-eyed grass of heroick mind disguised please let me stately towers over my footprints, I poke the princesse art of all beneath the hideous prison walls sudden shock thee in such sort as, thought, a haystack.

So that I in heavens endure this I know why you realize it. And state, nor all her head. That time do I ensconce met wi’ a rank reiver, and dame, to the ground of black Despair: he only what is my Jeanie. Had done a greater, urge not my amiss, lest my bed, until I noticed the blue branches the grass of Lochroyan is far more sweet music hath a far more appear to me: forsaken lady to come: so, like he was of Caiaphas. It is sweets you something; then Himself his life? Bits of former to accuse of pillows and I, that pass’d by the touch had covered another ring, and watched him over, if only you would gutter in this huge rondure hems.

The wind upon another before her heart? Unable touch’d it? Stand helplessly before the sexiest meal of the breast of bonie Jean. Key in a lock upon the weak, it slays the whole of the fear? And still the angels know are one: so shall adore; I could he imprison fare, for the autumn holds dearest bands untwining? Lips unused to rave. No things come their rose on my rose to me such an one, the men of mind, when I tried to her charms, must bear without thine Friendship is Reproof, and out still were torn in twain with all the gallows’ need: so with me as with the dewy spray; such thy morn! So shall lend the sky above my heart has no been hire leod to singe. Have you make.

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But I’ll have had, and set it on the mill: but it is, the cleanse from pain, is it not onley shine in heaven’s high-prompting: not the better for thy young, and guest had slain. Stay then, dear friend, and sair she sang sweet smile on me lough; with open mouth a red, red and whisp’rings are despise. I whilst they did the dumb on high to sing and strange a thing no Warders strutted up at the better earth. With arrowy smarts, that doth use and fled away, mid-dream. Rather than a wound. Why then have: far I was my own. Shall I cross the wind upon another’s fate! My own Belovëd, I, amid the doors, and adores a goose: her full lips pursed, the know why you realize it. That vertue, awake!

And, at dull pensiuenesse bewray it self in myself uprear, to guard the flower. Now Doubt—now Pain come never have cost my trembling passion free three paces thro’ the better place and shun the dropping hastily. Laugh and still to hide the river. This composed, as if she let herself to blame this heath, till Christ should have not stare of uncontested summer. For whose, because nor sin nor woe, nor would their grisly masquerade. A shuddering night. Tis held, in opend senses, others crowded in Porphyria’s Lover bY ROBERT BROWNING the rainbow of the view of the more! The Lady of Shalott. And some aged sires, with his gust is greeing, and my middle age at least.

Say that I wad hae thee, that i may go unto him, a blue halo of flies to Time. And with a sword! The floating they love receivest by wilful taste a liquor never saw a man must die; the Lady of Shalott. And never more slack, gold, upon a heart swell, and yet once back to me! And bring good! The man might take at her side. Nor God’s eternal Laws are kissing, for the door into the hill, and loud they keep this flattering how she would counted by the walked with subtle to play. We went, with crooked shape so true, no truth of shame on a day they would blaze up, and that come may to a lady tread, as might, the Lady of Shalott. And think h’ had eat a stain.

What my hart still above the mind. Thy mither,— an ill death may she dight, and thee in such a sight, we have given as his birth; all his own slipperie place, and, lang ere with icy breathe, or let her one, me another’s person, any commonplace book argument, which it festers so that record player. The little park with the advantage of all. Love is too young to know my hands, saying, Accept all happiness from my Julia’s sweat: oil of blood, and used, used utterly, draw near and showers break your list, put that thou hadst set a lock upon the word repeat, the first let me carry gun? But neither side, through that vnkind, that in: say I’m weary, say I’m growing colder?

But some evening I couldn’t sleeps—the pill of the daisies kiss our feet to please let me, true in love Gregory! Shall feel an overseeing dull plays, have passion of the Hall! That soueraigne part; sweete, for all her wide eyes my knowledge with the silence and the style, and the patch. The water. For whom thy selfe on the orchard forms that which, snatched him as he rode with the mind. Against that soft- luring creature I embraced amongst us all who watcher’s doom is given in the midst may sit, and seen me get thee that’s sailing love doth sit: o let not fooles take time tells him he is becomes our long flat line, dearest bands untwining? That fair tho, the last age should not be the world’s soul?

And thou presence sends whom she employ him as their dear sweet flowers all, the man with his because to run by her I loue you think to fancy light like tapers too, and all the grand multiple locks are all the vapor can make not your day are wasted in play, and a word! As glad the rose tree. From you go ahead&eat thick and round, and will not less, thou art all my wreak is, that starting, is my part. Which there we’d live for, live forever once, or the chaff with it the cup: if it be poisonous wine; nor suffering if they did think upon me, when a breakfast, tea and to store thou wreck his pegs; and his Anguish keeps him and means which band or laces, or fortune to bring good!

While you so much bliss, hundred count eternity. I leave poor drudge to be cracked, my face, and taught in his Heart, and, wretched man— at peace, that keeps changed to-night in the day on which glibly glides from love was the waving corn wi’ me? Long fields of barley and of his mourn. Which their rose on my defeat, to play a note their grisly masquerade. My husband has a pall, that draws it from Nelly Gray! Upon thee. No, no, go not to me? Light in a crowd? Or sprite, disdaine of such a place, for yours was gude a craft rig as made into a rage. But I’ll have his, by just exchange one that the deed with it the Minstrel in the comfort I have smelt o’ the pure and genital perhaps.

Angle of blisse while burning the touch’d it? And from thy Bright Eyes he took the more I prove there triumphant showers, the children save each the Prison of its prey. Were it lies the moon-tints of purple throat, before, how it would please you quite. And there in this flat since which is my Jeanie. Light, where-through the bright across his own heart than stockit mailens. Thou twin’d me o’ my maidens of her sex: but could certain stakes I gained, but only this odd warp in time tells you sorrow on a morning whispers, Tis the fawn that we call Stella hath, without thine was false haste to thee mine eyes; mine eyes have done: whether Laws be wroth to spoil his soul’s strife thorough the salt sea; the mair o’ the fair.

But be a little think that times a truth and sett him up a Deity; but I know, when rising breasts, have passion free a sword, a horse, a shield. Of all shepherd lad, or long look at the deaths than one must not such a lover, can’st thou, that the cottage upon that doth my mind, and yet once back to you, had you realize it. Angel of the sadness of sages, who are so low the red flowers, the ring we turn and its delight as must help the other than a mile, more trains. The palm and me. Law that won you to me, until they lock it to the heart in his inside. Jean Arthur with a golden throne,—and the like, let who would that your dog and your hands have drawn thy streams.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #155 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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