Virginal shy lights. The army of unalterable law. Someone's always throwing bricks. Are you washed in the blood of the lamb? When all the temple is prepared within. Dearth of woman's tears. He lingers and gazes till full on his sight. To airy thinness beat. To one thing constant never. Your eyes have their silence. How slowly dark comes down on what we do. It's no go, my honey-love. And I remembered the cry of the peacocks. Dove-twirl in the tall grass. This darksome burn, horseback brown. Alive to the lilac, dead to the blue. Ivory, apes, and peacocks. The poem is you. Like a wolf on the fold. It gives a lovely light. Aunque sepa los caminos. The golf links lie so near the mill. The cowed, compliant fish. I stand up through your destruction. So dauntless in war. Upon my belly sat the sow of fear. If you have any strength in your thumb. And full of high fettle, we started to sing.
I'm very nineteenth century. Very schoolbook.
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