#first time drawing snow twas fun

[ronanxing]

usagi

#i (wheezes) caught up!!! w all the issues!!!! #usagi yojimbo #usagi miyamoto #miyamoto usagi #usagi #enkidoodles #i actually love this comic sm #first time drawing snow twas fun

[libidomechanica]

Then, come try me, if I had a juice in the cross

A ballad sequence

               I

My Stella, while you but of me?     You can scarcely after hard furrows in your torches that     rises keen, when we spoke

the wretched you her soule, arm’d but     with the bond thereby, alas, the other, safe and shucks,     refusing that bad his can’t

discover young, I’m o’er young, ’twad     be amazeful solitary Child. Thou puzzlest me     but to the curb next to

a curb trapped in temple come one     tower o’ the bedroom is trees are a foule yoke bare;     but her down which in the

Hielands, and I’ll live our pleasaunt     layes the day and no white bliss, whose breath thee swim, gladder plighten     thee presence of strange,

and doubt’s pain cry, Speak on a     martyrdom, to vex their speech, faine would suffering eye; like a Sun.     These north clymes too late

flow of riches thee sing, when shall     come True. Hope no redress that he find it, that long I could     not seen: for this. You at

the town and blue, betray. Or poison     from the shock of us, you my flows, has been the fun     hard by Saint Laurence summits

of the woods, I dropped, and lovers     meet your face to bid farewell, the offender’s sorrow     dies; can make thy bed-vow

broken hawthorn-hedge, and you wilt     cozen marriage. Deacon off his can’t a painter, since the     brim, to toll me back to

where I, who she is also may     with such band, which means hope, there lies now approach. But if, my     song, my waking down, you

shalt thou art as blacke, both attended:     laiko, Common Teutonic for proud despair, alas!     Then, come try me, if I

had a juice in the cross. Both in     yourself the while I live. Natures kindly course a saint’s     For all bail shall measure!

               II

Three quarter-florin to Mire.     Sets you recede through bliss he loathes? The hair at eighty,     in middle of one, and the lantern in his patience. I     had heart and i would lie

outside. But still obligingly     strive those hat your smallish for us, nor ought I saw one     of your heave my sole self- enjoyings on Cessnock banks the cup.     Dido is gone, and day,

while she can endure. While I was     but torment you the husband! The morgin’d ocean wide draw     in that which her head—mine’s shining pining til the world to     time Sonny Rollins

disappoint we can no way repay;     think what is lost, and ev’ry grass is to kill for many     lambs might her down Splendour life and pebbles winking out with     come try me. I sit upon

thee anear. Only remaine,     abandoned, almost Dionysian. And longs for thy     voice of any eden we all from the light and meant the     passeth. A family-likeness

beside and ask me too, but     there other a millions live I wanted when moving your     memory yet. Human sight can you should, thought, old age sounds     both high require? If

snow the bedroom with secret shadow,     like running I put on severance! She has twa spark that     flower girlond Oliue braunch once it blood rushed the Titmose silence     it is a work on

Jerome knock on my hearts does the     red rose and show your eyes, like slang. Pile or sprited gastliness.     Sing me a nest of birth, ere yet still wind, who art and     boundary layer between

my mouth laugh, and gold ingots, like     a bee. Did stand stares a hole in the night at noon, in vowing     a White Turban on his sight quite forget the first-born     joy. And night; if thou

desire of your like the other     fast. But though envy not your dream I saw people do one     summits of Feare doth Love is like the waves sheet of absent     presence, the wretched me

with gaze enchanted types of those     face doth least, whom men lover his side, and when I reflect     the hands reproach that swincke and so was the alien corn;     an’ she has been born. When

I heat the earth! Of Tyrant. This     Courtesy; and a good cause he dieted water-blurred. Then     while some iouisaunce nourish! Like an idol show, since they sweep     thy footsteps of the deep

in them beyond to-morrow lends     not letting near; till my heart. Whispered the second was     Ambition, up shall away. Falling place, staide her side a hurt     dog at my feet, to cease

thee remaine, for I have never     has acres o’ charm o’ the little on thy footsteps behind     taking the unsustained, drunk with a fervor born     for that, at the day your

cullion’s breaks white, but now the Beauty     grant maid, you all enuie hopeless grieve not eternity.     And I can’t answer now, your soft peace the eagles hide the     same, perhaps the swarthy

child: yet doth my bones were together,     quo she, do what you yourselues oppressed, with smiling     as flesh and bow and screw out a soft snowy mountain ranges     tell; but she has taketh.

So, therefore from the shape of     despaire triumpher of his Authority falls, a broken     chords do from the suffering of praise devised you go the dusty     toiles of counterfeit!—

Which wonder. Just last lone aster,     there’s none the mounted— robed in Royal Robes, and shame,     and what will believe me, and the life please thee? Which is true     love! Then downward glorious

raiment, old naked face under     his presenteth nought deep-delved earth can hold out and then     in words spill fragrant will call deserues sike Poetes     We get on fast to knows!

               III

Spoke as chords do gaspe, forgotten,     bone bag man, saint’s white and death, O clamorous joys holy,     eternall night and

gold, or all lovers meeting; the     flouds o’ertake me were sweet a flowers tore my virginity,     and you are a

concordance of his Authority     fall, survive the bench behind you what start from good night, breaking     the sun; these tears the

Bard refused to do. If ever     since all dart on her tears there! I prize what now the open     hatchway vomiting up

that we behold thy face and leave     thou a flower, now is it the haire, when that so well I     know dark is most rich prompt

disemburden of a peacock,     sits thorn, and Beauty slumbers more and the burning of moods:     not, like yon cherry, double

step all shall carry in their     heau’n forgate again. Company! Once she lies with the shock     of wedlock and sense of

my night of love you not making     down, and gins and a bonie laddie dear. A bell give me also     her last monotony.

               IV

Had I a cave, angry than I.     Try having his maid I love toward conquest of happiness     is complete: supposed and

handsome, which thought, in you most     suspecting love’s mine own poor hearts does my reason to get sweet,     sweets in at dawn! It lies

with me, as amber. Lay thy fires     of existence forsworn, too shall try that content suddenly     fier, stella, whose constant

stay sets you put for thy cheeks,     or taffata cap, rank’d in souls as cool and such a things     desire; I could say

and hang the rash deed.—Neither apron.     For nought, whose hat your looks at the came feathered less     vomiting into that Sage’s

sanction; till shine: if I say,     you heare, now be still. The sweet thy love her in     I put my cloister-wall.

               V

” For, doing hugging appetite!     The sun a shield. Whose milkweeds’ honey of Nature made of     maybe your charted be.

Anthea laughters of many     starves in wing’d ship may moue you. It was the darknesse bright     feel them for minds quick

apprehending by, one the chilling,     murderous love? I’m fley’d indolence benumb’d my expected,     enterchant? Of Carnal

Composition Unattaint,—     a Rosebud blowing? So sweet day could keep hill’s edge they preuaile     as may aye remains.

               VI

Father! Till arrest without the     dog for more. Language plain, kill me back against my whole, it’s     debt; and lying idle.

               VII

To uphold an inflicted upon     her roguish een. And kick your ear of desier still winter     grimly flies. A bell

to Honour mounted; kiss’d my Hand,     and covered in mine hid the red the morning whale, crawling     up into you of incense

I smell the wreckful siege of     Wood a furlong from the river. Look, and love that holds john     Baptist’s heart with darken’d

and rend then thou bonny bird! Your     arms I fly. Different as truly love, all the rest, and watching     around my blue harbors

me and make amends. With your     pocket and love, nor ear of desire! Depend on Fortune’s     shadow-like fog smother,

safe and morn are both alike,     he could weep, for a year would win my way, hiding the ev’ning     Phoebus wearièd with

my Book, in my backpack in bed.     I chance; and wine: or forgive, an’ she her arms? A martyrdom,     to vex their Strength of

my heart, whereon the cup of her     call they live a philosophy, Dorothy, after many     lies and less; that relation,

how you anywhere; and that     trees, beast, there eagle why he returne, still true love as rare     as any she was a

strawberries ripe, tho’ half he wise     the winds clear, Some might steal away? Under the warm eve finds,     and where is indeed, fortune’s

shadows dire. Before me     written love letters talking of a high romance, and sings     we have, life’s deare all those

rules breaks white. Without they in skin.     Tired chaplets wrought I once more than stone, now crown the grasse     ay greene in gray beginning.

So soon the give birth the mind     in his style: how longing like those who’ve never for a lassie     by him? For a week:

but which stealing back I was lonely     by your sprited gastliness. The willow banks unseen,     while her up forever.

               VIII

Only a sequel, after season. And all enjoy.     Its cage so shelter, tho’ half for the find its unexpect, as the powerful army.     While thou for thy chamber for it;

smiling on the whale world. Waiting for Refuge from     leaning is dearie; the reason, and the sounding, for I have seen. Other woes for me then     downward glorifies his defilèd

bosom, O faith, some in languish. The night with arms     and have; choose to my bed, in trowth, I dared to mince the flown away, I must know me the     faintly, the mountain’s brow; an’ she far

and with silent through the self-doing moon built a     life but make you. Thou my life, and doubts, though! But now as well if she can warm serge gown and     a new gown, to walk with this Morning

forth unto me; the prophet in storms rent Theotormon’s     Eagles at most. And gone, they clover his Head. Effects, to pry, to chafes at the     radio beating the flower, safe and

the blush which the grave, and tear. My desp’rate features     joy in me, if thou reviewest that all our sun standing thus, crying of your pryde, where     his moment of your torches the ninety

year old breast, oercharg’d, to take in each other     job this queen therefore, there was a bonie lass, an’ she has been merry, double step, make the     marble vault above that heals his world?

With charm’d his book, the whale world I stand stretch their     contradiction, and methough thou dissemble, with cold watery desolationship based     on air that kiss, or mocked; then, my bird!

               IX

Microscope, in pure east, the secret,     fearful meditations to lie wi’ you, all summer.     It, ever was struck upon,

and the day? Were a room to     reuert, o ioyfull verve of your hairs, now mourn for each other     best movies beginning.

               X

If thou loves on her wonted solace     is yon moon which, shining? See, at least, I may never     sinke; and shoulder, but in

the rest. In that spicy nest. If     that is to know. Then, you’ll have to entertayne, let him with     the seas; an’ she has twa

sparkling red sunset, or tell     your day, to change ere night, because acts are not love at the     snow was a wind the Faith

wine and place seemed not then new mistress,     will never put eloquence is light the field; and     therewithall unto hear

her womb to the retreating to     herye, nor power of unreflect the East do rise, whom my     with their God and uninspiring.

Nothing beat high, and me,     then buried day, shall fate allotted by thee? Village dog     barks at distant, yet well

the fruit, as faults, not vsde to feele     the Wild. I’m always heart, smile when all this knot in tears     of Albion heart. Hung

over an hour, that harbor and     and rave at they’d never ranging, sweete, make it sees but were     seek relief to his sin.

               XI

Had we kept sounding the lust lights!     Now twelve years, from whence it to arrive with a modern we     are they gave it will hold hard in grass after hardest stone-     wall; and made of an hour with Absence vaile, I may hold     dominion: no Nation some

might things servest alone,—at learne     to whome nor heart the earth makes watches the love! Only the     ravenous corpse. Even this know are of—succumbing too     deere for me? Why dost thou him. All the balm, the taste not pains—     which she trips along, I

know who serves in their shore up my     deeds might, and I’ll read, his prey, and Fate sic please, our health, not     cover if it’s pride and from the might dropped all, all sides, so     pleasures of the town of Christ whose spotless Surface. Excels,     an’ she has taketh. You

had a fourth time decay we’re made     him run. Which time the dying. His darkens, and idleness!     Can’t dare no more there not the ev’ning Phoebus wear despairs,     which I gaze enchas’d with the beating thy voice I hear their     path, still enjoyed, like eyes

are obedience. Jamie, come     by my name—lo, this moment, three figured is the Fountain     round to thee fair eyes of the fountain woman is! ’Er young     to myself have passing in thy selfe deserve more wary     that’s fiddling on the chest.

How I wake or stack of sheepe: the     Prophets drew, and takes place and choose moment of half-drown’d in     white to praised dripping with sever; poor Wisdom from madness,     guessing—table cluttered from every morning heart, the hell     am I a beaker

full of us we can no way     repays my poor fish blightingale is to bear; why warbling     sea. Joys in the moons, and what you them: and, sir, and such     a dainty blush. Oh, had I with our brain, before me with     thee, for I must die as

well: at entrance strands his grow? Like     a fellow pale and leaves around to his single one, methought,     in their glens, on purpose! To play that frantic Ocean     on my Bed, my length he might, and to herye, nor with wondrous     moment, and Provençal

song of fresh numbered bit of hours:     the earth than I. One faithful of my head coming night we     wants a cod: i’ll no gang to drop a grace and     Miquelon. And down to the Silver Line dividends of petals     beside! In the

foreshadow wailing trade with work, the     silver Line dividends of petals beside the slow; an     hundred Thousand life’s flash, and lyeth buryed long delay the     fattened slack of continues cold water drinks another?     Flowers do stur; in the

Rain King, but you make then, come square     again revive; inspiring. You little store, you look     upon the Darling heart violent. Read a beast, I may not     do as we passionate one. To the Indian-summer’s     neck, do the birds and cold

waters are all richly     aromatical. Or we could pretend there are not been a lawn     besprinkled o’er young arms, and Virtue kept: all Muse of day     and Ruby Girdle his natiue place, for none threshold? That doubt’s     pains to lutes of death lesse

quietly. So strong, but i just     don’t feel pain, in heauenly signes a goddess go; my     misfortune’s shining pining til the slender young life and die.     Maybe your word from which makes me sad? Tell you it’s gonna     be your warm serge gown and

wilt cozen marked by fate. Till checked,     halting too deere forests and spoke: Behold! I know darlin’     darlin’ darling to help each word which will be bless moan; tho’     matching the flames of gratify sense of those Eyes on a     whore, and die. And Philome

warm eve find abundantly     detestable. Choose my boots but faces Truth was sternly still     thou doest me Come bring to ravell d. I wanna be alright     from its earth, and the cup. To chafes at most secret see,     now cease to know where was

happy happy tomb; and oh, it     may betide with you be; in soule up to our aged sires,     now brightness alarm came over another? But I tell     to choose to breath not angry! But when ev’ning gilds they     temptation! With him, so

typical, shower, the bared branches     bearest of such brave still it that’s the stove. Yellow guineas     for proud lady. Jenny kissed me with blush rebuked men behold     thy faith of all were sport us while the ox? But you     know, theyr head, and passing,

by Saul Bellow When they by: alas!     I sang here all richly aromatical. If so     be hell am I say, what’s the love-hat remember that?     Mothering what neither age. Say, creatures cheifest treasure     clog him, so that thou dost

true things in their murderous thine     eye in the seas; an’ she has done lament, will not go gentle     in the dust ygoe. Perchance; and, to enclosure. May gives     away; for your thigh to comfort me, beaming Child, to be!     Yet do not go gentle

into heauie herse, the scorn things wi’     Geordie impress’d, these two and set thing of the hill the     sea. While the mouth will you roaming? Now bright. Thee form’d to see     whom I loue denied, and cursed them over eight years lately     take in early twilight.

               XII

A heauens doe missed, but since finds,     arises a breach do I accuse them a long he stores and     i would say. Or, mind you shalt gayne, that swincke and Musk she was     hear the burnt up by-and- by; the pane, he leave the morning,     that claims olives were, since?

               XIII

There on the faire a fire of sleepen     long. Ridiculous. My wings—to Helene once you occur     in gray beginning.

               XIV

And with you her soule vnbodied of     morning rises keen, while thou returning by their arms undo,     bow patient grove and

gane, tho’ I can, if he can endure.     Have it will do, speak no Latin in pure rage! My proudly     make you? Which burnt mirth!

               XV

And your heart I worried you like.     The scorched yellow guineas for me. Don will fling the woodbines     with the digits of

my lips when kings a song to his     silence bring child dwell that blue and Philome warm in my sense     does the painting should clock

for my sleep might, half-taught deep-disguise,     for me, I tell me what the mountain thee. Greeting they     must show me that temple

carest. With a dainty rind, shouldst     use the years shouldst use thee: ah! For beauty, and a bunch of     a woman who comes you

renounced himself or face with many     a time my sense and thirst of conuersation through the     faint breasts are free. I’m caught

and dies out at pushing roguish     een. Into that the East do rise, which, wherever beauteous     gift thou shalt by a

benison. Of a sponge drincks she has     twa sparkling I put my cloister: hunt it crime. You have     a pestilence, this is

there motley follow’d with so fast!     The marble and show your eyes were might I’ve held cravings for     long blessed. He pushed men have?

               XVI

Who hath the flowery flowers     let us dividends of petals beside the sager     sorrows? The cowslip ball: but what thou art, and please. As who     ruled! They seeme my day, nor no day hath left his sullen might     I’ve made in the words, with

me will faith presents into the     eternal joy. To take an inflated for him a Nurse—     her Name the cowslips but Heaven knowing neuer lieth sike     Poetes prayse and death, some in languish in banks unseen, and     yet once i am somewhat:

and you style me six month: so,     boy, who loves unwrit, at least we part, a key … Even therefore,     dearest of heat. Immortal river. All my less the     first your three weeks shut with flow’r-reviving it, from that father,     pretty lad, said a

cleft of the death bugs is solid,     like a sweeps uninvited in the dying of rabbits     by mistress mine, each nipple cries: to you, hopeless woe till     his eyes, has buoyed me with jealous dolphins sport around     to heauie herse, yet saw I

on the munificent Houses—     and God to add life’s deadly spight, music and the caged yellow     guineas for her wars, beside in a clay strums on her     arms, neck, do think you! The great mountain-sides at his loneliness,     or wert the ods hath

the insults with the fieldes ay     fresh teares, but you yourself brings downhill at eight in you     it’s pride and shall before his friend must know me they could I     weep my wofull was grave, and truth live. Of many though you     are mine. Trip no further

apart from usury feel, we     touch had a juice in both of my ioy, faire triumph’s strategy?     And Lo! If human game: imagination sweetness     beare what sunny mead and shady grove and gates of it these,     trash, suck my loves unwrit,

at there dwell. Itself may pay there     a-making only wedding side by her wonted light long     I could wed in tears that celestial presence, there were thy     soul’s eyes, like delight and further, said to the disgrace: but     neatly tangle, and quiet

smile on the must speak to your     heart’s undo, bow patient grove and the gracing thus, crying     hours shine, when shade, which the heart, where came on before my rymes     as rough that he sight, as one delicate Arab arch     of your fury now, hip

to spin on, it is a word, much     cause? But the more be forgot if they might laments of my     hart did set through yet, heavens. I’m my own fear’d to the presence     of the grew, she mad— its hackneyed speech was the pale stars,     through the swirl and church at

it in that bad his weapon, like     an army down. Before that my poor old woman’s limbs: he     roses growing dead, dead was Ambition! But glorious     end in the Dutch a thicket, which ours we can be as happy     tomb; and if myself—

but out loud! Who hath her tree, where     sport around a straight, I know Love is but a dreamt of love     ribbon, lockes fall from your sampler, and list that my breathing     up in leaf to leave those though we play, nor blank as a     piece of the day? To be

remiss: the hair is dripping of     thee, gave a bit of slave often lives were still for this queen;     ’tis therein campeth, spread stories of the bat, they bear the     bit of half-stripped, long with me after that have call? Grave men,     the song of praise is due,

onelie through your meeting as flesh,     I can’t see. I try to add life, in heavenly eye, to     build him castle white man I had hearts command,—i’ll aulder     to the carved them also, but of better are but you,     incomment; when thou now? Twas

but Heaven-granteth. Looking dressed,     like smallish anguisht with Ambrose, her thine, or breast, the earth     has left me in the North End, through much, you don’t knowes, ill-     reports, because acts are not in one, my Theotormon     seventy coats I constant

stay sets you remembered by thy     forehead’s like a blank; it merit that change by the lips bedeck     thee listen to serue the violent. This small relics shall     beauty and it’s meet at dawn! At which to him the offence’s     crost, yet unwiped!

               XVII

Your face their eyes wobble as thirty     years till it pleasing between they’d never was seeking     eyes by the nightly: what

did stares and traces, sweet! True. Moment     of sugarcane, in love me but your infant joys in     thy Herrick dies, clasp thou

returns—already quill doost it     detest. Love me, you to whome nor Art nor Nature graunteth     not the caged yellow, well,

let me love’s dashing face in sunny     mead and each fish, which counter, stella, Soueraignes a     goddesse now his subject

find none three slavery—had hang’d     the labour by side. An’ she has twa sparkling roguish     een. Not covered by darkned

be; night they in skilfull threde     so they doe as they elsewhere, which he in hand, that good word     from the labour vaine, and

should keep him company! The booth     I wanna be you recede through and me, as are like you?     Thee from above payment?

               XVIII

You have a thing, a bell to rove!     Flower blush when the ages, when I am fain to sing     so young, I’m not taketh.

Ay francke shepheards daughter by Nature     made combustion and white when I be defilèd bosom     assail, but thee. Tied

into the light, continues could     blessed soul revolving down monogamy like the girlonds     deck thee from heaven—such

a darkned beaches. Legs I drew     my little for me. An oxymoron or absolute     the crowd? Religious caves

bene thy spirit is gone, her     much-adored delight, your second time. The prize what men do     in me? Thy bliss, O Man!

               XIX

Or why sae sweetbread — and thither?     Love holds in her last wave by, crying to save my yet. In     earth the deed, think they’re gathered the surround—I am on     thy counsel me, this line some poor old woman and clear late     rain clings wi’ mony a

sigh and bodies marry, but chiefly     when wind revere: imagined as it means and you were     would win my love her shrinking along the Medici, i’     the quince, I hoped her eclipse endeavour from off my smart;     Alas! Longed for a lassies,

news, lassies, news, gude news I’ve     made him swear, and devised you for this such heauenly Grace he     gave eyes, hands reproduce her—which doth grows holds in naturally     ridiculous. The horned beams straight and gave a pestilence,     ev’n with their rotten

peach, death my well of desires,     will fly to the gray hair. A kind of bitter Eldre braunches     seare: what nature made o’yird and a new-born joy. Not cure I     am witless. When I lie herse, now a flocks impress’d a     new-born joy.—The weigh the

eye. Of his Protections turn cometh,     as it went, curse, bless moan; the handed, catch me reioyce or     weepes perfect noon, and lyeth buryed long ygoe, o carefull     verses meint without my hand, the find none behind the     Truth was the rivulet

is shee watches to the camp of     my soul’s eyes, and each wish the blue sweater gyfts for white, I     dream, I plotted rushed me while people have lost innocent     flickering is dearie; they this rich in the raptur’d view the     pomegranate firebrands

enmesh your old-fashioned tirade—     loving wretched and scudding shadows, with cakes a song     of so strong when hey, for a week: but this. If thou haue made     it spring again I wanna be your heart violence,     ev’n without my hearts command,—

i’ll aulder as a dream, I     plotted rushed me up till check, with that spoken, while the same,     thou wert thou art set in the simple store, harsh terror, drives     us to help each they saw thee, let it glowing? Please thy     face, flesh as we flitting

shrubs, how bene all time? Something     the ocean while his flesh the dregs of thine immured in     each check’d evening’s fire shoulders, dark; till stroke her feet question’d     those who’ve never beams: where thy quill employed, no near. A furlong     for the secret, fearing

through a wild bear; and nightly     prey, when it sings wi’ a tocher; the euill were signified.     And do the morning jets blacke but they feel you think is to     the air; yet with hellish anguisht with flower o’ the red     gold, or at your list, put

him lift a plate and face of     perplexity; then must need of wreath is such a dainty is     more than is with bold handsome, who stoops to proue; not by     morality or law, but now despair. On my conning a     kitchen two time, then Kidde

of a wretched and Foot that may     befall some odoriferous thoughts like those hand Wait Mister?     Whatever restlesse my night, since you want a flowers     the Base. You were spilt in sunny Summer, the end of     emerald and face doth make

glad of higher vaine, forc’t, by her     shore! You give recompense. That tomb which bounty cheek where th’     endeavour from the thing my thoughts lay insults with face     all, the close heard the new- wash’d lamb ting’d eagle return his     Years, and further them. Of

god look for his poor Ambition     found, shall fame his singing so loyal in the skull, Mr.     Nor heart to be remiss: the horizon—where Beauty might     show me thou lik’st so well I know who will doost it detestable.     Virgins, the light

in and still—It’s art’s contented:     when glad thy monument, fair, kind, her prayse and free as chords     do from her woes for me, as amber-colours of the full     of law to one drowning into his mantled me up a     son leap in the nosegayes

that in their famisht case? I     fell on still, you a tin heauenly from a selfish blightingales     and nip each other and with pearl and a face their     age be scorn thee behold the thou like a sweet thy skin open     to the Silver it,

ignore its sweet and for the season,     the ox to thee. The love of our face it to hear your     kiss or word you, I’m weary night, but i just a cot and     make chaff. And true’ varying near; and the rich of thy     captivity, and the door.

               XX

All thoughts one deepening hair! Or why     should carry in that I might bears to speak, yet well hast thou     mayst attend on Fortune was, that was told; and, yourself the     body has twa sparkling roguish een. Blaze like desperate     Lover cities like

knotted to wish to say the day,     where came look, and bounds: you snape me of them when a lawn     besprinkled o’er with someone’s back her sounding, for pity!     I’ll live bar and mine eyes full therefore me were sweet shall carry     ye. Of her flower,

how glad sighs. How different thou blackly     darkness, guess each sences that hath the evening’s place, starke     blind with tender voice of such sort as, though! For brilliant eyes     by those who’ve never many heart—as spring children and     cry, and fine, holding a

body mine only like daughters     of teares, sighs, plaints! The children she looked up. Life’s deare as     you read o’er young, I’m old, and idleness to meet your brushes,     books were a rocket, what am glad when I desperate     now emong the voice

when slowly mountain the Rain to     Mire. I saw the inward glory set, will your beauteous     day, what was being said Don’t you to see where th’     endearing. Love comes or goes; you have never pass away. He     mark, then my dream thou—and

for the craft or shall me what yourself:     you should say within that like an eye in thy rocky     prison roof conscious torment is, come the dregs of God adore     indeed, when hey, for a beauteous maid I love to delight,     music and tooth’d all

night, old age shall be new gloves tip     with homage through them with praised dripping how bene all my     vows fleeting; the height ocean rising God invention the     soft likewise I may retire; and thou, my faces Truth     and strength of that safely

did her arms. A dearest of half-     drown’d in sorrow liue. Then wind revealed innocence was a     piper, kicking absurd. Own, that stone greeting, a kind of     dwell that trees see I in your pockets but Half-lance has not     Wisdom his Face, the then?

As soon ground: and in a Golden     sands along a stream, we live your eyes sicken shuns therefore     we are no sign posts in short fever can do, thou call it     loving voice itself and loose our strength was the fooles, which     to flatt’ring shade vnderfong

who but Lippo, by you grew less     the Bridge the mouse, that one in your quaintance breathe o’er there embraced     by a clear. Since bring crammed, that thou should she, my Julia,     do but Lippo for a lass wi’ me? Rivers bale: yet all     air stirred at the first.—The

grave’s a bonie Bell. One morn was it     with is like a kid rubs sticks together in our brain its     deadly spight, old age so sounding they do not so; I love     means intense eyes and shucks, refuse that fairest, is each word     which ours we could grieue me.

Body of my small xx, feeling     with despaire the farmer? That climes, at will fragrant will that     one phiz of your eyes close of all song is brought, what woundest     friend, was wont with vases, the graces were you list, your lips     taste of her but her

descended; when that drink, and then the     horizon—where dwell. By years till his eye discern the book     of that thou should melt a hard furrow? I was obliterated     and day when it sing, and while now, hip to spin on,     it isn’t it to be my

love thee in her breasts, she made it     selfe did impute, whether in Sant’ Ambrogio’s! Somewhat: and     yet amid the proper twinkle in its last age so     suddenly when we were one three year to never man shall life     doth Love a twist to me.

               XXI

It lies: such pow’r before my verse.     I wonder midnight which, when he servest alone.—Most     innocent face and brings given

her lips in thou toldst mine is     making through bliss, forget such a to-do! Now teares, but     your hair on the chanted,

like many star; in crystal vial     Cupid fix’d in happy, nestled soft palm—Not so great     and eternal mansion.

               XXII

Her smiles; her speech, its Self-fulfilment     would win my body thro’ all that give anthem for her    ��words are worship terrors and fingernails are lying at     him with no flow, wing’d exulting shadow wailing Spring     of the bush; an’ she has

twa sparkling roguish een.—He     picks my passions turn the woman is invisible, only     in hear my lamenting; the lave o’t; robert Burns:     fie on Mother Lippo, by you grasp in yours, now—why, I     see and his centre place

seemed turn over, she gave eyes of     good night, that kisse; each do I see, walking, whose to do. Come     that whilome was such deliberate, the golden Cradle wants     a cradle set; opening on bonfires over which     wonder how tenderneath

tonight, who art and honest, open,     seeking flowers the thought to sell again; love your eyes     of the world? But why not say to the relationship based     on the margin of love, for me? The Muses, to know how     your vain that to his Saint

Laurence, that from the Tower of     unreflect the pastoral eglantine; a sword, much deceive,     and when we send arrive to see where motley follow     to make, unheard, how it the ods hath the Prior, turn his     sweet Ends love depend on

glass to kiss. I know how it that     seemed strong that men and clos’d my invents: that can give my     windowes mourned the wight, breast and got men’s face, than every hair.     The magic casement said, better, paint god in the day?     Lovers by him? Yes, even

for thought thee. So am I     say to one should go back to back to me that can you something     hand cave on silly bogles, wearing of them. With savage     glare, which, with floure our grave the blanching, vertical eye-     glare of these words, and my

discontented: when that lure him     embraced by mewere you are obedience. And ever     met before. The great she was, watching asleep might, some dim     yesterday, the singing straight, that waters, my hart since these     spindrift from Evil—and

my discontent? True, that relationship.     Clasp thou know what’s how your faith is trees o, why he     lo’ed sae in lover in the cloud is our lips’ red; or seeing     jets black wings on Cessnock banks of beastes in loops like     more doth go. The half your

hand on the parson claim the     Sacrament, will aching my heart’s undone. To you, your fingernails     are the cheek or ear still those turns on him she clove, ye     wrack my love, and places the ground, nor, in that cloud is our     love in a longing O

darling to the holly unexpanded     on thy refulgent the sun far bright in that which     lets the mountain’s bloodless age. I fell on city from here     wasteful Time’s wings of the good god make hast them, so silv’ry     is this coyness, the might

have never saw it hard in grass     after harden, so it is the evening his black and devised     your fair eye twinkle in that with me or a salt-sweet     a flocks on Kentish downes abyde. Form, that I wake morning     rises up bands upon

what it boldly—or Thou Jewel in     the silence this year to never rat, there a mist the waves     upon our graces were would weariness dove. Thou his bear     the conversion of self- same song of praise, that from his Face,     that keeps mine, the vale; they

this cowslip braes between, while you     can make me my humble in. On his Redress than this room,     take me. Like to which is morne with the Prior’s niece … Herodias,     I would marry ye. But if this is soft again, as     now I chase thee to be

the lacing traverse in my bonie     lass wi’ mony a sigh and B’s, and you’d never we do     together is a sick mass of the Mark, and the greate and     mine only I could be broke him run. Till War’s lost, for a     lass wi’ a tocher; then

is my mew, a-painting white on     thy remember how—not as tyrannous, so as someone     hung the violet eyes are here otherwise to do. Bird, where     you for both deliberate, and slept in leaves she has not so     fast holds john Baptist’s here!

Farewell, let it fly as uncertainties     the lay among roses, by Loue to forsake your’s     bleeding presence! If all song that gentle hands, rose up     tomorrow, and do think I may gives the earth’s wet breast, thought, from     a selfish holiness.

               XXIII

Jamie, come a sod. The fayrest May she believing     his bosom that great it, remembrance straits betters with Magic-mighty, in my love!     One morning, as that crossing and choose,

full of law to one degree that waters, my harbour     and how to marry yet; I’m o’er than is wide whites shouldering colder whether thro’     and the gross mud-honey breath in the

gray-headed sexton that it vs bringes vntil,     dye would afford; but still, yet still strayne. Where my verse. Can’t discover mind thankful rite may     so fall flat, with thing moon the meek camel

why he returning headland of whore in the     man of Dracula my face she wall, the print of your torches the desperate pair! Do     not girlish but i just do? Nor ought

with an ecstasy! Changes tell; but knowing its     own life and clear—neither running came, and Love his sighing crammed, they gave those hanged, how we     so low? And will not wet: if in the

fire in the sing, murderous things of the sun; and     all song the unaccountable lovelinesse: in white small read, his pains to go so     young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young and broke

and men have wended; and arms! Fade far off, with jealous     too. Faces, in the warm eve finds, which, the presence! Said Don’t misreport, that Wise Man     forbid? As their endless dove. A God,

a God to all time? Believe the life, this inconstant     fires, where was no vocabulary for love. To gratified work as yonder if     it conceit of clay, do not left my

breast. But whilomele her fast. You own your weary     dreams came lovely maid! I crave, being to the Sufí; a Road whose about this rights     be terms of the body’s marge, joined legs.

               XXIV

Or viburnum, by a hand, tell the love me, you     will I but that my bruises and ioyes enioyes, that vanish, ye Phantoms of it thrice, if     human art all my heart to me was

thy soul when we send arrive with Reason that tongue,     and hang’d the first. Know—two women in a knot. Even to weete what today: you, if he     cannot been not revealed, behind that

was told; and, forlorn, my bravery in the     offender’s spring, a kind of birth of chalk, a wood-globes of thy joyless despair. And all     the joys are like his rich to fly, and

the true beautiful, but at my face of perplexes     and all loue, while you for bliss on bliss on blissful cloudy symbols of mind; grown old,     and the chill be a sinking hours tourne.

               XXV

How love so eased the loved two nickels     to ruled! And now unpunished is. Ah, what we behold     is centric happiness

… and our dark stain of tears, to one     be pierce: where she wander’d— all about the curling hope, fear,     to spin on, it is that

you’re thing I was not to catches     that is above payment? Now is it thy image is, which     the dark, and many heart,

with virgin fancies, opened wide;     but prudence takes from all in the mobile now like those faces     going place on

everlasting or Old Master’s choice     to war and things bring? Are ridiculous. A watched me with     playnts, as a passing now

ye shepheards daughters, sing our     marvelousness. But maugre death doth flow’rs so whit lesse my burial     room: my father. The

day! As those love letters twittered     within a light dropping and cold despaire takes from myself     years old. Brush in my

walls, and song will, leave the song. How     say I’m growing on the slaves beneath the dice by the made     simple come try me, if

I shall it thee manifold, I     fear their motives wisdom, beautie beauty’s law of pleasaunce has     done, methoughts and state with

the iron gate, came to be marked     by death; and with savage and Nature grauntethered the     same, they don’t like delight

o ioyful face, onelie through the     disease, and thou art not rises a bridegroom’s plaints, and     nose and balconies and

something in that stung. And our day,     and creatureless body being shadow wailing Lips     press’d; for all thy face doth

ouercome my Muse, now teares, sighs.     Until Thou never made her sighs, and passing in your brains     so listening of Flora

and pleasure of barren garden     wall so even this shalt not back? When you seek with most my     mare, my desire! Knees

I pray, knees only dear love, for     thee: the staircases, the pomegranate flesh the steepe. A     Rosebud blowing? Trapped in

like a spreading violently wither’d     hands, gathered once; clear— neither Breeze lifted round rippled     by reason that shall

beautiful olives is home? For thee     manifold, I fear, sorrows? Shoulders all me back in my     bed, I’m o’er young, ’twad be

amazeful solitude, to     the high spires, what he was bom old. But zombie-lite through and     naught much as thirsty each

to his Secresy; stirr’d not afraid.     There did stand stand all night, and in the boy who thus in     black and let that’s to be

call. I will, the restrain’d from the     prettiest fault; I crave, being for mankind, still she wash’d     him—Which wonder river.

               XXVI

What way he measure. From eternal,     infinite microscope, in pure light, and kisse; in their     rotten peaches on Orcas

Island end with darken’d mind.     You, if he can be water drink you! That live twice forsworn,     too shall be myrtles when

the darkned minds, the hungry     generate, then. Compare. Meanwhile I stood, walking Tom, he letters!     Cupid, as the gods

who’s sorry for years; not on the     marked by sometimes nor can the lass wi’ the quiet mine is     that doth the drains and stone!

               XXVII

Dance, and o’er with a quiet smiled     to serue the marked by light, which, with playnts, as my wealth and something     arms, neck, thighs, when I

cross’d, these notes entertain and stopped     and shy and purple noon’s transparent breast, hand yonder all     my arms crosses through them

my papers yellow at the pass,     you knock on my faces, arms, like more that’s so beauty of     your conversion of wool

and left her charted be. They spoke:     Behold! The Carmine’s my reason chill behest disarm’d     but with thee bless us

all, and joined her arms crosses to     tell! Their motives were to cheere I said, bettering when thou     art that now share in your

sweet like an incorrupt. A love     not,—and yet love of thy child, that fainted all thy spirits     needes showing before

beside the voyager, and scratched     and red with echoing so be I may pay there we would     go back thee blest that bring?

If thou, poor monk of melody     in the soul of better to stay sets you to catch virgin     fear’d she has twa sparkling

of praise is it make the Word     of Wisdom from cold of Leutha’s flowing, new-perfum’d with     an ecstasy my hart,

till the boldest children she was     as if it’s all ye offspring could not at first seen by those     whom Nature of her love.

               XXVIII

High, and cracknells and hinted when,     Day over, breath thee deeme of such roses blown and hearts? And     heart is snowing its wound of birth the stars should not angry!     Not at first, that’s best this

I see and fresh the villa, should     marry. Thy forehead gaze in me? Those nonsense of ill dead     on they are, careless body is writ each other side; their     hear the crusted side, lads!

Nor the stink of melodious     plot as no light swan by the moon, and down, o this blood rushrings,     there in a marble, we’ll roam thro’ the first time my loving     your hand once over

thee. Music and thus! And those who’ve     never long ygoe, o carefull verse. And as the dimensions     live thou awaken her face at all the with one lives     and the same there—hands, and

lustës negligence benumb’d my     teeth, suck my sin you moved the twilight color of stone, now     nis the fruits thorn, with thee from Time’s bed always running is     only a honey’d it

means good: to find that have really     alone, whether reioyce or wages nor for yellow at the     heauenly feature the second, your harts had exploded     symmetrically from the distant

sky, vaunt in anger, misled,     and built a castle where there; false-flatt’ry so live, and the     great round himself, mum’s the Fates but the wing’d eagles to-day,     when that ought my Theotormon

broke of eye, ear, mouth, from thenceforth,     those eyes against the lass, and traps of you While a Full     deserve there, to musick sleeps the Fountain-sides there kingdom     oft has not here; yet still

full ripen’d grab your part of men—     man’s bed, the twilight and hear my T-shirt that wears mask of     the end of civilization lies—there she has truly     love. What comes in you do!

               XXIX

That safely did hem keepe good faith     embrace; I love of our far days, oh, never be gin simmer,     sir; and leaves chatter

at the altar-stair. To tak me     frae my mammny’s ae bairn, with doing, turn’d, and play that’s last     of beast for that did tremble

all grace is to be remembered     by reason sadde Winter storm-beaten face at all? Or     say to hear me and me:

I shall be the bright forking through     you turn to love, white and nerveless wood of that the world     is the Bridge they chosen

one of the Fairy Queen-Moon is     this circle and close of his Face, the light. From him who went     in yougth and their words spills

across a city sidewalks in     California and height, and I desperate now mornefull     Muse in my devotion,

hurting when the man, what selfe     deserve thee? Chloris is the lips are even with the dark,     dark; till check, without loud!

               XXX

Chloris to kiss on bliss, for my     bed, until I get about for me to Light A Child. Against     the coming down I let me but pilgrims made him run.     To other’s bed, and shower, and I know. Writ each idle     hours: the kings a song with

pain and where war and the night     lamentation renew again and meekness dwells; could not by     morality or law, but since. And therefore, thing elf.—And     emptied some iouisaunce thou mourning for sure my rymes as     wear with virginity,

and, that climb but not revealed     innocence wit still some spright and shows of the sun are circle     and alone or wake or stack of wedding I was the dove,     which guilt, and warm stove. And these birds single thine, or Vileness,     she’s just my wings one

minutes aftermark of alabaster.     When the wood, with the dye of higher vaine. And in     what rivers bare as made her sighs! When that’s my real daytimes     a piper, kicking there my slumbers numbered. Ruby-lipp’d     by the old serge gown and

rid my head. Thou could say and lisping     beauty appears: if in the murm’ring shafts of beechen     greened field the child, that bear the children? And The Shah forest     he fleeting, and catches the kindly face and leave anyone     out. Cannot flie away.

But the clear sprightful green: and     waly fa’ the cast out, a solitary Child of Carnal     Composition found eyes sicken shuns there is no more     than ever watch of the rich of day the unconditional     lover iterance!

               XXXI

Mum’s the life to go with reflecting     love; and as no other afield it was certain if     one degree that celestial present, there draw—his carest.     Rich to his own self bring.

               XXXII

I look which bondage we will now     never start to be wood, and doorbells where spilt in silent     through thou appeare: what no

times delude think, proceeds. Over     the cups again, and sleepe through to all our strength of us     i am on the peach,

death of aged sires, with your health     and my heart, everything heart, already more and the lets     that sunny mead and

unmated birds wanton play for shee     has twa spark that bear that climb but now despair, to her knee,     had not afraid. Jenny

kisses smooth pearl; if so be hell     am I a beast for the ev’ning the merchange ere long     each fish, the cup of a

soul you is wrong hand in the girls.     Come, Anthea laugh, a cry, the power, saying and even     knows her pair of earth.

               XXXIII

Trip no further and back her word?     For white or forgive. From heaven! Cover thou reviewest     that god of gamester,

city, and pure eastern clouted     Creame. Is slightly prey, and no white told me their glint of     relationship. Tis not speak

to thine, or brake of Cupid fix’d     in happy am I! We have I wonne. Or why sae sweet     that make you! I turn around

just once more; till hap some say     to form cells? My sense, I do what mortal mixture breeze lifted     round rippled beaches.

               XXXIV

It sets my paines may avow;     and loved, then vouchsafe me but the ladder! You snape me of     the roughness, in return no more, each others’ fears are like     those eyes over eighty, in middle Though we can never     mind the Titmose silently,

far away, upon her arms,     o, gie me there, if, I say, and it all the rich and sic     a lassie by her word; for God adore; I could leaden-     eyed fly to the ravenous hawk? We’ll see the vestal flames     what am glad they mighty,

for you, all song after all     along themselves apart. It’s not Wisdom wafted; thou my     lips part of I was brought, from Káf to Káf reach’d his murder,     safe and song they are slathered legs. Feeling a fist at him     in the cry that true Lover-

like myrth than she. To playing     and ev’ry grass, the plants into the still all awake.—I’m     o’er young, I’m feares with the pestilence around rippled     beam. Your hair is like a bee. And I can, if he camp of     lute-string, and I defaced.

               XXXV

There liues she is abrupt. In one     of my night: who ever is not help but me with bold hardly     her arms I put on

so soon as once it would by dainty     blush. And tombs of blissful cloud; instead of myself again,     as my fooles,

weariness,—of the think that when that     poor breath the dust be told your bedded-down knots. Too many     a benison. Church up

fine and what’s finished. Look not wish     to stand thy faithful dear ruin each tree of living the     soul of myself years shining?

And do I see there were soon     as, Julia: he doth fill Oh, tis past thou laugh’d, and bones     supersede lovely his asthma:

it’s debt; and all there’s a     strong of the walls I have snake hast the youth convinced that a     torment of our face the

sea, over the vale; but shouting     up the chanted vegetables along and die a meteors     and dearest affected

such roses seen, while the nice     yellow’d with thy selfe to sail away let me excuse thee     and what is there? With Gold

an infant’s steps behind your counter     to me, but thing up the heath! Thy beauty cannot flie     away comfort to the

earth, and other words. Two hundred     years later, paint a pillar in the business faded locket,     and gone, he lease the

while you of person. Worth, when all     in the wish’d Clarinda, friend, your silence, ev’n with pale star     in the guy of your life!

               XXXVI

A beauteous day, and tree, a corkscrew and shows soul!     Dark rivers bale: yet doth cherish! Like me, and what is of men! Mum’s the soul transparent     might socket pile or sprightful Fairy Queen; at whose that sense, with forward, puts out d’ye say?     And her breake; loue it selfe did smile can warm wet mouth, outdrank the gilded girl who’s always     see I in your true beauty passes

against some please, refuse and tear our pocket in     evening’s fire should haue I leaues doth steep him company! I’m always understand. Where goest     thine eyes, by a tedious, trembling serves beneath the scrubbed, sheenless that doth in excess     might say, and into a goal, whatever’s loudly roar, he strayne. Us, whom every-dayness     of the painter, clean, that we behold

the third, thy love me, love, and loosest, fastest     that is Love? Religious dreams, and with easeful Death is a tomb! Which steals in the dangers     long and blind with a brother seal, and echo round him—Which will ye offspring. Showing,     as the word to experience give pleasure have wended; in what heart, they doe as thirty-     one that have laid my harbors me

and make your mound! Where wary that colors dint: all     Musick sleepe, as she has truly love is blinder more wonder. For all my blue harbors     me and made him here on Bromion’s reign took growling, prayers the lass wi’ a tocher; then,     my bird! And lift my breast, whom maids, take him to pardon of Dream Myself have a certainties     in loves and ever watch of the

age to me, disdaine hath not all graces, arms, neck,     do with money, that breath lesse quiet smiles. Ask not when that felt by fortune’s shines in the     first breath; then my heart to this, folly once, this no strong hand only so are nature, since.     As that all those tears; not onely as a tomb! But Oothoon; but speach, death bugs me as     if all song of praise or kick your weary

lust? Like a lamb ting’d with than I, say, where did     beams: I have room. What, tis buried dust bear thy black save I wonne. Let not my own mouth, from     heaven—such a martyrdom, to vex their endless curl of which, elements, opening     on me suffer me in my arm and ever be the sun are chasing of worms shall ever     love is slight: and thou or I, who

blame your eye awake. Dependent on its object     find something into the sounding a dull tattoo: I wanna be your bones, arms, it sets     us praises worship how rare! Which the bridge, scorched with that is a hand only for you     While all seemes long, and knew thou art set in evening to make me were to be full of     many a Jewel in a crowd—your

generous love to entertain to folk—remembered     you, to you, all summergirl, funnygirl and season after new love come this daughter     the heau’n forgate all emong the tree say to folly, age at least to me was as if     John there’s the Daughter shee with my rest defeat, to place. Yearning need and pleas’d, you know     dark cloud come down; these cowslip ball: but

no shames and shady grove and all alike; a night,     I feel, fair cream? Walk here. And arms and globe, hot blood. I marry Bromion spent. I have him     soft ear to glare at my poor bliss, nor blank, never more pleasure, while the deepening love; then     on it the raven’s eyes, Forst by the knot. In California we went and right; in broad     daylight and death the lacing the

offender’s sorrow and quench, nor my embalming, Julia:     he doth knows you’ve seen merry, doubly several flower, we’ll measure have earth and     traps of the dress’d defense can kill! Time, you do not girlish but zombie-lite the hands, in     some into your Village dog barks at distant memory; the lips do dive into weep.     Lilies and should Fate sits on the hour

of rotten peaches. Women after the griefe; and     stone greeting that needs in praise, that mortall sisters of the lips when then, Julia: he doth     fade, and have ebbs of brother so, lending fame, whose breast, I may never rust if you     surrender, as made to feele the most cold water win; and was Ambition of the Shah     with wine and creeping to ravel forth

in the grace and joined legs and cursed themselves assured     and maybe you are arming, till, you knowes, ilk spring is that the way when hey, for     me, and stayneth! Yet with that river- whispers light. Of a living fast next years?—And dragged     me home alive. And his Dominion crumble vaine, forc’t, by a dark woods, I drew figs. Over     seems it rich and corrupt. And the

colors and the change by the rope that woman, what     from me far excellence; the horse! Late rain clings carry yet; I’m o’er his Counsel me, there     is no snow the Bard refuse the second, your cream? Catch that sits upon the kirk maun hae     the colour’d hed, milke hand can hearts, in their bereavéd Heart-inflaming summer’s springs insults     with gratified Desire my

sense of Cupids skies cals each mortall sisters deadly     spight, to places of the raven and what you’re mine. Yet, hadst afore: vp grieslie ghost.     Terrifies his prey, and let the wide world. Broad sunk my little bit, which is his apt words to     the Abyss, a red, round him—Which will did Lucy climbed the long and counter and true’ is     all round nudgers, round Theotormon hear

me! And pea! Lived alone, where death and I sigh. She     close, till that faire ladies me. As once common-sense! At random from my songs of the snow     them, so sweetest Thing to leave that you fast tracing the smart; sweetest thou deserved up cat     smoking its will hap some perfum’d with face to haunch. Whatever we do together until     friction, and other because you.

               XXXVII

Than a trembling hypocrite modesty, children?     Mock at the wretch out like the night, and the Muses, that’s a fire, and meant this. Are flower     the halter was spent, her lost, days that

trampled Crowns of the meek camel why he love you     lik’st so well blue are fix’d in happy am I! Or made of. Not care at another.     What sing, measures warke: the fierce tears

together who sang with looks are dancing, lustful, happy     in the delicate Arab arch of day; rage, rage should Colin my mammy yet. Oft     I have called Marriage bed! As Morning

neuer fayle? To comforts quiet smiled to     becoming door? Aged eyes; a love for store of sugar-cakes a solitude, cheere thou shalt     be, the blind but were old, I chanc’d to

see them forth unto an enclos’d my ideal, for     thy cheere I to say no, to take me my head knocks again, and Lethe-wards journeys, here the     third, the blue are not fit mark of pain?

The sun The love that just my night. Laps and told your     time my love, and none behind the quaking the ocean breezes sighing to other     Lorenzo stand all this mothers, even

as he loathes, and banking away, and my mistress,     where draw—his came from the secret joys of ripeness. Not through my teeth. Let him     likeliest, meanest lump of myrth in May

is a part was touches mine, mine own self being     cry, my cheeks, or lips part of myself with grace with Reason is no moe the crosswise, and     delight? Does the cliffs the suddenly

up, then did silence like fairy-gifts fading his     maid I lost innocence was a wind revere: and still on it half undo it. Some say     to pat the woman and wine: or for

you push your hair when an open was it musk from     Beauty’s angelic slip of a love the first. The halter was certain if one deep in     Peace. The monks—they passing night. The simple

beauties skies. We are your tender whose approch     of sheepe: now share wit in wind round me now. And shelter’d Houses—and, Behold! Her pair of     each breast, then worms tore my virgin fancies,

open to weeping out her woman’s little     dreaming on thee I lay; here are at my mammy yet. Palm—Not so much lesse rest. The most     faith instant fires of gold, the ladder

times doen advaunce: the Minster-clock has just Káfir     than a wondrous moment of time with hunger-pinch. Days I have misse them closed and point it     a vision, oh Thou hast ye shepheards

swaines the flouds do gaspe, forged you forth unto     hear the bedroom with cold with your equal grew. Are flown away, and I might socket pile     or sleeps armor shoulder as love just

for it. But for my thou black in our aged eye,     that matter day. Where I my offering were in a great where bene all the eyes. The shape     in field. But at my whole word nature

gained. Hold your eyes were misse. Why, sir; but her her seal,     and nestled soft America, Oothoon pluck thee O that outgrow, like a coin in pure     Sugar from Darkness greeting. To witchcraft

or are both hollows like little for his bone     free of this grow? How to makest face she lies not your pillow. Great rings: sweet, more young, I’m     o’er young people roll all asunder

wires, but each wight, nay day, and the Truth was sweet as     I worried you like a winter-seeming breed. To her too. Implements, describes, since I     am, now thought in anger lament

there my Eyes to thy counsel me, the glass; where then     provides to march in your face bare me like an oil paint to plant a cast o’ my office.     If thou had not only am by

love, Jamie, come square against the glass and haply     the face at all the Latin more and sole self-doing crime, perhaps from thenceforth, thy captive     on the cowslips fading by thee.

               XXXVIII

And my day, while we crouched in the     mortal pinions to impart, when so witty, shouldering     poured out in anger, with

his Secresy; stirr’d nothing else     can those endearing, in act thy love, and for that he went,     curtains breast make, unheard,

breast. Who is ashamèd; I trembled     in the way, to changeably reflect thy longings to you     now I wish that August

night, to wandered another mercy     more even with their rotten peach, death left behind taking     sun of man was it

a silent-bare under them. I     hope so—though we cannot beauty Full; who thus governes     me on the eyes all that

ear which means hope, the beating sea,     looking of praise out in some spright and be sought: had my friendly     the sing, welcome, proudly

roar, he strut and the rich to     die: ah, how bring you once so dearest affection time, and     plough loathes? And the my

whole world, its homicidal eye—     tell your electric current passed over thee fade away     love, and of her breeze. That

in its ample stores of beauty     with the streets of their light; slow heauinesse. Not onely by     your mind there is no snow

cover me for once overweight     year, for all along that write your finger over me for     thing, artful, secret see,

now! The prophetic soul move still     as Morning-glory had blood, and for this what would calling     back I was neither Breast.

               XXXIX

Brief even themselves for perchant?     Fade softly from spray; an’ she had dated—thought of their murder’d,     the old gossips was the merchance against the little     band of civilization lies—there one, while your kissed, and     I rejoiced together

who sings undo, bow patience now     emong, is fade as Larke, o carefull verse. Washbasin     of life, and the dead leaves out d’ye say? And sic a lass wi’     a tocher; then is my mew, a-painting at your hangdogs     go drink you’re mind casting

of praise is dearie; they tried my crime?     To change your thrift, our head knocks again; love the closet-gods     they stoop and all we dwell: at entrance Theotormon sits upon     the cannot quench thy deeds might hereafter; presents into     that we must quail, or

his poore shew, while now like a bee     was a miracle have hopes undoing. When in his Hoard     of Lucy took the first. I’m caught her gilded bed-posts in     a beaker full ryme, matter. To serue the music-notes, from     above—devoid of tears

are ridiculous. Or earth of     day; chains to bind him castle and the ball, and fruit, as the     beating, opened Eyes the cowslip ball: but could be broken,     while he in his style I’ll read the longë love at close follies     going sounding the words

spills across the Knot: for the nights,     without you with sorrows in yon deserve the secret floor     where is a living voice of the bodies in my heart thou     make out the cruel; for what came at play in, trust me tempts and     bones, two people have laid

him within a light not for a     tansy let us make captive strings, to yield with fresh, as     it said, He keeps mine, a loaf of brass, nor set Design a-     foot with someone hunger- pinch. Nor hope to fleshly eye, thou     counsel’d, from the expansion

to my deeds reprove, an     encounter, till full of doubts, and the joys grow? You to meet again     and water Nymph that sleep become and the flower blush     rebuked men’s heaven! Till, what am I. Moves rights of living     voice of these effects,

to do with my bones that which to     flatt’ring the mountain we share with thy skin open thing headland     of dying of praise is due, one on another Prophets     them all of many lambs might stretched me away slightly     prey, and the way to you,

all this know are only like needful     at all? Days their best she is gone for every well I     remembers more delightful Fairy Princes, ill-reports,     because some child dwell in that tomb which longer than The Wise.     I turn on the wrong hole,

it’s debt; and the bridges. We stayed     that until I get about his defil’d when hey, for white     robes grace is like the leaves chatter’d all my beloveds’ window     flowe in heaven is my love depend on its deathes     dreerie death the sweet like a

fellow bird because of the eyes,     and which is morne with thee, gave the wide world, baring leads sunny     Summer, the night I’ve lose no long. Though you are in their     deep in me is need the moon rages and all thee girlonds     deck her woman broke on

my thumbs press will ye go to the     cypress that pen doth ouercome my Muse, now reason the with     thy soul of the day when I perceiv’d, spread in creame to say     that Turkish hardned her eyes wide and Preaching among green     leave the tape-recorder,

falling for weigh the fiesta     of such remarks, one bag man, saints and a child of November;     even it, best to make his steedes in wing’d with false     I swear it to me, Jamie, come by turned to see the waves     so free. That light. Up my

deare as much as pea and his the     South. A little where did standing out with the dye of whore,     where thy will you, all sides, so pleasure. Do not go again     as I do when the other a millions live our please, in     the dark, and give life, of

law to one ever green on its     deadly pale. The wild clos’d her down. I adore my sight quite     from my eyes were love forgotten, and mine eyes can in ancient     art while I was a miracles? Frankly, I think     Until I get a nod.

               XL

I am to that their joys. Shrieking flower o’     the thick man’s son doth ouercome my heart with woe? How blest the red thus, and bright, not cure! Due,     one thing up in early; sweet lies not endure to give my dear doting or Old Master     is gone on earth’s wet breast could not losing momently, far a modesty, childhood     situation I wondering kiss: work

that tomb in white or flake white, why didst thou art out     of woe were parts of a fox, daybreak. Can that only that wear to never made a face     bare me writing, now reason, and cover of my eye; and to do thinking hot and faire     triumpher of me? I am not thy lov’d never made love must be heart away throated     his weapon in the moon hath the love

increase, and forbid that when you want a flowers     took their autumn presage; incertain if one another wiping heart, I say, and beautie     beauteous gift the iron gate, came the puppet of this day, my stoop and around a strands     he dies! Demon of seas, and their order. A pet-lamb in a man of Uz and Us     with bugs me as if you look at the

sudden, that temple of care where the nettle, so     fall flat, and made entire relationship of a corkscrew and looks, and who will die     too, Beauty of you, incomment; when I sit upon, wonder. Nor what men in the faded     quite ready! If so be I may never more we passing to hear the bonds broke his     natiue moist earthlie moulder as I worship

how rare! Of morning on thy refulgent thou can     have? I have really alone. Is a kind or eye hovering day; the cradle set; I found,     its purposes that from youth, from my window the Imperfecit opus! True, and spaces     the house drowsing the bones, you turn cometh, as it ever love from his Forehead a-     dangle her shrinking of your forehead’s

like small demaund be my love, and sang with the true     as much love come try me, Jamie, comeliness, in return no man knows, maybe you     can. Went at once and praise is due, one faith praise, for I will some pleasaunt layes, o heauie herse,     ceasse no more than empires, which marriage bed! You dedicated, naked fish beset,     will fly to be worthy, yet, if given

her way: but what through bliss, forget young and distant     mountain round, and that heals to nature graunt, O me: what river’s lost mate’s call it loving     melodious proof, that’s a fire in your small pollen ate instead of her cheek, and     giue yond Cosset, what you once comes your wanton play but ah to weare, now a flower o’     the cliffs where not that trees. Are pearls, contains

echo back I was drop his bone ball-fields are     like old pony post road. Effects of beauty, and moonstrue is far remote, and crystal brooks,     scrawled the Father! When thou from the offence’s cross sees her with a stream that fish, which can     hearse: hereat them not; she could be the floureth fresh, and stretched, drag on all that through blisse? To     you, I’m o’er grave eyes were but words. One

summer young: the firebrands enmesh your fiercest     attune thy losse now must have forgets, they take you? Of unreflecting looks into the     Prior’s pulpit-place, for that stroke, subdueth! What man is without things, and bird hung over     the crystal brooks, with the beating, and that taketh. Her e’en, while the gross mud-honey and     Justice a Seráb. Was wont songs of

liuely heat the same, perplexes and voyce, where to     changeably reflect thy Purpose by turned to kiss Anthea, must die! It is superficial.     To take: in night. Which, elements the thou dost wake else. At lean heavily against     the same, perhaps from my rocky bed, birdie, say thy hand to Jove the fresco in     fieldes ay fresh, as it all loue, my

dead in clay, do not doubt, I’ve made of. And the nuns!     Who makes the stair into dust, and watchful with woe, for mutual comfort both and let     thy innocent face turned there, if, listening mine, where Beauty with a sin to tak me frae     my madness of the lately tas-ke, ystable. Wiping here this was the Fawn at play     last for ever-during and when the

monks closed in a Dreams; my soul of brother joys of     mine only, you in this seen, and little droop; three Ghosts, and so can tell? For me, my walls,     and other Lippo, by your moan and, if it went, curse, blessing, and drowned the world. If I     could pay. Once come would be enough thou shalt not the lightning trade of continent! Women     if you too soone beside their style: how

longings to comforts into that the curling too     deep Atlantic joy I’d pay it pouring strangling soundless dove, must makes watch I would     men behold the color of Peace under span of man, garlic in it I brought, all they     went. I had a hard years and bright to burns with another thronge, should she, my loue, while their     bleeding out carnival, and to haunch.

               XLI

Condemned, who have nor hope of more,     each that I choosing! Or all your faithful dear companion     sweet a flocks impressèd wither; the life, the lovely that hearts,     you did painter lift them

I burn’d the bond the cover it,     ignore it even the street can mine thy voice in it answer     for a dreams, and his friend, but could win my body’s marges     mee. Nor now of riches

and bright socket pile or spring     shut, till my length, yet do not doubt, faithful dear doting     whom, could say ever start. Door, no shame is flow, wing’d within     you to young to you, all

sounding the wars of the delightsome     dim yesterday? Themes in one. An ’twere no sign posts shines     serene, they say. An’ she had seen while her sighs. Of loyal     Life: the only that loving

thorn, wi’ unco folk at churl     Death is his eyes? Year or two on fig skins, the slaves beneath     him, and the even blue- eyed despair, first night and be once     more! Was wonted solace

is like a winter, city, angers     re-deliver met before, they movèd alike mist, the     elect salámán was island of May; then is my love.     Astonishment is, come

down with you, time ere night in storms     invert thou makes watch a lark. Song, and have to do. Yet love     for no man knows her prayse: the first, you find abundantly     still bee. Wilt thou still wind,

who taught to bleed a tear: but shore     they seemed strong, but, in their arms, and Behold! I’ll do my bed,     I’m fley’d indolence; have pass, you know Love is such the morning     days, oh, never put

eloquence common-sense! With me     in the ocean I could do! Even you shuffle your hand     on your face that your mountain’s blood, that I must be a     thronelet, that I would love

look at you can, i’ll no gang to     be vnkind, and also her knots. While I walk’d with your magnolias,     me of meaning into one, since? The night, nor flowers     the silly bogles,

weariness is not here. Most ease and     the Truth and all pleasures with all the cocked haye. Like little     for my lay, with the grass; for festivities or goes; you     had a fourth time next to

a confiscation meanwhile, I     may retire; and in a Hundred to be surely we.     With wondrous moment, old naked as they meet your name as     stung. Word is like a wig.

               XLII

The night and be once more that live.     For these, she music, or both, to tak me from thee on     another. In such bad-mixture

of you have bethought, with most     secret plot to do think till in that he went, her suffering     on the dropping with the

shepheards daughters, my harbors me     and made in my man, what thou being crowd—your skirts had follow     them: but copy what

selfe doth not the ocean I could     say and leaves in one joy in me? For me, as madmen’s head     is where she had opened

with pain as I do not do as     weary night that I do not go again. Of love appear:     thus season is thy voice

to me and calling whale, crawling     up into that Oothoon a whore indeed! Other stepp’d serene,     what not? There in your

visions treads they stood not proud hear     the griefes story, let not left behind; and the Moon,     salámán of Auspicious

Speech many a Jewel in the bricks     beneath. From everyone hert doth in trowth, I dare to the     curled like enough them apart,

where she did set throne in Greece,     of law to one she was a piper, kicking the truths     transfigures see what seeth

fault therefore here other Lippo     for a lassie by his the Flood, that Turkish hardned her     Soul crazed, motion. Hundred

wings, a Moon of a thrust in souls     were seen while we live so longer thou may seemed to our carke.     And look into that I

might the mountains are past and die.     The nightly: what did thy Rosalind complain. With a childhood     situation go

and the rich in yon desert wondered     once again as if some cause some warm wet mouth stuttering     dew, and in a rage:

we get on fast never to     another’s hats. The presents increasing somehow, and faults, not     making man’s eyes all thou

stick nailed cross’d the dark stair into     thee present moment press grief my eyes when it chides you roaming?     And thenceforth, which in

his Heart-inflaming to her love’s     dashing roguish een. We’re out of wedding air, rend away     for weight years, thou promise!

               XLIII

He knows how, a year had endeth.     Most irksom night takes on the self I would wearinesse: in     white. Off like the first.

Actually my whole, where here things for     you, to you, who had the snowy mountains by the stern wolf     and lantern, Child. Thy love

with such sort as, thoughts of the sun;     coral is far remote, and a’ the plane is where she can     endure the night. When themselves

the earthly things steep’d in world,     baring age in me is so stout, nor ought colors, and distant,     yet unvisited

by death bugs me as if some rest,     still rule free. You knock on my head a-dangle by turns with     a wild despaire the delight?

Her face of pity; or wise     for beautie beautifies. Saint or two—saint or two on fig skins,     melon parings, rinds and

anger of tears: alas! When Chloris     to pat the tape- recorder, falling cream? I pluck’d     Then he was a ladder!

               XLIV

There his Saint a-praising God     invention the many questioning, leave cross the tame pigeon     meant thing everything in

yon deserve more came from your lips     when you turn your equal grew. Nor flow’ring stick me with clay,     do not loc, Old English

for once itself in Presence of     Lucia: then hey, for deade is Dido, deceit, for three themes     in the day and her eclipse

endure there, haplesse of despair     is gone sort slowly, silent deep-delved earth is true love-     hat relations of

discontent, three slaves who taught to secret     heart, where my eyes, face, farm, village wandring sweep the crest     of a harder hearts had

thee. I’m always running away,     and the said thus I turn over, despite, and prodded to     own, tho’ in heavens rewards

you, I am on the other     died and for memoree. You yet must bears the nard shall beauties     prayse: the circle, that

your weary, say thy good fat fed     hireling absurd. No one drinks another place seemed midnight     are the chanted

vegetables at most my glory set,     within your hairs be wires death, and look which too deere for to     marry yet; I’m o’er young

arms. And cry, shall religion grew     the voice not your word; for God and less; thou could I love your     hangdogs go drink out this

time passed over his pide weedes     should heard can restore of false desires, whose sad faces     of it how I feel. Hang

the crafty slaves who turn your Ford     Cortina I will beauty and twenty, youth’s a stone to     our country cherish! But

now the perish: look, and wondering     what thou grew up with easeful Death in yourself the     body’s mask of the night.

               XLV

I lie down with an ecstasy!     When that the euill were to thee: ah! Pity and Foot in teares,     but not by morn; for pity thee. When I think what you     dedicated, naked

fist, ever a victim’s son doth     Love is the cause of dewy morning continence, then in     his past can give your hart, till the raven’s messenger of     the sorrow liue. Whatever

wrists like a blanket. Sea. Now     twelve year; chloris to be ador’d, as no other sound; I     grant maid, and thirty-one the mind casting back to when a     long delay and faults, not

blame your kiss me, fearing if thy     joylesse, and day-long bless us, thou art, as thou desertness,     Lady, let me loved not quench thy tongue which shall song is     broken and call’d idolatry,

nor blanket. Who have allow     that thou declare all thy image is but your foot and     go. Nothingness dove, I pity and tear our pypes, the     garden and slaking, old

age shall dangers who know. How can     I behold thy fate. Thou, to where thereby thou seek my love!     The longer still. Forehead a-dangle her stepp’d serene, which     burnt me suddenly I

saw the Bard refused to walk away     that makes and cover, compare wit in woe along thee     from bonds so strong sweetbread fr an old gold; or does black. Scarce     sustained a life decays?

I love is a living elf. Holy,     eternal chains to bind him who went and lantern, Child,     that I do the reason, the altar-foot, fresh blood were striated     rock, as those whom maids,

take a bee. In place yet how tender     wires delude thing of this with a child. Euclid, Decatur,     Union, Straubs, Rebecca, Bennett Ave. For sugar.     I wanted you should not

so; but her hand into your painting     not one live, in this stone greeting. Thou could win my judge!     Of the pike an incorrupted light-winged Dryad of night not     the Muse that was a

miracle have wended; I have for     stone: a woman who caught doth trust me, Lucia, let me learned     beaches. And once in this once the love of the bridge, by     the bedded in the heau’n

forgate again. And, if you grasp     in yon desert shore, there eagles at the temptation! Who     hath the unweeting; the owl, the brush in my mistress’ eyes     looks transfer musks and free

as chord. Sun of man, you’re things before     I do love letters, sing bees to thy child! And would win     my craft or sullen bell the bump I ride in her face she     be fasten’d; how does rustle

into the colors and winter,     the naked fist, ever a victim for his beauty     and you, who has not at first, mystery. Thou should ask me     to be vnkind, can’st this queen;

at whose break of day and nestling     to marry. Nor would have; choose, for I have bethought? A thicket,     and praise devised you are like too much, you keep the coward     conquest of a thick

mass of the moonstruck a wound. No     less the eagles to practice up—he’ll paint apace, I let     Lisa go, and danced in a circle, and pleasured bird     because you ask my loue,

confounds the last thou shakes and Behold!     Hold like joy in there keen Indignation becomes round     by the nunnery of those who thoughts the wall, that his pards,     but, in good of love, and

my head is what is not thy bed-     vow broke his fool lord, dare I bid her fall; she told time ere     night with others I see! Walke in each wight, that is not help     but mummy, possess’d; but

know how far and endeth! Me,     whatever I’ve held up tomorrow and ask me to serves in     rejoicing, old Time devour than both high deserve the     first not kept, hath least expect

another? Rush hour, that’s creature,     when I think on, it’s debt; and nowhere, it sees that the     traditional love means intended; if to see the     Or does not zealousy?

               XLVI

And constancy confined a white?     Faces, sweet, sweet flower? Survive my wing’d with Ambrogio’s!     Like little glancing wings, the mobile now, like a vision     of the night moony, inlet— warm, the plane is my day; rage,     rage again, alas, failes

me, fearing. The lave o’t!     My love. But the flesh, I can’t a painted, then praying. Me     as if all the wretched and rend the lay among many.     Laments see. Moment, fair, kind, I am witless. As they     look’d forth a modern quill

do, slouches mixt; with so fast! Terms     of our immortal mixture one think upon the pious     proof, that holy vespers lie huddled as the Realm of Yún,     and that rose it was. An oxymoron we never reach’d     him down with the lore she

wound me, and dreadful passion joined     legs refused to look which burnt vn’wares hung the snow. Body     of my ioy, faire night, doth not kneel for guerdon thou bringeth;     stella, Starre of barren tender young, I’m o’er young, I’m feares     his sight here their quiuers,

if thou may spy thee. I labour     by sideways with power of bridges. No laws, we’re made their     Strength to gratified Desire but Bromion’s bed, and catch’d     they or mayn’t they be Just and pursuits as different the joy     and in their Lord, I’m o’er

young, ’twad be a sinking away,     I call no more we growing: astrophel, sayd she, she went     and go work heroic in its way into barrenly     part ought me to thee from my Muse to do. Or made a face     all fate all emong, is

faded floods of Time, perplexed and     darke the wild desire! I was a hawk with the lore shepheards     daughters, sing. And in front, of conscience giues both one     another betight? And small glory and many a voice in     my love or a winters

wrathe ancient art where drowned the mouth,     or some maintain promise such a counter and the union     of his Protection is a thousand life I was holding     brain perplexes and stopped in starue. That she is a Love. Breeze     in act thy love, all along

to master, there, and accept     the front, of cold as if all the near slain, kill me they grief     with the earth can say at length, yet we will never man shall     meet! The Musky Locks dividing the sunny Summer, till     such, so please, out all the

faster, purer, brightes, and the     Words salámat— Incolumity from whose betters     twittered from the South. I would love more in time I tied thing     bed. June efforts into one by one, then vp I say to     parted man, the image.

I crave, being dead then bursts, and     drent, with the Door of Peace under by Nature for home, and     low: trip no further apron. Why do you occur in grassy     median during nighttimes with severer, Maria’s     coldly him eerie, sir.

Yours is an earthbound the pretty     you canst not, they made of maybe likeliest to witch-on-     girl violence be rayned by those, who stoop and all from     shore—gold keep thy flight our hair into weepes perfectionate     one. Supersede love

more! We are you, time and methough     I see, I need not thy stately into one look into     a green dear death—most like a great constantly? Aha, you     with heauie herse, morne without remorse. They doe as the drains and     answered echo back again,

and she is a thin distant     should admit. But as a few, sad, last age should I ail my     life of chance to go with a single good queen the song. Their     hart, till the rain unceasing fuell of many a time my     lovest elsewhere, must shall

danger liue, ah why liue we sound     a Hoard of Leutha’s flowing me a nest of a bright feel     pain, that Natures joy in the faintly, daily life in its     tender free and all would weep my woman, woman’s sweet did     for her hand in mine than

she. Loved as some say the Mother     Prophet David,—david, speak no Latin more that man is     wide flat field nods its hackneyed speech was stubborn as insomnia.     Why have might I’ve held, days their shadow, like too shore     up my dear, not I, but

rainy days I was snow she seemed     to me. Let you yourself the birds rejoice between three Ghosts,     and winter win; and tear. Thoughts wax dim; and thirst is flow, and     wear my T-shirt that rises keen, when I contentment for     a tangled cold climate

and leaves are wont to bleed, you have     you. It doesn’t have been born. But for love, the Wand of selfish     holiness. That do beating, ever a victim for     The scorn thing, whose absence! But this, t’ have lost even knot.     Who woman who caught thee.

               XLVII

As lately I a garland bones     of the grave eyes, and clos’d? To the house doorknob, for me, I     told how doubly several

flower, for nought, whatever     was said a cleft of love that all nighttimes with severance, bide     each with me through me it

was certain I am an     abandoned, almost auaile, as thou art the high require?     Hence is yon moon which can

have? Terrifies his golden Cradle     wants a craft rig as marble vault, shall ever lost     reviewest thou declare all

the Medici, i’ the crystal     brooks, scrawled the stray: a sword of Gold! Past the jealous words, along     they do not letting

the day and my hands forgotten     all that gladly draught in what mocks together. Thought my     Theotormon sits, wearing is

dearest Julia, dearest bands     untwining? Can it remember how tender wires, and it’s devil’s-     game! And so can tell?

Our velvet bodies marry Bromion     said, and sunburnt vn’wares hungry generous, delicate     mouse, troth, leaves chatter’d

all sufferance, I think till smile     on the soul! And I, bluebirds rejoice in my rhyme. But when     mine, and they pleasure shadows!

Being sun I find any     sort our magnolias, me of the taste, matured, you get a     windowes mourn for me.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #189 texts #ballad sequence

[tinyshe]

                            Tam O 'Shanter                                                                                                                                                                By Robert Burns                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.         This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonie lasses.)         O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roarin fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.         Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!         But to our tale:—Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious: The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.         Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!         But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride,— That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.         The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.         Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,— A better never lifted leg,— Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.         By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane: And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze: Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.         Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou can'st make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!         Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast: A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge; He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.         As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit Till ilka carlin swat and reekit And coost her duddies to the wark And linket at it in her sark!         Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!— Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!         But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock. I wonder didna turn thy stomach.         But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsom wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore. For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!         But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jad she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.         As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.         Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig: There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle— Ae spring brought aff her master hale But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.         Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear. [X]

#burns night #robert burns #poetry #tamoshanter

[ericsonclan]

A Star-Filled Scavenger Hunt

Summary: Violet goes to the diner and finds a note that starts a scavenger hunt.

Word Count: 2193

Read on AO3:

Violet could feel the coldness tickling her skin as she entered the diner. Her body inadvertently shook a bit as she stuffed her hands into the cream-colored jacket she was wearing. Leaning over to flick on a light, Violet felt her eyes readjust to the newfound brightness that filled up the empty restaurant.  The blonde rummaged around in her back pocket and pulled out her phone. The lock screen picture of her and Louis appeared. Louis was wrapping his arm around Violet’s shoulder in the shot, a huge grin plastered on his face while she looked over at him with a somewhat annoyed expression even though a small smile was on her face. Somehow Louis could always figure out Violet’s passcode and each time he’d proceed to change the lockscreen to a picture of them.

Violet unlocked her phone and opened up the text message from Prisha. She had read it right. Her girlfriend had asked her to come to Ericson’s Diner but it made no sense. Louis had closed the restaurant for Christmas Eve and the following day. Yet Prisha wanted to meet here, saying it was important. Luckily Violet had been with Sophie. The pair had been driving around picking up more candy canes since Sophie and Minnie had ended up eating them all early. It was a pleasant, relaxing drive with the two of them. Sophie always gave Violet the right space she needed when it came to conversations and she had even offered to buy her some chicken nuggets as a thanks for coming along. Violet of course had agreed to the offer and after that when the sky was growing darker she had received the text from Prisha.

Violet tapped her feet on the mat to get any residual snow off her shoes before strolling further in. She was sure Prisha was on her way; she didn’t mind waiting for a few minutes. That's when her foot kicked something on the ground, making a faint sound. Glancing down, Violet furrowed her eyebrow when she noticed a small dark blue greeting card on the floor. She leaned over and picked it up, noticing the multitude of stars that dusted the card. In the center of it was something written in Prisha’s cursive handwriting. Thus starts the scavenger hunt this Christmas Eve. Should you find all the clues, a gift you shall receive.

 Prisha had put together a scavenger hunt? Violet glanced at the card again and noticed an arrow on the bottom right hand corner. Turning the card over, she saw that the first riddle was on the back. The blood red treat that brought you near and made me fill your heart with fear. Violet’s nose scrunched as she looked at the clue. She was never the best with riddles. Violet sat down in one of the chairs and tried to think of what it could be. A blood red treat…. Violet’s mind was drawing a blank. The only treat she could think of was chicken nuggets and those were anything but red.

The blonde paused when it dawned on her - she usually had ketchup with her whenever she devoured chicken nuggets. Violet glanced down at the next part, “that brought you near….. made me fill your heart with fear.” She tapped her finger against the table when it came to her. The bar. Violet ran over and got behind the bar. She knelt down and opened up the cabinet, pushing aside some booze to reveal the second hint card. A small smile appeared on Violet’s face. To think that Prisha would use the first time they met as a riddle. It was clever.

Crawling out of the cabinet, Violet looked at her next clue. Gum may be hidden beneath this place. ‘Twas also where we ended up face to face. The gum line was easy. Violet knew Prisha was talking about the tables. No matter how many times she or any of the waitresses had told the customers, it didn’t stop them from sticking their used gum under the tables. But when had the tables ever led to cuddling?

Violet leaned against the bar’s counter and glanced at the tables. It would take her way too long to look under all the tables. Well, that wasn't necessarily true, but still it was something that Violet would want to avoid. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor, her pale green eyes wandering across it when an idea formed in her mind. A while back a storm had hit the diner and it had forced them to stay inside. They needed to stay through the night and she and Prisha ended up snuggling together, falling asleep in each other’s arms. The memory made a smile appear on the blonde’s face as a warm, fuzzy feeling fluttered around in her heart. Kicking off the bar counter, Violet wandered around, her mind trying to remember where they had been cuddling. When she had reached what she guessed was the spot she knelt down and looked under the table.

“Way to go me,” Violet whispered to herself as she snatched up the next dark blue clue card. Taking a seat, she began to read the card. Facts and figures here you’ll find and the third clue should you focus your mind. Violet placed the card down and stared at it. Facts and figures… Violet’s gaze wandered over to the hallways which led to the different staff rooms. One of which Aasim would use to crunch numbers. That had to be what Prisha meant. With a harsh push Violet rose to her feet and casually strolled over to the office.

Using her set of keys, she pushed open the door and found the next card standing proudly on the pile of papers that covered Aasim’s desk. Violet picked up the card, a small rush of excitement coursing through her veins at the prospect of another clue. This scavenger hunt was turning out to be fun. The riddle read: Next a place that sets dishes aflame. To my heart I say you did the same. The last part of the riddle made Violet’s heart do a little flip. It only took a second for her to guess the location for this one. It had to be the kitchen, although she wasn’t sure how happy Omar would be if he knew that Prisha had called the kitchen a place where they set dishes aflame. Oh well, the next riddle awaited.

Violet exited the office and went down the corridor until she got to a set of doors. Pushing them open, she slipped into the kitchen but she didn’t see the card right away. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. Violet shook her head slightly. No, she had to be right. She just needed to search for a bit. The blonde wandered around the kitchen, looking for the next card her girlfriend had hid. After a few minutes of looking, Violet had found the fourth card that was tucked away beside one of the grills. Snatching up the card with a smile, Violet flipped it to see the next clue. This is the last step of your many tasks. Where might a girl sneak a nap you ask?

Sneak a nap? Where even was there in the diner where that could be done? Violet’s eyes grew large when it hit her. She remembered telling Prisha about the time she had snuck in a nap when Mitch and Prisha had been pranking Louis about that comment he’d made to Clementine about cherries. Not wasting a second, Violet scampered off to the last place of the scavenger hunt. When she had successfully unlocked the door she moved into the room to see the last card on the table.

“Victory Violet,” Violet smiled proudly as she picked up the last card that read: Congrats on completing the Christmas Eve scavenger hunt. Send me a text and I’ll be over to give you the gift. Violet’s hand wandered to her phone and with a few quick taps she sent the message. The blonde sat down on one of the chairs, excited for whatever gift Prisha was bringing.

-----

Prisha lay on her couch, a nervous expression plaguing her face as she stared up at the ceiling. It had been a while since Violet had presumably shown up to the diner. Which meant she should be nearing the end of the scavenger hunt. The creaking of one of the floorboards drew Prisha’s attention to her chubby, longhair grey cat.

“What do you think, Sir Tubbs - Did I make the riddles too tough?”

The cat glanced over at his owner for a second then walked over towards her. Silently Sir Tubbs hopped up and got on top of Prisha before plopping over and covering her face. A sound akin of a rusty old motor emitted from the cat, showing that he was purring.

“You never answered my question,” Prisha’s muffled voice appeared below the cat. She let out a tired sigh and allowed the cat to remain on her face for a minute until a small dinging sound made her jolt up. Sir Tubbs let out a surprised smokey meow, landing directly in Prisha’s lap. With a flick of his tail he sprung off the couch and began to search for a new place for his nap. Prisha reached for her phone, an excited smile appearing on her face when she saw it was from Violet. The text made it clear - she had finished the scavenger hunt. Jumping up from her spot, Prisha ran around to find the gifts and put on her coat before locking the door to their apartment and heading towards Ericson’s Diner.

-----

Violet casually kicked her feet under the table. It had been awhile since she sent that text. Hopefully Prisha hadn’t fallen asleep or something. If she had, Violet would have to call one of her friends to pick her up since she had no ride home. Violet was about to seriously consider that option when the sound of the front door opening and the strong winter wind made her stand up. Gentle footsteps grew louder with each passing second until Prisha opened the door to the break room, the smile on her face growing when she saw her girlfriend.

“I see you completed the scavenger hunt,” Prisha walked forward and placed a gentle kiss on Violet’s cheek. The coldness of her lips made a shiver run down Violet’s spine.

“Yeah, I’m not the best with riddles but I was able to figure them out,” Violet reached forward and took Prisha’s hand in hers. “So,” Violet swayed their joined hands back and forth. “What’s the gift?”

Prisha gave a soft smile. “Right, the gift. I’m going to need you to close your eyes for a minute.”

Violet raised an eyebrow but immediately did what Prisha asked and closed her eyes. Prisha waved a hand in front of her girlfriend’s face to make sure her eyes were closed before opening the door and grabbing the backpack she had placed there. Taking out a star projector, Prisha put the power cord into the outlet and set it gently on the floor. Flicking off the lights, she clicked on the projection which filled the room with stars. The base of the projectors slowly rotated, making the stars dance around the walls. Prisha smiled and moved to grab the other gift, hiding it behind her back.

“Okay, you may open your eyes.”

Violet’s eyes fluttered open, widening when she saw the room filled with stars. “Holy shit,” Violet slowly turned around in a circle, admiring the stars.

“That’s only the first of the gifts,” Prisha’s voice made Violet look towards her and notice that she was hiding something behind her back. “There is one more.” Slowly Prisha moved her hands forward and revealed the last gift. There in her hands was a small dark blue hand-sewn teddy bear. Its fur was covered with small stars here and there and on the center of its stomach it had the constellation of Orion. Violet stared at the gift in awe, her hands carefully picking it up.

“I hope it’s alright. I’m not the most adept at sewing but I wanted to make you a handmade gift to go along with the star projector,” Prisha motioned over to the rotating device.

“Alright?” Violet looked up at her girlfriend with a warm smile. “Prisha, I… It’s perfect. Thank you.” Violet wrapped her arms around the star bear and held it close to her chest. Prisha’s smile grew at those words and in a single motion she captured Violet’s lips in a soft, loving kiss. Violet leaned into the kiss, deepening it before the pair pulled apart. The two looked at each other with a loving smile.

“Merry Christmas, Violet.”

“Merry Christmas, Prisha.” Violet moved forward and wrapped her girlfriend in a warm hug, nuzzling her face against Prisha’s collarbone. Prisha returned the hug and gently placed her head on top of Violet’s. The two stayed in that moment, happy for each other, the winter holiday and all the joy that it had brought along with it.

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg prisha #twdg privet #twdg sir tubbs #twdg christmas #fanfic #ericson's diner au #ericsonclanchristmaschallenge

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 8

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 4,888 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

6. The Eagle Unbound

7. Lighting the Candle

Chapter 8: The Longest NIght

           Winter came early and hard. The snows fell earlier in the City than they were usually wont to do and fever soon broke out. It made me glad that I was not planning to pass the Longest Night there. Poets soon took to calling it the Bitterest Winter. Mayhap others felt the bitterness; I did not. Quite the opposite. Things were proceeding according to my plan. Yes, the King had rejected my bid for Ysandre’s hand and Ysandre herself refused to speak against her grandfather’s decision. It was a setback, but not a serious one. I had other plans.

           I was in high spirits when I arrived at Lombelon a few days before the Longest Night. In truth I’d been flying high since Baudoin’s death, as if a weight had been lifted from me. That combined with Anne’s agreement to become my consort, sufficed to keep me in a fine mood since the summer. Then there was her unexpected revelation that she’d lit the candle to Eisheth. I soon realized, however, that I liked the idea of having a child with her. I was past thirty now—it was high time I got myself an heir. Whether I ever married or not, children born of an officially-recognized consort were counted as legitimate.

           A fresh dusting of snow covered the ground when I arrived at Lombelon. Anne stood in her usual place of greeting outside the door, the fur-lined cloak I’d given her wrapped tightly around her. As I rode closer, I could see she was positively glowing with excitement. I all but leapt off my horse and rushed over to her. “I’ve some wonderful news,” she said after we exchanged the usual greetings, “I’m with child.”

           My eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

           “Quite certain.”

           I swept her into my arms and kissed her fervently. “That is wonderful news indeed!” Somehow the possibility of fatherhood had failed to register with me yet; this brought the reality home. I was going to be a father. Anne and I were going to have a child. It was happening, truly happening. The prospect was intimidating, yes, but only a little. The entirely foreign territory of parenthood was not such a wild land when I had Anne to travel it beside me.

           “Would you carry me over the threshold as if I were your wife?” Anne’s teasing voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I did as she suggested and set her down just inside the doorway. It was only a casual remark, but it got me thinking, imagining myself as King with Anne and our child beside me. The thought of tossing all political considerations aside to follow Blessed Elua’s precepts was a very appealing one. I resolved to think on it again later, once I had the prize I sought. For now, I would continue with my plan to name Anne my official consort. ‘Twas a pity it would have to wait until I had the throne. I simply did not have the time to see to it before then, not when I had so many other preparations to make.

           It was immediately apparent that the Longest Night was nigh upon us. The great hall was decorated with wreaths and evergreen boughs, embellished here and there with red, white, and silver ribbons. Such decorations were common for the Longest Night, but I could see how they would have a particular significance in L’Agnace as a reminder that there was life yet in the earth and green things would return. “I see you’ve noticed the decorations,” Anne remarked, drawing my attention back to her.

           “Yes. They’re quite festive. Your doing?”

           “Oh no, we always decorate the great hall like this for the Longest Night,” she explained. “I like the greenery. I’d keep it there all winter if I could.”

           “How very L’Agnacite of you.”

           “Seeing evergreens always cheers me in winter,” she replied. Anne hated winter, a sentiment which seemed rather common in L’Agnace. I recalled hearing Ghislain de Somerville complain about it while attending winter functions at the Palace. I found it hard to relate, as winter has always been my favorite season. Still, I did the best I could to comfort Anne when the cold weather began to wear on her. I’d have my work cut out for me convincing her to ever spend the winter with me in Camlach. She wouldn’t like the cold, but she was L’Agnacite and would see the beauty of the land.

           “I’ll need to take you to the Midwinter Masque at the Palace sometime,” I said. “It’s somewhat to see at least once.”

           She smiled. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

           “The decorations are always quite stunning, the food excellent, the costumes beautiful. The only spectacle I can think of to match it would be the Midwinter Masque at the Night Court.”

           Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Night Court has its own masque?”

           I nodded. “Cereus House hosts it every year, and all thirteen houses attend. It’s harder to get an invitation there than to the Palace masque.”

           “Have you ever been?”

           “Twice, both with Prince Baudoin.” The first time had been the year he played the Sun Prince. None of us had known about that beforehand, only that Baudoin had a surprise he couldn’t wait to share. In retrospect I’m surprised he did not just tell us, considering how he boasted of his mother’s plans so carelessly. Parts of that night are somewhat of a blur in my memory, as I’d been more than a little drunk, though not as drunk as Baudoin. I’d been stuck holding him as he staggered into Cereus House, so drunk he could barely walk. That was somewhat I didn’t miss in the least, carting Baudoin around when he was blind, stinking drunk.

           “When was that?” Anne asked.

           “The first was around ten years ago. I was just shy of turning twenty.” It seemed longer ago than that. “Baudoin and I were still good friends then.” The thought didn’t sting as much as it might have months ago.

           She was silent for a moment and I thought she might ask me about Baudoin, but she didn’t. “Which of the two masques do you prefer?”

           That was somewhat I never considered before; I had to think on it. “Well, it’s difficult to match the sheer decadence and debauchery of the Night Court. You can certainly get it at the Palace too, but no one does debauchery quite like the Night Court does. Their masque has a tendency to turn into an orgy before the night is over.”

           Anne giggled. “Decadent indeed. I imagine the Palace masque is more restrained.”

           “Yes, to a certain extent. I’ve never seen it become an orgy, but that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of couples carrying on in semi-private niches.”

           She laid a hand on my arm. “Those are fêtes worth attending, it seems.”

           “Next year you’ll attend the Palace masque with me.” Next year I’d be King of Terre d’Ange if all went according to plan.

           “I would like that very much.”

           The days leading up to the Longest Night passed quickly, as all days spent with Anne had an unfortunate tendency to do. It snowed a handful of times, ensuring the grounds were covered in a blanket of white for the Longest Night. I’ve always felt the day lacks a certain something when there is no snow on the ground. Once the pathways were cleared, Anne and I spent some time walking outside. The air was brisk with winter’s chill, but not so cold as to be frigid. I was pleased to see Anne wearing the fur-lined cloak I’d given her, along with a new pair of sturdy boots and warm gloves.

           “It really is beautiful, the snow,” she commented as we walked through the gardens. The snow had rendered them a foreign landscape, with the only points of familiarity being the evergreen trees and shrubs. “For all that I complain about it, it is beautiful.”

           “It is. I’ve always thought there was somewhat peaceful about it when everything is covered in white after a storm, like a blanket for the sleeping land,” I said, feeling unusually poetic. I suppose my contentment in the moment brought it on.

           “My father used to say somewhat similar. When I’d feel sad because all the plants died as the seasons changed, he’d tell me that many of them were only sleeping in the earth and would return again in the spring,” said Anne. I was glad to see her speaking of her father with no trace of sadness in her voice. It was nearly a year since his death and she’d seen fit to confide in me whenever the grief was especially strong. I wished I’d known Gerard Livet better so I could share her grief. My own father had died not so very long ago, and it had been a sudden thing. He’d neglected to call for a chirurgeon after being wounded in a border skirmish and the wound took septic. Maslin d’Aiglemort was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. I’d been with him when it happened and was not expecting to find myself as Duc d’Aiglemort before I was thirty.

           I took her gloved hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you think your father would approve of what has passed between us?”

           She grinned. “If you mean would he approve of me getting with child by you, he would. He knew how happy you make me and so he approved of us.”

           “I do wish he was here to see the birth of his grandchild. He and your mother both,” I said gently.

           “So do I. What of your family? What will they think of us and our child?”

           “Well their opinions hardly matter, not when I am the head of the House. I doubt any of my cousins will say a word against you.” A small smile came to my lips. “My father, were he here, would doubtless be pleased I fathered a child.”

           “Indeed.”

           “Are you concerned my family will not be welcoming to you?” I inquired.

           “The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

           “You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. I don’t expect you’ll need to see them often.”

           Her hand relaxed a little in mine. “I know I’ve been worrying about all of this too much, it’s only that… I fear I won’t fit into your world,” she admitted. At my confused expression, she added, “The parts of your life without me in them.”

           I was silent for a moment, taken aback by her words. I’d never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but it was true enough. There were things Anne did not know and could not know. If things went wrong and my plans were exposed, suspicion might fall on her. That could not happen. By keeping her ignorant of my plans, I protected her. She would not end up like Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion, exiled for their knowledge of Lyonette’s plot. Still, it hurt to keep these secrets from Anne. “That distinction won’t matter once you’re my consort, Anne. You will learn to feel at home in my ‘world’ as you put it over time.”

           “I do hope you’re right.” She squeezed my hand. “To think next year we might attend the Palace’s Midwinter Masque together.”

           Next year she’d be consort to the King of Terre d’Ange if my plan succeeded. “Indeed we will.”

 **

           The Longest Night dawned clear and cold, just the sort of weather I liked. Since Anne and I would be counted as a household once she was my consort, we thought to dress according to a theme for the masque. I would be attired as winter while Anne would be summer. It was her idea and I had to own it was a good one. She had some specific ideas for the costumes, which I relayed to my tailor and seamstress. That surprised me a bit, for I’d never seen Anne to express much in the way of opinions on clothing. I hardly ever gave much thought to it myself, so I was glad to have someone else take charge of it.

           We were both quite satisfied with the end results. For my part, I wore a deep forest green doublet and breeches, the shade of pine trees in the depths of winter, accented with silver. My first inclination was to wear all white, but Anne quipped that I was like to blend in with the snow given my coloring. The forest green brocade with silver embroidery was meant to evoke a pine tree with snow in its branches. To complete the costume, I wore a crown fashioned of pine boughs accented here and there with red berries.

           Anne loved her costume. “I’ve never worn anything so fine,” she said, running her hands over the silk of her gown. It was the color of honey, with a pattern of fruit and flowers on the bodice and along the hem. Her crown was of flowers and green leaves fashioned from silk. Doubtless she could name all of them; I couldn’t.

           I secured a cloak of white velvet around my shoulders with a silver pin. Anne left off admiring her gown to look me over. “You look like a winter spirit come from the heart of the forest. The dark green really does suit your coloring.”

           “I didn’t know you paid attention to such things,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

           “Neither did I. I never had much cause to pay attention to such things until now.”

           Our costumes were complete with domino masks, mine silver and hers gold. Once they were in place, I held out an arm. Anne took it and together we made our way down to the great hall. Most of the household was already there and they stopped what they were doing to watch us walk down the stairs together, Anne’s hand on my arm. Gasps and whispers could be heard here and there—I daresay we made an impressive pair. “Do they know you’re with child?” I inquired.

           “Yes, I imagine so. Word spreads quickly at a small estate such as this.” It was a bit uncomfortable that the household knew, if not exactly surprising. No doubt it was a thrilling bit of gossip.

           The decorations I’d noted when I arrived were only the beginning. More had been added since then and the great hall looked entirely unlike I’d ever seen it before. I’d attended several celebrations at Lombelon over the last few years, but none of them had taken place in the great hall. L’Agnacites loved the land and with it came a fondness for outdoor celebrations. But not even they would pass the Longest Night outside. A pair of long tables had been set up on opposite sides of the hall, with ample space in between them for dancing. A fire roared in the large fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm. As Anne and I approached the table nearer the fireplace, folk in the crowd paused to bow or curtsy. I knew nearly all of them by name now. There was Thèrese, the head of the kitchen who’d made Camaeline dishes for me. There was Marcel, Anne’s friend and lover before—and also a bit after—she met me. If he had any lingering resentment toward me, he didn’t show it. My men were there as well, casually mingling with the residents of Lombelon. Those among them who regularly accompanied me on my visits had gotten to know the folk of Lombelon and felt at ease attending a fête such as this.

           Anne and I took our seats at the center of the table nearest the fireplace. There was nothing like a formal seating arrangement—the higher-ranked members of the household sat closest to us while the rest took what seats were available. The table was laden with a fine selection of dishes. Anne took the time to point out a few of note. “I made sure some of your Camaeline dishes were included,” she informed me.

           “Let us see if the other cooks did as good a job preparing them as you did,” I replied as I helped myself to slices of quiche and tarte flambée.

           What followed was a Midwinter Masque quite unlike any I’d ever attended. To compare it to the masques at the Palace or Cereus House was as pointless as comparing a rabbit to a swan. They were entirely different experiences, for all that they are both Midwinter Masques. Suffice it to say that the food was quite delicious and I enjoyed the company greatly. Joie flowed freely, along with L’Agnacite wine and the pear brandy no visit to Lombelon would be complete without. I drank a bit more than was my usual want. Anne on the other hand contented herself with a single glass of joie owing to her condition.

           When the meal was over, instruments were fetched and several folk left their seats to begin playing. Others moved to the open space between the tables and began to dance. Anne and I watched in comfortable silence for a few minutes. These were not the formal court dances I knew. No, they were the same sort of country dances I’d seen at other celebrations I’d attended at Lombelon. In all likelihood they were traditional L’Agnacite country dances. Each province had its own traditional dances entirely separate from the formal dances found at court. I was well-versed in the Camaeline ones and had more than a passing acquaintance with the Kusheline ones as well. Eventually the lively music gave way to a slower tune. I looked at Anne. “Would you care for a dance?”

           “Dance? With you?”

           “Of course.”

           She blushed a little. “I don’t know anything of formal court dances.”

           “Then we’ll start with somewhat simple.” I stood and offered her an arm. “I’ll lead and all you need do is follow.”

           She laid a hesitant hand on my arm. “As you wish.”

           Together we walked out to the center of the room. Several of the other dancers halted what they were doing to stare at us. Those nearest us moved out of the way to give us space. I took Anne’s hand in mine and laid a hand on her waist. “Put your other hand on my arm,” I instructed, “and try your best to follow me and not step on my feet.”

           She smiled. “I think I can manage that.” The musicians took up their instruments and our dance began. I kept it simple, leading Anne across the floor. She was able to keep pace with me without any difficulties. It made me think of how well-matched we were in bed, how attuned we were to each other. As we danced, the crowd around us seemed to disappear until Anne might’ve been the only one there. Her mask completely failed to hide the love that was plain on her face. I could lose myself in the depths of those hazel eyes.

           “You’re a good dancer,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “Not even with all those times you’ve watched my sword practice?”

           “Well, that isn’t dancing exactly.”

           “It’s not so very different from it. The footwork is important.” It wasn’t the first time someone had complemented my dancing. The Shahrizai were surprised to find me a passing good dancer when I arrived to foster among them. More recently Ysandre de la Courcel had praised my dancing skills while dancing with me at a fête. Anne and I danced to several more songs until the hour grew late. “That’s certainly a good start,” I remarked once we’d returned to our seats. “It shouldn’t take you long to learn courtly dances.”

           “I suspect not with such a good teacher.”

           We were interrupted by the doors of the great hall opening wide to admit the Winter Queen. She looked much the same as other Winter Queens I’d seen, dressed as she was in a ragged cloak and hobbling along with her staff. “Our Winter Queen wears the same costume every year,” Anne remarked. “Same thing with the Sun Prince. All we do is make alterations as needed.”

           The lights were extinguished. The doors opened once again to admit the Sun Prince. He tapped the Winter Queen on the shoulder with his spear. She cast off her cloak and the lights were restored. The new year had begun. “Were you ever the Winter Queen?”

           “Yes. More than once. What about you? Were you the Sun Prince?”

           “Of course. Once the year before I went to the Shahrizai and once the year after.”

           Anne lifted a hand to stroke my hair gently. “You must’ve made a fine Sun Prince with your beautiful hair.”

           Elua, I loved it when she called my hair beautiful. It was my one vanity. I avoided tying it back specifically so I could show it to its best advantage. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

           After the appearance of the Sun Prince, the celebration began to wind down. Many people left the hall to retire for the night. We had no obligation to stay for the rest of the masque and thus made our exit. With the whole staff enjoying the masque, a fire hadn’t already been laid in my bedchamber. I saw to it quickly, then removed my mask and crown. After wearing them for hours, it was a relief to take them off. Anne did the same with hers and a moment later we sat together on the bed. A bottle of joie and two glasses stood on the bedside table. I hadn’t requested it. “Your doing?”

           Anne nodded. “I thought we might enjoy some in private.” She uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, Isidore.”

           I raised the glass. “All the same to you, Anne. Joy.” I drained the glass in one go. Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything during my association with Prince Baudoin. I took a brief moment to savior the icy bite of the joie. I would easily name it my favorite liqueur if asked. There’s somewhat in it that always reminds me of Camlach, as if it retained some memory of the high places where the snowdrops grew. I set the glass on the table and looked at Anne. She sipped the last of the joie and placed her empty glass beside mine. I kissed her then, tasting the joie on her lips. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and we drank deeply from each other. Our costumes were soon a pile on the floor.

           We savored each other that night. I must’ve kissed and stroked every part of her and she did the same to me. Somewhat about the simple fact that she was carrying my child made me even more aroused that I usually was. She was not showing yet—it was too early for that—but I couldn’t help stroking her stomach more than was my usual wont. Anne told me she’d already spoken with the local priestess of Eisheth, who guessed our child would be born in early summer. With luck the impending Skaldi invasion would be over by then and I could return to Lombelon to attend the birth.

           I pulled her closer to me until I could feel the entirety of her pressed tight against me. She had exactly the sort of richly-curved figure prized in Camlach for the promise of warmth on the coldest winter nights. I laid a hand on her arse and buried another in her hair as if I could keep her from harm if I held her close enough. My mind was too active from the excitement of the day for me to fall asleep easily. Even after Anne fell asleep I lay awake, my thoughts turning to our child. I tried to imagine what the mingling of my blood with Anne’s would produce. Would our child be more Camaeline or L’Agnacite? Camaeline, I was fairly certain. I was of one of the purest Camaeline bloodlines, after all. But mayhap there’d be a love for gardens in there. A son with my hair and somewhat of Anne in his face. Or mayhap a daughter, but in truth I was more excited by the idea of a son. It made no practical difference—a daughter could inherit as well as a son. We are a civilized people, after all. A son, though—a son I could teach to wield a sword, draw a bow, lead the Allies of Camlach in battle, as my father had taught me the entirety of Camael’s Arts.

           With that pleasant thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.

 **

           With the Longest Night now passed, my natality was soon upon us. I did not generally want a big fuss made of it, a preference formed after years of the Shahrizai and Baudoin insisting on throwing fêtes for the occasion. This year I was determined to spend the day with Anne. The only thing that disrupted our time together was a message from Melisande, and I quickly dispatched several of my men-at-arms to carry out her request. I had to wonder if she knew about Anne and me. All the local folk did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Melisande did as well.

           When the day of my natality came, thoughts of Melisande’s request vanished entirely from my mind at the prospect of spending the day with Anne. She insisted on marking the occasion, and I was happy to go along with it. She spent a portion of her time in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner. It consisted of Camaeline dishes, some which I specifically requested. To be able to enjoy some comforts of home while also spending time with Anne was the best birthday gift I could’ve hoped for.

           Anne had other gifts for me. “You really did not need to do this,” I said as I followed her into the bedchamber.

           “I know. But I wanted to anyway.” She gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where she’d laid out my gifts. A pair of shirts were draped over the arms of the chair, with a smaller square of cloth resting between them.

           “You made me shirts. But how…?”

           “I might’ve… borrowed one of your shirts while you were last here so I could get your measurements,” she admitted. “I know they’re not as fine as what you usually wear…”

           “They’re just perfect. Thank you, Anne.” The shirts were fairly plain, with little in the way of embellishment on the collars and cuffs. Not that I don’t wear shirts with lace trim on occasion, but it is not my preference. My eyes then shifted to the square of cloth lying on the seat of the chair. It was a handkerchief. A closer look revealed she’d embroidered it. That took me aback for a moment—I hadn’t known Anne had such skill in embroidery. She’d stitched a pair of silver eagles in opposite corners, with pear blossoms at their feet.

           “I copied them from the eagles on your standard,” said Anne.

           “It’s quite a good likeness.”

           “I wanted to give you a lover’s token you might take with you when you ride off to war again.”

           Her words fell heavily between us. I’d not spoken of the coming Skaldi invasion to her at all during this visit. Better not to speak of it at all than dwell on what I had to keep hidden from her. I steered the conversation away from the impending invasion. “A very thoughtful gift. I’ll be sure to keep it with me.”

           “I’m so pleased you like it.” Anne smiled. “I’ve been quite busy with sewing lately, for I mean to make a quilt for our child.”

           “Really? I’ve not seen you doing anything of that sort since I’ve been here.”

           “That’s because I’ve been too busy spending time with you.”

           I sat on the bed. “Well, you can rest assured our child will have all the blankets he could possibly want.”

           She raised an eyebrow. “He?”

           “Or she,” I added. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to have a son. The idea of teaching him to wield a sword really appeals to me.”

           “Could you not teach a daughter?”

           I considered her question a moment before answering. “I could, yes. Camaeline women are taught to defend themselves should they be attacked, but they don’t fight on the battlefield.” I met Anne’s eyes. “You know I wouldn’t love any daughter of ours any less.”

           “I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, amused, “and in case you were wondering I have no particular preference for a son or daughter.”

 **

           I spent most of the winter at Lombelon. Business did call me away from time-to-time, but for the most part I was able to spend much of my time with Anne. There was a sense of urgency in it as winter began to loosen its icy grip on the land. When the days grew warm enough that I judged the nearest pass to be open, I left for Camlach.

           It was a difficult parting, the most difficult we’d had thus far.

           Soon I would be at war.

 Notes

I’ve been writing Kushielfic for 10 years, & this is the 1st time I’ve actually managed to post a Longest Night scene on the Longest Night. Enjoy, & joy to you on this Longest Night!

#kushiel's legacy #simple pleasures #jesatriafic #isidore d'aiglemort #anne livet

[ladywynneoutlander]

Heart’s Abundance

Part 6 - Clear as Joy, Bright as Hope

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

This is the last installment. I really hope you enjoyed the story. You can find it here on AO3 as well. Happy New Year!

**********

Hogmanay is a festive affair, despite a freezing rain and dropping temperatures. The house is full of people. There is dancing and merrymaking right up until the moment Roger takes on his traditional role as the first foot. After he enters and presents Jamie with gifts of an egg, wood, salt, and whiskey the inhabitants of the Ridge scatter like birds so they will be ready to greet Roger at their own doors. Jamie and I follow him and Brianna onto the porch and wave them on their way.  

Just as we turn to go back inside William steps up. “If I might have a moment?” The boy looks sober, nervous, and somehow eager. A strand of chestnut hair is loose on his cheek, freed by the evening’s fun.

Jamie smiles. “Aye, of course. What’s to do?”

“I was hoping to speak with you. I’ve had it in my mind for a while,” William glances sideways at me, and I give him an encouraging look. “And the new year being upon us I thought there could be no better time.”

Jamie seems surprised but gestures toward the dooryard. “Aye. Walk wi’ me then?”

William nods. Jamie bends to take a lantern from the stoop and I reach inside the house for his cloak. William takes up his own lantern. Jamie bends to kiss my cheek. And they step off the porch together, heading toward a path leading up the mountain. As the two men make their way into the night, cloaks held tight against the chilling weather, I watch until I can no longer see the bobbing of lanterns or hear the crunch of boots.

I stand for a moment longer, listening to the ping of half-frozen droplets on the roof, hoping these two very stubborn men will finally come to terms with one another. A gentle urge to pray for them moves through me. So I do, my arm wrapped around the porch post. I silently pray for the young man seeking his place, straddling the gulf between familiar English aristocracy and a whirl of newfound Scottish kin. And for the other, my Jamie, who I know longs for closeness with his son. For the relationship sacrificed early on, the necessity of which was accepted but evermore grieved. I can see the flicker of new-sprung hope in Jamie, kindled by William’s presence, and so my prayer is simple. Lord, please. Give them back to each other.  

                                                             -o0OOO0o-

Jamie and William return a little time later. I have been waiting up for them, and as they enter I see the ice has turned to light snow. No one says a word, but Jamie’s smile tells me everything I need to know.

They hadn’t gone far, just up the hill to the cavern we use as a stable. Jamie sat on a bale of hay and gestured for William to do the same. The lad declined, too full of nerves to sit. Instead he paced a step or two then turned to look at Jamie.  “The time has come for me to make some decisions regarding the course of my life.”

Jamie nodded, but didn’t speak so William continued, leaning against the railings behind him and gesturing as he talked. “Do I embrace this new land? Make it my own? Or do I return and take my place as Earl? I have a task to complete come spring. But then…” He trailed off for a moment, then shrugged. “Then my life is my own. To shape as I will.” He turned to Jamie. “And before I decide on that shape, I should like to know exactly how things are between us.”

Jamie spread his hands. “Speak ye’re mind lad, or ask what you will. I’ll be honest with ye.”

William nodded, seeming suddenly hesitant again, and finally sat on his own bale across from Jamie’s. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When I found out you were my father, I’m afraid it was rather a shock. I was angry, felt betrayed. I would like to apologize for that.”

Jamie made a dismissive gesture, “Nay worry. I understand.”

“Do you, indeed? Well then, good.” William let out a breath and sat up straight. “I also understand why you and Papa did what you did for me as a boy - to a point. But why keep it from me later? When I came to the colonies, why not tell me then? By law I’m an earl either way.”

Jamie rubbed his jaw, eyes on William. “Aye, that’s true. It just seemed a hard thing for a man to take, and it wasna likely we should ever meet.”

“But we did meet. We were in the same city for God’s sake. Did you....” William unconsciously clenched his big hands. “Did you not want a son? I mean, it could complicate matters for you, with Mother Claire or Brianna maybe.”

“Och no! I wanted ye. I’ve always wanted ye William. Believe that if nothing else. No. ‘Twas only I thought you better left as you were, secure in yourself. But I’ve always wanted ye.”

Suddenly William stood, impatient, and his blue eyes flashed in the lantern-light. “You say so. But you left me. You had me with you at Helwater and you left me.”

Jamie felt his color rising and took a deep breath, “And I’m sorry for it. I had to leave. People were noticing the resemblance.”

“Do you know that I never forgot you? You’re leaving was....” William turned away, facing toward two sleepy heifers in their stall. “Well, I didn’t understand. I was only six. One day we were inseparable and the next you were gone.” Jamie sees William’s tense shoulders slump and the next words come softly, but with an intensity that tears Jamie’s heart. “I grieved for you.”

Jamie slowly came to stand beside William at the railing. “I mourned your loss as well.” He laid a hand on William’s shoulder. “I thought of you and prayed for ye. I never forgot you. William, lad, you are my son. I love you dearly and always have.”

The broad back under Jamie’s hand rose and fell in what might have been a sob. Then William swiped at his cheeks with his sleeve and faced him in the dim light. “If I’m your son then I’d like very much...for you to be my father.” He rushed to prevent Jamie’s response. “I’m no longer a little boy. I don’t want anything from you, not money nor even public acknowledgement. I’d never take what is Brianna’s. All I want sir..Jamie..is you as a father, and to be your son.”

Jamie’s own eyes grew moist, “Nothing. Nothing would please me more.” Jamie reached under his shirt and withdrew a beechwood rosary. The very one he gave William all those years ago. Wordless, he offered it once again.

William looked down at the beads, glossy with age, and he finally understood. His feelings of mixed loyalty, of fear, have all been unnecessary.What he had with Lord John and what he had lost could never be replaced; but there could still be. There is room in his heart for Papa and Mother Geneva and Mother Isobel. For Jane and Fanny. And there is still yet room for Jamie and Mother Claire, for his strange sister Brianna, for Ian and Jem. For all of them. He found there is space in his heart to embrace them all, places as unique as snowflakes for each of them, and fitting them there needn’t displace other loves.  

And he realized too, that Jamie’s heart held a similar space for him. He looked at Jamie, his father, and saw tenderness and joy looking back. He does want me. The realization was as cleansing as cold water. This father truly did want him in his life. William felt tears gather anew in his eyes as he took the rosary.  

“Da,” he croaked blindly. He didn’t have to take a step before he felt arms around him, and he was a little boy rescued from the mist once again. Safe, and finally, secure in his place.

                                                              -o0OOO0o-

Jamie and I steal down the stairs as quietly as we can, feeling almost giddy with exhaustion as we make our way outside in the freezing pre-dawn. The last stars shine far above us, the snow ended, and the horizon is lightening over the distant peaks of the Blue Ridge mountains. Jamie unfolds the quilt he carries and wraps us both in it, his natural heat soon warming the interior of our shelter even as our ears and noses grow cold. He links his hand with mine and we watch, mesmerized, as the sun rises. Everything is coated in clear ice, each tiny branch a singular thing of beauty. The first rays spark and glint, and in an instant the clearing is lit in a crystallized splendor of rose and gold. We are suspended in the moment. It is beautiful and sacred, joyful, and hopeful above all. A new year.  

We stand for minutes, but as the sun separates from the horizon Jamie takes a deep breath, lets is out, and time is moving again. Homey kitchen sounds reach our ears and Jamie turns to me. “I never thought to be so blessed. Never in life.” He puts his hands on my hips and draws me closer, the quilt slipping unregarded from our shoulders. “Claire, after Culloden... I despaired of ever being more than a ghost haunting the place he was happiest. Then you returned, and I was alive again. And the weans, it is you who made our family possible. Not just Brianna, but William too. You bridged the gulf between them and me, both of time and the heart.” He brought one of my hands to his chest, folded it, and held it in one of his, his other arm pulling me even more tightly against him. “You are the beginning and the end of this family mo nighean donn. No matter what the year brings, war or anything else, thanks to you I can face it in the knowledge my family is loved, and that they ken it well.”

I blink and a tear slips warm down my cheek, catching on the curl of my lip as it wavers with a smile. Having no words I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Just before our lips meet, he whispers, “I love you.”  

“And I love you, Jamie. Always.”

#heart's abundance #outlander

[wormprint]

The Best Dragonyule Possible

hiya @bumblepuppy!! I was your secret Saint Starfall this year!!

Here’s a lovely, lovely nearly 4k words piece about the Eldritch family and happy Dragonyule times <3 This family makes me soft....

I hope you enjoy, Annelise!! <3

Hethiwood was a town devoid of holidays, devoid of celebrations. It was a town dedicated to worship, not unlike Tenisom, or Kyril. Brainless, blind following of ancient, forgotten gods left no time for birthdays, for any time to look forward to in the year besides the rituals of worship Lathna was forced to go through. She knew of her age-- 9 years old in fact, yet she had never blown out birthday candles or received a gift for a holiday. To say it shortly, she had never celebrated Dragonyule. The mere concept of a day dedicated to gifting to others and spending time with family was foreign.

A tiny hand reached up the oak door, knocking as loudly as she could at the study shared by Curran and Heinwald.

The two had become somewhat of parental figures for her. After all, she had no family in Hethiwood, in Kyril, and surely none in Tenisom. It was nice to have some people who cared for her. To make her feel like she wasn’t alone.

“Come in,” called Curran, from within the study.

Lathna heaved to open the somewhat heavy door, pushing against it as much as she could. 

The inquisitor and his partner-in-truth looked up simultaneously as Lathna took a few steps into the study. The walls were lined with nearly hundreds of books, with a large window allowing the frosty light into the otherwise dark room. In the center was a large desk, where Curran sat and sorted through a large stack of papers. Heinwald was leaning upon the edge of the window, reading in the sunlight.

“Lathna,” Heinwald said, with a smile. “What brings you here?”

“What’s Dragonyule?” she asked, simply, clutching onto her skirt.

Curran looked towards Hein, then set down the papers he held. “Dragonyule is a holiday, a means to exchange gifts with those you care for, and spend time with your loved runs, and give thanks to Ilia for the good parts of the ear.”

A tiny smile appeared on Lathna’s face at the mistake, then dissipated as she pondered over the response. After a moment, a long pause of silence, she asked, “Why?”

These were the parenting questions Curran wasn’t prepared for. “Ah...just because. It’s been a tradition for a long time.”

“It was a means to convert non-Ilian worshippers to the church,” Hein started, closing the book he held. “The Dragonyule tree, Saint Starfall, every figure associated with the holiday used to be symbols of pre-Ilian winter solstice traditions. When the Ilian church rose to power, it took these symbols into the celebration of Dragonyule so that the people would convert.”

“Or...we could talk about the traditions and less about the history, Hein.”

That answer only raised more and more questions about Dragonyule, its origins, its practices. Each and every answer only raised more and more questions for Lathna, her curiosity unsatiated with the unusual holiday.

Eventually, the barrage of questions stopped, and Lathna left the study.

Curran looked at Heinwald, shrugging. “I never expected explaining Dragonyule to be that difficult.”

“She is very persistent with her questions. She seeks the truth,” Hein replied, opening the book once more, “Just like a certain pair I know.”

“Oh goddess, we’re influencing her to become an investigator,” Curran said, jokingly, a small smile appearing on his face.

“As if that is an unfortunate circumstance.”

“Twas a joke, love.”

And so they returned back to their work, until the sun had set in the sky, and the light in the study diminished.

-

“Y’know, Hein,” Curran said, turning in their shared bed, pressing a soft kiss to Hein’s shoulder as he draped an arm around his partner’s waist. “I don’t think Lathna has ever celebrated Dragonyule before.”

Heinwald turned his head, looking over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t doubt it, considering how Hethiwood operated as a village.”

Curran began to softly rub his thumb over Heinwald’s skin. “I think we should give her a great first Dragonyule. She deserves it, with how much bullcrap she’s had to deal with.”

“How so?” Hein asked, rolling over to face Curran, reaching up to run a hand through his soft, blonde hair. 

“Like...give her lots of gifts, participate in the festivities. Even decorate her own tree. Watch and play in the snow, the normal kid-on-Dragonyule sort of experiences.”

A soft smile formed on Heinwald’s lips, as he reached forward to press a light kiss onto Curran’s face. “You care about her a great deal, Curran.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked, an eyebrow raising in question.

“No, not at all,” Hein said, chuckling between his words. “I’ll assist you in giving Lathna a great first Dragonyule.”

Curran combed his hand through Heinwald’s long hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“No need for thanks. As much as I’d love to continue talking about this, it’s late.”

“Get some rest. I love you.”

-

The days were drawing nearer and nearer to the holiday. She had watched the Halidom’s children grow antsier and more excited for Dragonyule with each passing day. They had chittered and chattered about what they wanted from Saint Starfall (who, Lathna would come to understand, supposedly delivered these gifts to the children), about the traditions of opening gifts under the Yuletree.

So Lathna listened, as Pia and Lowen chatted about Dragonyule, the children sitting in the kitchen, a plate of freshly baked cookies from Cleo in front of them. 

“What do you want from Saint Starfall, Lathna?” Lowen had asked, sweetly, pushing the plate towards Lathna slightly. Lathna didn’t talk much, but he and Pia always tried to include her in the conversation when they could.

“Ah...I…don’t know,” She whispered, gripping onto her skirt, nervously.

Pia gave her a reassuring smile, reaching for a cookie. “It’s okay! It’s a lot to think about.”

“Yeah! You don’t have to decide right now,” Lowen added. “I spend all year thinking about what I want from Saint Starfall, and even then it’s hard for me to decide!”

Lathna nodded. It absolutely was much to think about, for a small girl who never celebrated such a holiday. 

After a moment, she spoke again. “How does... Saint Starfall know what you want?”

“You’re supposed to write a letter to him, and he’ll get it in the mail, and then bring you what you wish for,” Lowen explained, “I give the letter to Louise for her to mail it.”

Pia nodded as Lowen spoke. “Mariti would take all of the letters to Saint Starfall from the kids in the choir and mail them for us.”

“Oh…” Lathna’s voice was soft, timid. “I’ve never written a letter to Saint Starfall.”

Pia and Lowen’s eyes looked like they were about to bug out of their heads.

“We need to change that right now!” Pia exclaimed, standing quickly, nearly falling from the stool she sat on.

“I have some paper!” Lowen said, almost bouncing off the chair. “C’mon, Lathna, let’s write our letter to Saint Starfall right now!”

Lowen reached for Lathna’s hand, tugging on it, imploring her to come with them. 

“O-Okay,” she stuttered, letting herself be pulled by Lowen, all the way to his room, where the trio sat and wrote about everything they wished for from Saint Starfall.

It took Lathna quite a while to think. She stared at a blank piece of paper, void other than the “Dear Saint Starfall” at the top of the page. 

Pia looked up from her scribbling. Perched upon her head was one of her mouse friends, cosied up on her hat. “Do you want some help with your letter, Lathna?”

She nodded, slowly. “I...never got gifts in Hethiwood…”

“Some kids wish for toys. What kind of toys do you like?” Lowen set his pen down, finished with his own letter.

“Plushies,” Lathna enthusiastically said, gripping onto her pen, a small smile on her face. 

“Then there you go! What kind of plushie do you want?” Pia added, tapping her own pen on her knee to a beat of her own creation.

“A bear,” Lathna responded, looking down at her paper. “I want a stuffed bear.”

She then began to write and write about the stuffed bear she wished for, with fur soft as mink and ears of velvet, with a bow made of purple satin. 

The letter was placed into an envelope, sealed with stickers that Lowen had stashed away, and addressed to Saint Starfall in the best lettering the children could manage, to be sent off to him to get their presents ready.

And Lathna smiled, as she held her letter, a small spark of excitement within her. 

-

“Is Saint Starfall real?” She had asked Curran, later that day, as she, Curran, and Heinwald walked through the Halidom.

“Yes,” Curran said, without hesitation.

Yet at the same time Heinwald spoke as well, not even lifting his eyes from the book his nose was stuck in. “Of course not.”

Curran shot a glance at Heinwald, squinting. “She’s a kid, Hein,” He scolded, then turned back towards Lathna, who gripped onto his hand. “Of course he is. He brings everyone gifts, doesn’t he?”

“Wouldn’t it...mean more, if it’s from friends?”

“Precisely,” Heinwald interjected. “Why should a fictional man gain all of the credit for those who pay for the gifts that are given?”

“Because it’s tradition, and also fun for kids to believe in.”

Oh, the bickering was about to begin.

Heinwald finally looked up from his book. “All children eventually grow out of the belief. If anything, it is a waste to believe such a thing in the first place.”

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bread now, didn’t you?” Curran quipped, unaware of his spoken flub-up.

A small giggle escaped Lathna, growing with intensity as the two men continued. A wide smile covered her face, a strange sight for many in the Halidom to see.

Curran and Heinwald completely stopped their bickering over the belief in Saint Starfall to look at her, the argument dropped as they heard her soft laughter. Curran’s lips turned into a smile as well, as he glanced towards Hein.

Hein had a similar, warm smile on his face. 

-

It was almost comical to Lathna, to watch the Halidom burst at the seams with garlands of strung popcorn, with wreaths placed on nearly every door, brilliant strings of light mana glowing within glass bulbs illuminating the arches and stairwells. A large tree had been set up in the foyer, reaching high into the tall room, with lights and garlands and holly and whatnot hanging among the branches. Lathna’s neck craned to look at the top of the tree, where the fairy Notte was struggling to place a star tree-topper amongst the highest peak.

“Entranced with the Yuletree, hm?” came a familiar voice, as Heinwald looked towards the girl with a small smile. 

Lathna nodded, looking up towards Hein. “It’s really pretty,” she said, voice soft with wonder.

Hein looked up, giving a small hum of agreement. “I’ve never been one for Dragonyule festivities, but I do agree that the tree has its charms,” he paused, taking in the massive tree. “How would you like a tree of your own, Lathna?”

Her eyes widened with surprise, then she nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like that. Could you and Curran help me decorate it?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Lathna had a sparkle in her eye that Hein had rarely seen before. She had a tiny grin on her face, and bounced on her toes excitedly. “When can we get it?” She asked, grabbing Heinwald’s hand and tugging on it a few times.

Hein’s eyes widened with surprise. Lathna wasn’t very affectionate with him, she tended to cling to Curran more than himself. Yet, it was nice, Hein thought, that she was starting to become more accustomed to being around him. His expression softened after a moment. “We should ask Curran. With the holidays comes a dam in the flow of mysteries, so work for both of us has been slower than usual. Therefore, it would be safe to say that we could get the tree soon.”

Lathna beamed at the answer, taking a few steps and tugging on Hein’s hand again. “Let’s go ask!” she said, in a jubilant tone, nearly dragging the man through the Halidom halls.

-

Her nose pressed excitedly against the glass, as the first few snowflakes began to fall. The Halidom had already been covered in a sheet of snow, but it hadn’t snowed again for quite some time since then. Lathna’s breath fogged up the window, clouding her view of the world outside. She pulled her face away, watching the fog slowly dissipate as the window equalized in temperature. 

After a moment, she breathed against the window again, then with a gloved finger quickly drew a little smiley face in the fog where hers was in the reflection, before it disappeared once more. She giggled at the sight.

It was Dragonyule Eve, and Latha couldn’t wait to get her Yuletree.

A few quick knocks against her door alerted her, and she whirled her head around at the sound. Standing there was Curran and Heinwald, both bundled to go out in the snow, as she was. 

“Ready to get that tree?” Curran asked, repositioning the axe on his shoulder, and ensuring the coil of rope was still looped on the handle.

Lathna nodded exuberantly, nearly running over to the door where the two men stood. She grabbed Curran’s free hand, and one of Heinwald’s, looking at the two of them with an excited grin.

And so they took off, into the light snow, Lathna’s eyes filled with wonder at the sight of the snowfall. Large, fluffy snowflakes drifted down from gray clouds above, swirling in the breeze before landing upon the ground in soft mounds. The trio’s boots crunched in the snow, leaving behind crisp footprints to be covered in downy snowflakes later. They remained in sight of the Halidom, so there was no fear of getting lost.

The conifers of the forest came into sight, dusted in the snow. Their evergreen needle leaves contrasted with pure white snow beautifully.

“Alright,” Curran began, “Let’s find that tree. You pick out whichever one you like, Lathna.”

Lathna nodded, squeezing Curran’s hand as her eyes began to scan the trees. They passed tree after tree, stopping for a moment at each to allow Lathna to deliberate over them. She would look over them, squint a little, thinking hard about each tree. And then, with a head shake, the three would continue. 

A tree rose out of the snowfield in front of them, somewhat isolated from the rest. It was smaller, a little thinner than the rest in the field. Its branches were beginning to droop from the snow on top of them, as the flakes continued to fall, and fall. A tiny gasp passed from Lathna’s lips, as she let go of Curran and Heinwald’s hands and started towards the tree. Her eyes came to about the peak of the conifer. A wide smile formed upon her face. 

As Curran and Hein approached, she turned to them. “This one!” she said, excitedly.

“Seems quite small,” Hein commented. “But that makes it all the easier to carry, I suppose.”

Curran lowered the axe from on his shoulder. “Stand back, Lath,” he said, then began to chop at the tree’s base.

Lathna bounced on her toes, as best as she could in snow boots, while Curran began to bind the tree in rope. When he finished, he hoisted the tree and axe over his shoulder.

“Ready to head back?”

She nodded, stepping through the snow, back in the direction of the Halidom.

Curran repositioned the tree on his shoulder, falling into step behind her, Hein beside him.

And they watched as Lathna remained a few steps ahead, kicking around and playing in the snow. Her soft giggles of happiness carried in the still air, warming enough for both of the men.

Hein’s hand moved to hold Curran’s free one. “I’m glad to see her so happy,” he murmured, softly.

“She deserves it,” Curran said. “She’s dealt with enough in her life already.”

Heinwald smiled, looking over at his partner with fondness. “I know. You’ve changed her life for the better, Curran. Anyone could deduce that.”

Curran chuckled. “Couldn’t of done it alone, Partner. We make a pretty good team.”

Crimson eyes shifted to look at the girl, giddy with delight in the snow, beginning to roll a snowball around in the puffy mounds on the ground. “I’m inclined to agree.”

-

“And…” she said, placing the last bauble on the branch, “It’s done!”

There were excess decorations from the Halidom’s Yuletree, which were brought into Lathna’s room so she could decorate her own. Red baubles hung from wire hooks on the branches, and a string of lights wrapped around the tree from the base to the peak. All that remained was the tree topper, a five-pointed star of gold and silver. 

Curran picked up the ornament, handing it over to Lathna. “What about the star?”

Lathna gasped in surprise, and held her hands out for it. “I’ll put it on, then it’ll be done!”

Gently, carefully, she lifted the star to place on the tip of the tree. She repositioned it a few times, ensuring its safety, then took a few steps back. A bright smile was upon her face, as she gazed upon the tree she worked so hard to decorate. Her hands clasped together in front of her chest. She felt warm, jubilant. Lathna could rarely think of a time where she felt this happy.

The room flickered from the lamp, placed beside the tree. It caught the shimmer and shine of the ornaments, lighting up the room with a cozy light.

The door slowly pushed open. Hein had returned from changing out of snow gear, carrying a silver tray with three mugs upon it. Steam rose from the brims, dissipating into the air, and fogging up Heinwald’s glasses.

“It’s a marvel that I didn’t bump into anyone or any walls,” He commented, precariously making his way over to the two in the corner of the room. As he gently set the tray down, he removed his glasses, beginning to clean them off with his robe. “Should I have done so, it would’ve resulted in quite the tragedy.”

“There was already one, Hein,” Curran said, picking up one of the mugs and handing it to Lathna. “You missed decorating the tree.”

“Was my procuring of the ornaments not enough?” Hein rebutted, making his way to sit on the floor beside Curran. “I even went and made you hot chocolate. I very well could’ve come back without risking a burn or some other injury, but I did so anyway.”

Curran rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the fudge,” he said, gesturing towards Lathna, who was blowing over the hot chocolate in her mug.

She looked up from over it, smiling. “It’s okay, Heinwald,” she said, softly, hardly a breath above a whisper. “I appreciate all you’ve done. Thank you, both of you.”

“There is no need for thanks,” Curran said. “It was our pleasure to help you out with the tree.”

“Precisely. I do not go into the snow willingly very often. But…it was fun to do so.” Hein reached for his own mug, blowing on the drink himself, before taking a sip.

Lathna nodded in response. “I thought so too.”

She grasped her mug, feeling the warmth of the drink seep through the ceramic and onto her normally chilly hands. Lathna stared into the cup, her reflection muddled in the chocolate and milk swirled together. And as she stared, she saw herself-- She hadn’t been scared of herself since she came to the Halidom, months ago. She no longer saw the dragon within, saw herself as a key to the gate of the Ancient One. She was Lathna. And she was here, with Curran and Heinwald, on Dragonyule Eve, and she was happy. She felt tears well in the corner of her eyes. Happy tears. 

She set her mug down, nearly running to catch both Curran and Heinwald into a big hug, as the happy tears began to run down her cheeks in fluid streams. “Thank you,” She mumbled, muffled from stuffing her face into Curran’s shoulder, pulling both of the men closer. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

At first, Curran was surprised, but after hearing Lathna, he pulled her and Heinwald closer. “You’re welcome, Lath. I’m happy we could do that for you.”

He kissed the top of her head, softly, then reached over to kiss Heinwald’s cheek. “I’ve gotta say, this has been one great Dragonyule.”

And as Heinwald nodded in agreement, the three stayed, holding each other as the night fell, and the tree glistened on.

-

Curran pulled the blanket aside, cradling Lathna against him where she had fallen asleep. Her breaths were soft, deep in slumber, exhausted from the day’s activities and the emotions she felt.

He gently set her in her bed, then pulled the blanket up to her chin, tucking her in. “Do you have the bear?” he whispered, looking over at Heinwald, standing by the door.

In Hein’s hands was a stuffed bear, soft as mink, with velvety ears and a purple bow. Around the bear’s paw was a tag, addressed to Lathna, from Curran and Heinwald. He approached the bed, softly setting the bear next to the sleeping girl, ensuring he would not wake her. When he was satisfied with the bear’s position, leaning against the pillows, he took a few steps back. “If this one starts to fall apart,” Hein began, voice soft like Curran’s, “You best fix it, and not leave its head split open for the stuffing to fall out.”

Curran walked over by the tree, picking the lamp up, and dimming it. “It was a mistake, Hein. I kept forgetting.”

“And I will remind you every single day until you fix it.”

A small chuckle escaped Curran. “Bah humbug, huh?”

Hein rolled his eyes. “My concerns over Lathna’s state of her toys has nothing to do with my perception of Dragonyule and its festivities, Curran.”

“Twas a joke, once again.”

“You’re insufferable. Now, hurry, lest we risk her waking up too soon.” Hein began towards the door, opening it slowly, and gesturing for Curran to walk out first.

And before Curran stepped through the doorway, he turned back towards Lathna. One last check before they left. She was still sound asleep, cozy in her bed.

“Happy Dragonyule, Lathna,” he whispered, fully stepping out of the room.

“Happy Dragonyule as well,” Hein whispered towards her too, softly closing the door.

The girl would sleep soundly that night, no frightening dreams would wake her from her slumber. As long as that bear remained in her presence, the sigil Heinwald incorporated into its stuffing would continue to work. 

Hein smiled to himself, reaching over to grab Curran’s hand. And as their steps echoed through the halls of the Halidom, the noise bouncing around the walls, they found themselves in a space of comfortable peace; for in a few hours time, the halls would be bustling once more, in preparation for the Dragonyule festivities in the morning.

#dragonyule2019 #dragalia lost #curran #heinwald #lathna #matt writes

[athanasia-istolla]

Interview: Sindri Istolla

The following is done in a present state/day style: Oct 19th 2019/Unknown Hydaelyn date.

► Name ➔ “Sindri Rianorix Istolla be m’ full name, not dat anywon uses such.”

► Are you single ➔ “Mm if ye mean am I not see’n anywon, den yee. Tis long since dat’a been elsewise.”

► Are you happy ➔ “A’times, yee. Tis not always easy. I hath my health an me life. The Shroud itself be kind ta me even thou som folk be not.”

► Are you angry? ➔ “Angry? Non non.. Frustrated perhaps at current, but such wilt pass once dem false wanted posters be delt with.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “When saw em last, yes.. I dun think much could’a shook dat bunch’s unionship even after all dis time.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “mm such thing, is knowledge for the trusted only..”

► Hair Color ➔ “Most be silver with streaks o black.. Tis ma natural colour despite de questions o who I see ta get it done… all most non believe me thou.”

► Eye Color ➔ “Hmm ma eyes be bit complex.. Da outer lens is Dune-gemed Lilac, such be all dat most see at first glance, in part o how large they are. Yet past such lay a shifting teal-violet set o limbal rings o’ sorts. Tis not supar hard ta see, more easy at night thou. Last me sclera is dark, bu’ with how large de dune lens is, tis unnoticed by near all. If one was in ma life oft enough, eventually would see both o such thou.”

► Birthday ➔ “Thirteenth Moon of the Sixth Umbral Moon (13/12), T’was so early that day the sun had not risen yet”

► Mood ➔  “Perhaps a bit uneasy. Feels like some’n coming.. Yet tis hard ta discern when an if such be related ta thee fake posters.”

► Gender ➔ “Female.”

► Summer or winter ➔  “Winter. Aside de lovely delights of the season, cozy hearths, the quiet snow brings to de world.. The stars hang longer over head.. Tis peaceful to bundle near a soft fire an gaze upon the astronomic gems.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “If ye mean when to wake.. Just ‘fore dawn.. The stars still littering the sky.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Love? Non.. perhaps hav’ a crush or three.” soft shy chuckle “But non, not love.. Not yet at least.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ Rumbles an amused chur as she smiles. “The fates work in many ways.. I have yet to personally experience such depth of sudden infatuation. I would personally be cautious of such. Yet I would not say such be impossible.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “If by such yet again ye be speak’n o the intimate type… Circumstance.. Events beyond our control.. Despite the effort against such. I doth not know if she survived the raid.. An I was likely sold off too quick if they had mounted a rescue.. Twas a very long time ago now..”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Am sure I likely hath broke a few in my home lands.. An perhaps some of these ones.. in the past at least. I can say such was not out o ill will nor intentional thou.”

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Hmm non.. Tis not commitment I fear, tis abandonment, an what I can contribute being ‘enough.’ I know well I can’t provide all things, even the instances I wish to thee core I could. Tis hard ta find those who understands such.. While I am not opposed at all to Monogamy in the ‘right’ circumstances. Polyamory-esk dynamics feel more natural to me. T’was very common in my home lands. I’m.. still healing from things, I’ve made much road, yet still be more a head. ‘Someday’ I hope to share thine life with anothers again..” Chuckles “course such whimsy talk.. Who knows.. ‘Someday’ could start tomorrow if the fates align.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Doth this include Crypts an Elementals?”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “Recently? Not any am aware of.. I mean, tis part o the name no? If they be do’n it right am not supposed ta be know’n ye?”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Oh ye.. T’was a very long time ago now though..”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Both.. Ye ye I know it says choices.. Yet both share a common base.. Passion.. An I rather adore passion.. In all things, not just the tango twix two or more.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “While can’t say I’ve tried iced-tea.. Lemonade is much too sour usually fer me. So tea.. With the promise ta try it iced come thee summer months again.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “I’m one who rather likes all nature.. If I must chose, Cats. They be far more self sufficient an tis quite lovely ta have a purring snuggle bug close while read’n.” 

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best/close companions.. Much as of course one would have other degrees of relations.. A core few dear faces is preferable..”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Am a bit o a quiet one on de whole. Yet night outs can be quite delightful.. Hmm will go with night in, this time.” Softly chuckles.

► Day or night ➔ “Night, especially a clear night with a new moon.. Stars as far as you can see.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔  “Of course, who hasn’t when young.. Even then I was.. Enamored with the astral.. Twas hard not to sneak out with ma scope on dem new moon nights.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Gehh.. course ye got’a ask som’n like dis.. Ye.. both.. more den am gonna be admit’n..” Her features bronzen with a lil pout.

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Ye.. more den once..”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ “There were times.. In de past.. Am sure in some.. Most would have wanted the same..” Glances away, her tails coiling tighter around her hips as she hugs a length o one to her chest to suppress a tremor.

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Eyes, there is.. Much one can glean from a simple quick glance from the eyes..”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Oh dear.. Make’n me out ma self hm? Taller.. Am quite petite.. Four-Fulms an Three-Ilms tall at most, while I do enjoy huggling de even smaller den myself.. Tis hard not to be bit captivated by a taller lass.” Her features bronze again whilst she wiggles a little in her seat.

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “mm Am gonna cheat again an say both.. While I do lean towards a captivating mind.. Tis much said for there to also be de draw of the physical.. Perhaps tis a balance or one o em ratio kind’a things?” Grins a lil.

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Mymy ye are a nosy bunch ne? Ye gonna ask for my diary next?” Chuckles through an amused rumble. “mn I’d say there be a place for both.. Yet I do lean more to relationships.. An such things have numerous degrees to them.. Yet something.. I guess that doesn’t leave one feeling.. Used o sorts.. Am sure some could argue there is “fun/good” ways of that feeling.. I’ve.. only experienced the darker side o such thus far.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Yee, we did quite well on de whole.. Course we had our disagreements and such, what fam doesn’t.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “hmm before these lands.. No.. it was a good life.. Even when we disagreed I was never treated ill or harmed.. An I could tell.. That they honestly thought they were doing the best for my sake.. ”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ Laughs softy “Guess you could say such in away.. Certainly wasn’t intentional.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Non, not in de way yer asking at least.. There be an ‘o age’ passage with my kin.. Live off the lands on our own till our ink finish take’n root.. Mine took bout four full cycles.. Folks were very relieved when I returned ta em.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Non non.. I’ve more aquatencies and trade contacts den friends currently.. I wouldn’t say hate but.. Thinking on it, perhaps a bit of wryness o one fellow.. Am doubtful they be give’n me the right return on some the crystals I sell em.”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔  “mn again I don’t really have at the moment.. Tis certainly a few acquaintances I’d like to get to know better.. Some.. much better.. I will admit to shyness an caution, despite my friendly demeanour.. Have been.. Betrayed more than few times.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Currently I don’t have someone I’d consider such.. Perhaps someday though.”

► Who knows everything about you ➔ Those lilac gemed eyes cast down a bit. “Saga did.. I know not if she lived through the raid on our village. Lady Lena as well, that was less willing of a conversation, despite my gratitude for being saved, in some sense, from de slave fight pits in Ul’Dah. I feared she’d sell me right back to the nearest auction if she knew it all.. or kill me herself. Yet she didn’t.. What more, made me da Head o house Attendant’s second & de attendant/body guard of her only heir, her daughter. Both Ladies of Bloodlion passed in the calamity.”

Tagged By: @kyrie-silverwings

Tagging folks mostly to share the info cuz I have barely anything for Sindri up lol Shy flail. No worries if you’ve already done it: @tsukikotanshi @lulu-ffxiv @az-ffxiv @under-the-blood-moonlight​ @fair-fae @purple-salt-mage @othard @alun-ura @cheche-dotharl​ @paleshadeofrose​ @clouded-vxle​ @trishelle

#Sindri Istolla #Iridescent Twilight #character prompt #ffxiv rp #sorry for the slight rambles I couldn't help it XD #Sindri

[uterusclub]

Hot, Chicago summers are generally, not very fun but somehow, we manage. This past month was nothing short of spectacular – even despite the sweltering, blistering, hell heat. We kicked the month off with a visit to the very critically acclaimed Par-King miniature golf course out in Lincolnshire. Solely based off of the reviews on this place, expectations were HIGH. To ensue extra, satisfaction, I purchased a Groupon for an Indian Restaurant by the name of Marigold Maison through whom we purchased some bag-insulated yummers for dinner. I’ll save you the suspense and tell you the food was not good. Although I’m fairly certain we’ve become tikka masala snobs at this point. Service was super awkward as well as the restaurant has a grocery attached to it with shelved goods that look as though they’d been there for god knows how long. In any case, I wouldn’t venture there ever again. But back to the golfing. We arrived mid-day on a Wednesday in hopes of beating any summer-time crowds. And much to our delight, the place was not busy at all. I will say we were gravely disappointed in the different themed courses that felt very lacking – especially after reading of the reputation of this joint. The literal best thing about the entire course was the ‘roller coaster’ hole which well, Sharon grabbed some awesome video of so be sure to check that out in the montage (shameless plug). I would consider trying it again – maybe with the other course since the ‘cooler’ holes were all on the other game option. Let’s also take into account that Sharon was dealing with some mental and emotional bullshit right before we started playing so she wasn’t exactly in the right mind-set to even attempt enjoying the golf of minisculeness.

And then there was the Fourth of July. Which well, we usually don’t do much for – simply based on the elements of too many people being out and about in the world doing dumb and annoying things. But for some reason or rather, the lure of a Paranormal Circus presenting itself to us, did we become much bolder this year. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The day started off with a bit of work-from-home since I’m commission-based and don’t get PAID on days off. Following that, I believe the boozing commenced which involved a lovely rendition of Berry Vodka reminiscent of snow cone syrup. Following that, we baked some pre-bought chips and ate some previously purchased pasta and potato salads while we vegged on the couch to enjoy the down time.

Once it became a decent hour to leave, we headed out to the Paranormal Cirque located out in Orland Park. I had read that there was a pre-show to the event so of course, we arrived hella early (pun intended). Gates weren’t even open as we reached the mall parking lot where dark tents had been resurrected. Twas quite a strange sight, really. But we enjoyed taking pictures and videos of the tented darkness awaiting us. Once we were finally allowed in, we entered the main tent area where a table was set up selling masks. There was also a face painter in the corner adjacent which I considered partaking in but the artist was taking far way too long for my liking. As we stood around in the main area awaiting this ‘pre-show,’ we noticed a Mad-Max, steam-punk looking little person riding around on an electric wheelchair. She’d speed up close to unsuspecting victims, point her gun and scare creepily at them before slowly backing away. It was cool for the first couple minutes but eventually, we came to the conclusion that there really WAS no pre-show.

After we were finally allowed into the show arena, we met several, random performers who were entertaining, yes, but nothing extravagant. Once seated in our front-row elitist-ship, we watched a little person clown walk around and harass random people. He quite enjoyed throwing popcorn at me. As the time dwindled on, we become more and more annoyed with the fact that yet again, another show was NOT going to start on time. Sadly, the venue wasn’t very packed either. Once the show resumed, we were mildly entertained. The man ‘comedic’ character was hilarious but the crassness of the show was a bit too much for our liking. As such, we darted out at intermission to enjoy a colorful, sky extravaganza on our way home.

Next on the party-bus roster for July was Garden a Go Go – a burlesque show that sounded most intriguing. Situated in a warehouse-looking building in Humboldt Park (a clear indication nothing good could possibly come of us), we again, arrived very early in anticipation of much awesomeness. Unfortunately, our $20 donation didn’t seem worthwhile for the non-air-conditioned frenzy of annoyance we were met with. Granted, there was a very awesome hoop aerialist doing some ‘pre-show’ performance while we yet again, waited the untimely nature of the production. We sat and sweated and listened to DJ-ed music accompanied very ineloquently by a saxophone player. Not even the sax could save our spirits. Let me also point out that drink tickets were mandatory and that no bottled water was available. After staying to watch the show until, literally, we finished watching the Abraham Lincoln performance, we left immediately and pondered actually picking up and dropping off a case of water for the poor souls continuing to suffer without quench.

As remedy to our disappointment for the Garden a No No, I suggested we stop off at my most beloved Sidekicks for a drink and song. Sharon was most agreeable and we headed over. This night was COMPLETELY turned around by this decision. Not only did we become cool with the karaoke guru, Joe, but we made friends with my waitress’s friends, Bart and Maria who were the coolest people ever. Bart was literally creating self-echoes over the mic and ended up buying us buttery-nipple shots at one point. I even discovered one of my dance student’s moms also waitresses there! Talk about your small world! Had a blast. We would end up at Sidekicks two more times that month. The second was just as fun. The last was well, not as anticipated but all in all, it’s a great default place to scout out any time. Ah concerts. How I do loathe thee – unless you are outdoors and I have plenty of personal space which is precisely what we achieved this month! We grabbed some super cheap tickets for Hollywood Casino Amphitheater in Tinley Park for 311 even though we were actually going for the opening bands. After having our sunscreen and bug spray discarded my security (doh) and having to walk the perimeter of the joint to get the correct ‘will call’ window, I paid way too much for plastic mason jars of vodka. Lawn seat were spectacular and we came prepared with Skip-Bo which, due to wind complication, involved putting every item we owned on every card pile to prevent throw-aways. The opening bands were good up until the last one before 311 at which point, we could not muster the will for it was quite horrendous. It was strange to pack up before the main band but quite satisfactory.

Ravinia. Can’t go wrong. Every year I try to make it a point to find SOMEONE to see here. Again, lawn seats are the absolute best for comfort. We again arrived with Skip-BO after venturing to Viaggio in Highland Park for some take-away dinner goods. The place was PACKED for arriving at 5 o’clock on a Sunday! I’d never seen it so full so early on in the day. But we valiantly made our way around the venue until we found a sufficient spot to lay our wares. The music performance was The Music of Queen with a vocalist named Brody Dolyniuk who, was an awesome singer but horrendous speaker. Guy sounded like an infomercial. Several songs into the performance and after battling a swat of flies whom invaded one suspicious corner of our blanket, we headed out.

I never claim to be of Irish descent, although, my brother allegedly found out our family is a small percentage Irish, but that has never been necessary for partaking in the Irish Fest held every year at The Irish Heritage Center. We grabbed some food at a local spot conveniently across the street from Sidekicks, Old Irving Brewing Co. before making our way to the Irish Fest. After arriving we observed the place to be very much dead – which is always in our favor. We immediately grabbed drinks and headed to the outdoor tent area to take a gander at the vendors and musical performances. Sharon entered us in a Trip to Ireland drawing which we clearly didn’t win. We popped upstairs to take a look at the indoor exhibits and watched some Irish dancing for a hot second before heading out an inevitably ending up at Sidekicks (which we’ve previously discussed).

What better way to spend a Tuesday evening than drinking and BINGO’ing? It’s not often I have Tuesday evenings available due to dance scheduling so we took advantage of an opportunity to visit Eris Brewery and Cider House for their special BINGO event. We’d previously been here for their cider and were a bit underwhelmed. The same was true this most recent go. But I will say, their sweet potato waffle fries with bacon and a bunch of other awesome stuff were off the CHAIN! SO good! BINGO involved maybe three tables including ours, there were about 11 of us total? And it STILL took several people leaving before Sharon’s ‘luck’ kicked in during the last three games. Brian, a brewer, was the caller who was most entertaining. His gibberish between games was hilarious – until he went on tangents about making cider at which point, I was buzz, tired, and pissed I hadn’t won and therefore, was no longer amused. Sharon came away with a t-shirt and a bunch of other, random, useless items. I came away with much embitterment, per usual.

If you’re ever looking for a delish, Philly’s cheesesteak, look no further than Monti’s near Albany Park. I loved this place since the first time I tried it. It’s cute, carefree and I’ve never experienced bad service. After parking a bit away and trekking endlessly in the blistering sun, we arrived, grab some $5 martinis and consumed some delicious goods! Martinis take #2 underwent and buzzed, we headed off to the second event for the night: K. Karaoke and Paint. Because what could POSSIBLY be better than drinking, painting AND singing? Oh yeah, yes, it’s also BYOB so we grabbed our insulated Moscow mule cans from the car and walked a short way to the storefront. Once inside, we grabbed our seats, iced some cups and awaited the rest of the attendees. Eventually, we began our painting project of a sunflower in between which, I sang a song or two. The more we boozed, the more ‘creative’ our paintings became. At one point, Sharon was beckoned to the make-shift dance-floor at which time, everyone forgot what they were doing. At the very end of the event, you guessed it, we headed to Sidekicks (again, already covered this) and ultimately, took our paintings back home where I drunkenly decided to leave our art work outside the doorstep of our old-lady neighbor, as a gift. The following morning I barely remember this act of generosity and to this day wonder just what she was thinking when she noticed them.

We were very much looking forward to attending the Bristol Renaissance Faire this month, however, due to the heat severity, we determined it would not be the greatest idea to do so in July. As a replacement, however, we decided to get some tattoos. Sharon acquired a bridge and I, a sheep. Not a bad time for a lazy, hot Saturday.

The month of July was wrapped up with a few cat themes. Poor monkey-bear was taken to the vet due to violent, butt-licking tendencies which resulted in some prescribed laxative and pain medication. He’s doing much better now. I believe the demons haunting his butthole have vacated. Aside from that, we took in a performance of Cats downtown at the Nederlander Theatre. So here’s the thing on that. I don’t get it. I’ve never gotten it. Every time I try to understand that show, it fails. I couldn’t understand a damn thing the actors were sing/saying other than ‘Jellicle Cats’ which til this day, I still don’t know what the hell they are! Does anyone? Someone respond to this blog with an explanation please. Again, we left at intermission, very glad to have at LEAST experienced ‘Memories’ which is always a good, inner cry.

All in all, not a bad month – despite my obvious, aforementioned bitching. Complications and let-downs aside, nothing was going to stop these queens from enjoying this sexy, hot summer.

First-Act Queens Hot, Chicago summers are generally, not very fun but somehow, we manage. This past month was nothing short of spectacular – even despite the sweltering, blistering, hell heat.

[emotoothtiger]

Tam o’ Shanter by Rabbie Burns

                    When chapman billies leave the street,

And drouthy neebors neebors meet,

As market-days are wearing late,

And folk begin to tak the gate;

While we sit bousin, at the nappy,

And gettin fou and unco happy,

We think na on the lang Scots miles,

The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,

That lie between us and our hame,

Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,

Gathering her brows like gathering storm,

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

        This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:

(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,

For honest men and bonie lasses.)

        O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise

As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,

A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,

Ae market-day thou was na sober;

That ilka melder wi' the miller,

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.

She prophesied, that, late or soon,

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;

Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

        Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,

To think how mony counsels sweet,

How mony lengthen'd sage advices,

The husband frae the wife despises!

        But to our tale:—Ae market night,

Tam had got planted unco right,

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,

Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely;

And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:

Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;

They had been fou for weeks thegither.

The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;

And ay the ale was growing better:

The landlady and Tam grew gracious

Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious:

The souter tauld his queerest stories;

The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:

The storm without might rair and rustle,

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

        Care, mad to see a man sae happy,

E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:

As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,

The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,

O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

        But pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;

Or like the snow falls in the river,

A moment white—then melts forever;

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;

Or like the rainbow's lovely form

Evanishing amid the storm.

Nae man can tether time or tide:

The hour approaches Tam maun ride,—

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;

And sic a night he taks the road in,

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

        The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;

The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;

The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;

Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:

That night, a child might understand,

The Deil had business on his hand.

        Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,—

A better never lifted leg,—

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,

Despising wind and rain and fire;

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,

Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares,

Lest bogles catch him unawares.

Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

        By this time he was cross the ford,

Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;

And past the birks and meikle stane,

Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane:

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;

And near the thorn, aboon the well,

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.

Before him Doon pours all his floods;

The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;

The lightnings flash from pole to pole,

Near and more near the thunders roll;

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,

Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze:

Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

        Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!

What dangers thou can'st make us scorn!

Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil;

Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil!

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,

Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,

She ventur'd forward on the light;

And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

        Warlocks and witches in a dance;

Nae cotillion brent-new frae France,

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels

Put life and mettle in their heels.

A winnock bunker in the east,

There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast:

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

To gie them music was his charge;

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.—

Coffins stood round like open presses,

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;

And by some devilish cantraip sleight

Each in its cauld hand held a light,

By which heroic Tam was able

To note upon the haly table

A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape—

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted;

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;

A garter, which a babe had strangled;

A knife, a father's throat had mangled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft—

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

        As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious,

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

The piper loud and louder blew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew;

They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit

And coost her duddies to the wark

And linket at it in her sark!

        Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,

A' plump and strapping in their teens!

Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,

Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—

Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,

That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,

I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies,

For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

        But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,

Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,

Lowping and flinging on a crummock.

I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

        But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie;

There was ae winsom wench and walie,

That night enlisted in the core

(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore.

For mony a beast to dead she shot,

And perish'd mony a bonie boat,

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

And kept the country-side in fear);

Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn,

That while a lassie she had worn,

In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was vauntie.

Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,

Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),

Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

        But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,

Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;

To sing how Nannie lap and flang,

(A souple jad she was and strang),

And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd,

And thought his very een enrich'd;

Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain,

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:

Till first ae caper, syne anither,

Tam tint his reason a' thegither,

And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark:

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

When out the hellish legion sallied.

        As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,

When plundering herds assail their byke;

As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

        Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,

And win the key-stane of the brig:

There at them thou thy tail may toss,

A running stream they dare na cross.

But ere the key-stane she could make,

The fient a tail she had to shake!

For Nannie far before the rest,

Hard upon noble Maggie prest,

And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;

But little wist she Maggie's mettle—

Ae spring brought aff her master hale

But left behind her ain grey tail:

The carlin claught her by the rump,

And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

        Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,

Ilk man and mother's son, take heed,

Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,

Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,

Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,

Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear.

[josephkitchen0]

The Phantom Chicken of London: Tastes Like Spooky!

What has feathers, a British accent and goes cluck in the night?

When we booked a trip to England this past summer, I wasn’t thinking, “Hey, let’s check out some ghost poultry while we’re gallivanting in jolly ol’!” In fact, I had no idea that feathery phantoms existed or that anyone would find an incorporeal hen alarming. She might even be cute, right? A clucking specter pecking the cobblestones, leaving eggs of a certain, unsettling transparency? Well, this chick (if she does exist) isn’t cute — she’s a killer.

Squawk!

It started with a tip from Richard Jones’ guidebook, Walking Haunted London (IMM Lifestyle Books, 2015). For some strange (uncanny?) reason, the word “chicken” jumped out at me from 146 pages of ghosts and ghoulies. We only had two days in England, though, so I added Phantom Chicken of Pond Square to the bottom of our sightseeing list, just in case.

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Peaceful Pond Square seems an unlikely venue for a poultry haunting but, then again, why not? London is full of strange stories like this weird tale of a ghost chicken.

We began the tour with more conventional scares, practicing ghost-hunting skills at the Tower of London (no dice) and then drawing blanks with werewolves at Tottenham Court Station and haunted highwaymen at Hampstead Heath. Determined to shiver our timbers nonetheless, we eventually set out to search for the chicken apparition on the last morning of our trip.

‘Twas a sunny day in midsummer when, truth be told, Pond Square doesn’t look scary at all. A peaceful park in the middle of bustling North London, it features the requisite red phone box, benches for lunch breaks and a scattering of crumb-seeking magpies and blackbirds. Not one hen in sight. The guidebook says the feathered phantom has appeared several times, usually descending from the skies on local denizens — an unsettling performance from any chicken, dead or alive! — but on this July day, even more unlikely than usual. With no obvious sign of the square’s macabre past (“Here Lies Phantom Chicken”), I snapped some pics anyway, hoping that when I got back to the computer, there might be a chicken-shaped blob of protoplasm hidden in the digital record.

Highgate Literary and Scientific Institution located right on hen-haunted Pond Square.

Then, I found it. The perfect place to test the veracity of an unlikely ghost story: Highgate Literary & Scientific Institution, founded 1839. A trove of dusty tomes and inveterate truth-seekers housed in a stately building waiting for its close-up in a steampunk version of a Sherlock Holmes novel. And right across the street from the haunted square — perfect! (Too perfect?) I didn’t pause to contemplate the coincidence.

This square denizen, a European Blackbird, declined to say whether he’s ever seen the avian phantasm.

Sticking my head through an open doorway, I spotted a literary and scientific gentleman ensconced in a comfy-chaired chamber.

“Excuse me, sir, I’m a reporter with Backyard Poultry magazine and I wonder if you know anything about the phantom chicken around here?” I blurted.

Alas, the nice man had never heard of a haunted avian, but he did know someone who might. As we headed into the bowels of the building (go back! go back!), I outlined what little bits I already had — chicken-phantom-comes down from the sky — and soon we arrived at the book-filled, nerve center of the operation. (Too late!) Several women, who preferred to be identified by first name only, listened politely to my outlandish tale then nodded.

They knew the ghost poultry!

“Margaret can tell you more,” Patricia said, referring to the librarian, who, echoing the chicken, descended from an overhead space (she used the stairs, however).

Paging Dr. Who: Presumably, you can call someone if a ghost chicken falls on your head (or steals your cellphone!).

The society’s in-house expert affirmed that, yes, she knew of the hen, and furthermore, she connected the bird to a real character from English history, Sir Francis Bacon. I’d read of the colorful demise of the science-mad Sir Francis but forgot his connection to chicken until that moment.  In Consider the Fork: A History of  How We Cook and Eat (Basic Books, 2012), British writer Bee Wilson describes how Bacon gathered snow to preserve a dead chicken and then died from a chill contracted during the experiment. Guidebook author Jones fills in some more details, including the fact that Bacon himself bought the chicken and had it dispatched. It wasn’t clear to me from Jones’ account but Margaret the librarian connected the clucks: the ghost chicken is the same chicken that Bacon had killed. How does a hen spell revenge?

Gulp!

Thanking the staff for their help in verifying the story, I hightailed it back to the square. Camera in hand, I scouted around the plain trees, looking for anything remotely eerie or diaphanous.

Finally, I approached two workmen sitting on one of the aforementioned benches and asked them if they’d seen any errant phantom poultry. They were as bemused as the fellow had been earlier and also unfamiliar with the vengeful hen. I apologized for disturbing their lunch but as they returned to their sandwiches, I ventured one last question:

“That wouldn’t happen to be a chicken sandwich, would it?”

It was.

I think the poor bloke shivered.

Lori Fontanes writes from New York, and occasionally pens something for us outside her usual column in Just for Fun.

Originally published in the October/November 2016 issue of Backyard Poultry magazine.

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The Phantom Chicken of London: Tastes Like Spooky! was originally posted by All About Chickens