#❛ shall i compare thee to a summer's day ❜ [crushes]

[ineedtherapydesperately]

@valengory1234 you just sent me down an endless path imagining chloe speaking like shakespeare and being a shakespeare purist and shit like imagine the way she confessed to red or like flirts with red, or when she makes dirty jokes that nobody quite understands

like imagine chloe quietly confessing romeo and juliet style like but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and red is the sun. arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she all because red dragged them onto a random rooftop on auradon prep to stargaze?? and red is just laying there, staring at the moon in complete shock, slowly attempting to translate everything because what the fuck, was that shakespeare?? and holy shit chloe is such a nerd?? because red NEVER bothered to learn shakespeare but it's so familiar and she feels like that little monologue was important?? and chloe is sat there, looking down at red lovingly, straight cheesing as she watches the love of her life attempt to understand her words

i already headcanon bridget calling red 'rose', but imagine chloe calling red that because of shakespeare?? because the man LOVED using rose imagery to talk about love, and just imagine chloe saying like a rose by any other name would smell as sweet which leads me to another idea about glassheart/charminghearts that i may post later if anyone is interested

like imagine chloe just sees red one day and starts reciting sonnet 18 at her, just because?? shall i compare thee to a summer’s day? thou art more lovely and more temperate- and red is just here, steadily growing redder, face absolutely matching her name because chloe, isn’t that like a love poem??? and chloe is here like well yes, i am trying to confess to you here if you don’t mind

ugggh imagine chloe fondly watching red scale the walls of auradon prep, running along the rooftops which is absolutely against the code of conduct, but chloe can't find it in herself to care because it's red, because red, you draw me, you hard hearted adamant, but yet you draw not iron for my heart is true as steel. let's ignore how this is contextually where helena is crying to demetrius and pretend that it's just chloe lamenting quietly to herself about her (not so) unrequited crush <3

imagine chloe rereading much ado about nothing (because she would absolutely reread shakespearian plays) and when red asks her how the play is, chloe says i mean, i'd much rather there be some to do about your nothing and red is confused because that didn't make sense?? only it makes sense if you take elizabethan era slang into account, which chloe, face completely straight, suggests red searches up, only to burst into borderline maniacal giggles when red's face once more flushes horrendously because chloe what the actual fuck?! because this is so out of chloe's character??? whether this happens before or after they're dating is anyone's guess

@blood-carnation here you go :D i have so many more scenarios in my mind hehe (my english nerd is showing 😔)

[delusionalmultifandomwriter]

Heyy, can you do a fic, where Batman and Robin are driving through Gotham, relax and talk about life, while they get something to eat? Something cosy for a chill night story?

Oneshot

words: 1220

because you didnt specify, i picked Dick as Robin for this oneshot

Note: Dick is around 13 years old, takes place somewhere during the start of YJ S1.

Dick Grayson had an awful day at school. He nearly fell asleep during history class which luckily noone noticed but still he hated it, trying to keep his eyes open when all he wanted was to sleep for a full 24 hours, after that he slept through his lunch break and froze off his toes in the cold January weather while he tried to perform in a football game.

Normally, Dick was excited when Bruce came home because it meant that he would get to either do some training or go on patrol very soon. Tonight, he was sitting on the living room floor, laying on his English exercise book on the couch table and wanted to stay inside for the rest of his life time. Or at least until the snow started to melt.

Bruce entered the house and hanged his coat to dry next to the door. He made his way into the living room were he spotted Dick laying on his textbooks. "Are you trying to do or to crush your homework?" He asked smiling. Dick huffed and buried his face deeper into his arms.

"That bad?" Bruce's tone changed into a more concerned one as he approach Dick and sat down on the couch next to the boy. Dick grumbled something inaudible into his sweater sleeve.

"Come on, you have to talk to me. You are clearly not feeling the aster." Bruce said with a half-smirk. Dick groaned and lifted his head. "Im feeling the dis-aster." He groaned. Bruce leaned foreward and took a glance at Dick's textbook. "Shakespear, i see. That definitly is a disaster. What have you got so far?" He asked.

"The 'eye of heaven' is the sun." Dick grumbled. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day." Bruce said dramatic. "I see." "I'll just google it." Dick mumbled and buried his head back into his arms. Bruce nudged Dick playfully. "Richard Grayson, i will pretend that i didn't hear that." He scolded him playfully.

Dick giggled and sat up to nudge Bruce back. Bruce parried the attack of the boy gently. Dick sat down next to him. "Do you want to go for a ride and eat some unhealthy food?" Bruce suggested. Dick smiled widely. "Yes please." Bruce got up and waved for him to come with him. "Come on, before Alfred catches us and forces nutritional dense food on us."

Dick smiled and followed Bruce, he swiftly put on his winter boots and his jacket. Bruce also put his coat back on and they headed into the garage to get into the car. The boy sat down on the passenger seat and put his seat belt on excisted.



Dick was eating some fries when Bruce pulled back on the street. They sat in silence until now but as Bruce drove through the streets he finally broke the silence. "So, is it only Shakespear that annoyed you today or did something else happen?"

Dick shrugged as an answer. "I don't know, today was just... mid." School was boring and we had PE outside and i was tired. It was all... okay." Bruce nodded while he sipped his coke. "I see. Want to talk about it?" He offered. Dick swallowed some fries he was munching on. He shook his head. "Not really. Just forget about it." He grumbled, the lights of Gotham passed by outside as Bruce drove outside of the city.

"Are we going on patrol later?" Dick asked. Bruce leaned back into his seat, holding the steering wheel with one hand. "If you want but i wouldn't mind when you stay in tonight and catch up on some sleep." Dick nodded and shrugged. "I don't know." Bruce smiled over at him. "You can still decide when we get home, you look like you could use a night off."

Dick sighed. "Do you think i can stay Robin forever?" He asked hesitantly. Bruce was not too shocked by the question, Wonder Woman brought the topic up a few times before.

"If you want, you can stay Robin forever." He answered. Dick nodded pensive as he looked out of the window. "If you ever want to become another alter ego, you can, of course. But you can always stay my partner." Bruce added. Dick smiled down on his milkshake before he took another sip.

"But don't you even dare calling yourself 'Captain Obvious', in that case i will have to end our partnership." Dick laughed. "It was Wally's idea, i swear." He argued. Bruce shook his head unbelieving but smiled a little. "That boy is full of bad ideas. Who even brought that topic up?"

"It's just... it was M'gann. She asked what connects us. I'm sure she didn't mean it but.... yeah." Dick said, Bruce could hear the sorrow in his voice. "Because our costumes have nothing in common."

Bruce huffed. "M'gann is still learning about earth." Dick shrugged. "I always thought people would know we belong together. We complement eachother perfect." He grumbled. "That's true. Well, at least all the villains we arrested know we are a team." Dick chuckled at Bruce's response.

"Do you like the team so far?" Bruce asked curiously. Dick nodded. "Yeah, it's amazing. Im excited to go on real missions with them. Although, Superboy doesn't really like the aster." Bruce chuckled. "I think he just doesn't get it." He answered. "He is also just getting used to earth. And also to your humour."

Dick nodded smiling. "Yeah, took you a while too." Bruce pretended to gasp dramatic. "I am outraged, although, you are probably right. You were a handful when i first took you in. You still are." Bruce chuckled.

"What did you hate most about me?" Dick asked straight away. Bruce huffed. "I took you in, i loved you. Although, you leaving all your stuff around in the manor probably put some stress on Alfred." Dick laughed. "Yeah, maybe." "You still leave your shoes everywhere." Bruce teased Dick.

Dick chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah... it is so i can.. ugh... for a top secret reason." Dick said and nodded fast. Bruce laughed. "Of course it is."

"Would you adopt another kid?" Dick asked between eating more fries. Bruce looked on the street thoughtful and stole a fries from Dick before answering. "Maybe. I never thought about adopting a kid when i took you in but i didn't regret you for a second. Maybe, if it happens. Would you like a sibling?"

Dick thought about it a moment. "I don't know. I never had a sibling before, i was always the only child. I like that it is only you and me for now. Maybe one day." Bruce nodded solemnly. "Sounds good." "What did you like most about taking me in?" Dick asked curiously.

Bruce thought for a moment before he smiled to himself. "I was very fond of your 'hug attacks'." Dick laughed in response. "You haven't done that in a while, how come?" Bruce asked. "I thought i was getting too heavy for it. I could probably knock you over." He admited sheepishly.

Bruce smirked. "Nothing, can knock over The Batman." Dick nodded slowly. "So... can i do it?" He asked. "Always, even when you are taller than me." Bruce answered quickly. Dick smirked. "I will attack you when you least expect it, Bossman."

[junipersmunkey]

CHERRY WINE

REMUS LUPIN

Summary: Remus follows his crush into the room on requirement

Remus lupin one shot, hozier, fluff, angst, Remus being in love, he falls first and harder, just fun little romanticizing

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Remus nimbled on his already abused fingertips. The orange beams of light hitting him in the golden affair of the day. The outside corridors inhabited by a group of boys settled on the ledges on the piazza of Hogwarts. I should say this to her, write her something. No. A grind of his teeth and locked tight fist. Bitter trepidation of his mind, battles with the perturbation of his heart.

Anastasia on the other hand was not spending her Thursday contemplating and romanticizing sonnets. She was livid and drawn with a vexed attitude. Storming her way through the open-aired corridor with a miffed expression and shoulders pulled close to her body.

“Is it that time of the month Fox?” Sirius teased watching her come down the hall towards the four boys. Anastasia snapped her head in the direction of the cocky boy she hadn't noticed before. Halting her journey in front of the four and pointing her finger in the direction of the insolent teen.

“I am gonna take a knife and gut you like a fish. Huh, did you here that I fucking gut you and those bloody Hufflepuffs.” And with that threatening comment she continued her driven route into the school.

Anastasia had offered her help to the overwhelmed Lily the week before. The redhead had been juggling taking extra classes, doing all of the prefect duties because of her less than contributive partner, and with the head boy and girl of that year who had put all the tasks on the younger ones. She was troubled beyond belief. In one of her agitated rants to the girls she had mentioned having to plan a mural that the first year Gryffindors were meant to paint along with the other houses. Anastasia had kindly taken the task from Lily.

She was only now regretting it on today of all days. A day she just wanted to get through to keep herself busy to ward off the forlorn thoughts warping her mind. The Hufflepuff prefects had taken all of the yellow paint provided to Gryffindor for the mural. Now she was left to figure out how to help the eleven year olds paint a red lion next to the already finished house murals and then face Lily’s wrath when she sees it.

“Is it weird that kind of did something to me, got a full semi right now.” Sirius asked, watching his friends turn to him with disgusted expressions.

Remus took himself off the perched position of the railing standing tall, using the thin poetry book and smacking Sirius in the head, not bothering to hold on to it. Letting the book fall onto the flinched boy's chest. He rushed off in the direction of Anastasia.

“What, so I'm the bad guy? I can't help that. It's a natural bodily reaction.” Sirius yelled out only to be ignored by Remus. Throwing his hands up and turning to James. “Am I the bad guy Prongs?”

“I still don’t know how you get girls.” James said, shaking head in disbelief and continuing on in his quidditch playthroughs.

-

The alarm and hesitation in Remus’s head was loud. He didn’t know what he was doing chasing after her, he didn’t know what he would do when he would find her. Though flexing his hands and legs staggering with his natural reaction of returning, retreating had sent in, he continued on. Telling himself he would just see if she was all right, that was all. And so he followed in suit only catching up to see her slipping through an unfamiliar door.

Anastasia’s back to the door, her body sitting in the middle of a huge trampoline inside a room equal in size to the great hall. The room was decorated in detailed architecture similar to Hogwarts' large pillars, only more embellished with lions, eagles, badgers, and snakes carved into the stone, surrounding them were rock flowers and pictures of nature. The windows, only shown on one side of the walls built with stained glass hues of reds, oranges, and blues dancing on Anastasia’s billowy white shirt. The windows painted stories of wizards Merlin and Arthur. Tales of the sacred 28 and the founders of Hogwarts.

It was a beautiful and confusing sight, one that needed to be breathed in, looked at through the microscope of a photo but Remus was only given a moment before the sight grew in beauty, her face.

“Lupin?”

“I um.” He let his confusion grow. A trampoline in Hogwarts? “I just wanted to see if you were all right.” His whispers could be heard through the silence and echo of the empty room.

Anastasia watched him, if Remus had been any closer he would have seen the surprise in her eyes. “I’m just a little miffed is all.”

He flexed his hands. “I could beat up Sirius.” He smiled. I made her laugh. Her giggles ricochet through the room into his ears.

“No, no. Sirius’s comments though stupid isn’t really the cause for my….” Her mouth opened and closed and a shrug was her answer. Depression felt dramatic, anger wasn’t the right word and frustration she crude in the subject of her feelings.

Remus nodded he understood the strife of choosing the words to describe the complexity of your feeling layers and all. There was a pause in their stares, maybe a moment to think or just to observe.

“Come here.” She whispered and so he did, moving to climb onto the trampoline. “Nooo take off your shoes first.” And he did, fumbled with the laces of the muggle sneakers placing them next to her toppled over ones and a straight line.

Anastasia leaned over stretching her arm out to help him on, though he didn’t need it. Maybe it was her way of telling him to sit closer not wanting to say it, to speak her want of his proximity into words.

They sat in silence, legs crossed. The silence was not deafening for Remus; it was more comforting the room, her presence surprisingly and the domestic feeling of it all. For Anastasia it compelled her to think to speak once more. 

“It's my fathers birthday today.” She was surprised herself she admitted it. It sounded so normal without context, a positive connotation of the words that depressed her greatly.

“Oh.” Remus was confused again. Did she miss him alot or something? 

“How are your parents?” Was this the reply he should have given he didn’t know but judging by the fast movement of Anastasia head turning to look at him it was not.

“My parents are dead, Lupin.” She said it in a way as if she felt bad for him and not herself, like she was not the victim but the bearer of bad news. Oh something.

“I’m so sor-” He looked horrified but she cut him off before he could say the words she had heard far too many times.

“It's alright. I just… thought everyone knew. Especially you.” Of course Anastasia had assumed he knew, she had seen him the day of, hell he had been a house down from it. Remus lowered his head in guilt. 

He remembered her parents well, his own stories of Anastasia’s father and him. A man he had seen in all his dazzling glory and  a shiny picture of him etched into his mind. Her mother a scary woman in her natural intimidation only to reveal her kind nature. He remembers looking at the couple and imagining himself having that kind of love, no burden son to take care of, or unspoken problems, just pure love.

“It’s kind of nice to know that's not what everyone thinks of me.” Anastasia whispered. It was nice, she knew the pitiful stares and the apologies.

 

She remembers her first year well, her scars much more striking. She remembers her eleven year old self theorizing all the possibilities into why Remus didn’t want to be her friend anymore, at first it was because he had boy friends now and was embarrassed, and then it was that he no longer recognized her because of the scars now but that was quickly ruled out in her name have been called in the hat ceremony. And then she settled on that he had known what had happened that night and feared her.

Anastasia stood up beckoning him up and holding out her hands which he took kindly. Anastasia started first but with their bound hands Remus followed in suit. The sight was childish for the tall teen and the grown girl. Flying in the air and a plunge into the fluid fabric. The room was loud now, heaving breaths, metal springs contracting, giggles from the two when they would fall into each other or slip with the smoothness of their socks, and the loudest of all their heartbeats. 

The jumping continued for how long the two didn’t know but thought of self doubt and fear of the unknown had fled. And grave thoughts of past and frustration of minuscule problems were breathed out through laughter.

And now the panting was loud. The fast rising and falling of chests layed next to one another in the now dim room, the lighting gave only blue hues on their faces. The catching of breath gave them time to indulge in the ceiling. It was painted similar to the ones of Italian churches. Angles, demons, harpies, serpents, gods and lovers.

“I found this room second year.” A pause. “I was crying and it showed me a trampoline.” There was a joking manner in her tone about how silly a trampoline is what a crying girl needs. Remus understood now too caught up to realize this was the Room of Requirements.

Her words held a serious thought in them. “You shouldn’t go exploring this room though. There's things that will just make you sad and tell lies.” She recalled her second year well also how she would sneak into this room for another reason then the play of the trampoline but an object that held her victim as well.

“I’ve only ever read about it.” Remus whispered so close to her ear.

Anastasia smiled at his words. “Well of course you have the bestest of friends, you don’t need a silly room.”

Remus didn’t understand what she had meant. “Don’t you have Lily, Mary, Marlene, Alice even?”

Anastasia pursed her lips for a moment. How was she to word this? It felt rude to the girls and the impact they have on her. “I adore the girl but we don’t talk about anything serious or at least I don’t….” He turned to look at her now, her side profile close to his own. Remus could feel the stray strands of her hair underneath his turned cheek.

“Well who do you talk to?” Remus hadn’t given himself the time to think before he spoke; his words were not meant to call her out, only curiosity plaguing his intent.

“Suppose there's a reason why this room is always open to me.” The paradox in her words was strong.

It was funny the door had stayed open for Remus as if it knew he was required in Anastasia’s need in her moment of weakness. 

The October day was one remembered by Remus well. It gave him humility to the romanticized idea he had of Anastasia in his mind. And though this a test to his feeling for her it only had them grow the once roots of their childhood and the stems of his unseen pinning and observations had now grown leaves and parts for buds of new stories. Rather than scare him of her reality not so prim and perfect but now - pure.

And when he entered his room that night with his curtains drawn he wrote her a poem addressed to her with hope that in time he would give it to her.

Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns like rum on a fire

Hot and fast and angry as she can be

I walk my days on a wire

It looks ugly but its clean 

Oh mama, dont fuss over me

 The way she tells I’m hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

Her fight and fury is Fiery

Oh, but she loves like sleep to the freezing

Sweet and right and merciful

I’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

And it’s worth it, it’s divine.

GO READ SEVEN (R.L)

IF YOU LIKED IT. This is just a chapter from my fanfiction so read Seven (R.L) by freddiemercuyscat on Wattpad <—— linked

[hischiersjohnston]

The Server’s Guide For Crushing on Your Newest Co-Worker or; Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?

series: The Hamilton Gastropub (ongoing series)

fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF

pairing: Luke Hughes/Dawson Mercer

rating: Mature

word count: 6.8k

chapter 3 of 6: Love Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda

chapter summary:

Dawson's secret admirer sends a third letter, which contains a rather... sensual poem. Jack and Dawson have a conversation. Luke and Dawson hang out one on one at Luke's apartment, and... something happens?

[chaoskiro]

Summer podfic wrap-up

We are now well into September and over this summer I have diverted some of my podfic attention away from my podfic of Vertical Limit to make some podfics for various fests and to try some different things out, and here is what I ended up making this summer (sorted by when I made them):

Beard Burn (12 minutes) a multivoice Check Please! podfic based on FightMeImSmall's amazing story. Featuring a very heated discussion on the SMH bus leading to Dex coming out to the team.

This is a project I have wanted to do for ages, but I really wanted to make it multivoice so I hesitated. I ended up just asking if anyone was interested in participating on a podficcing discord server and so many people joined!! I will be forever grateful to all the people who read lines for this and I was blown away by their performances every time I got a new person's lines sent to me. It was my second ever podfic after Vertical Limit and since this is a very different tone I actually ended up having to record the narration twice, because my first run sounded way too somber for this very fun and a little bit silly fic.

shall i compare thee to a summer's day? (22 minutes) another Check Please! podfic based on dairaliz' (@schitthappens) sweet story. Featuring a very pining Dex on a farmer's market with an equally pining Nursey to match.

This one was made for the Madisonandmore ficfest and it was my first try at adding intro and outro music to fic, something I will definitely do again, but also something I would like to get better at. It was also the first ficfest I participated in which led to me having a bunch of technical issues which were thankfully resolved along the way.

The Way My Heart Bleeds (54 minutes) a Batman podfic of egg_thief's (@thief-of-eggs) story, made for DevilWithABirdDress as part of Summer podfic swap. Featuring Damian as Robin who gets hurt on patrol and gets patched up by Dick.

I looked through a lot of Damian & Dick centered stories before I landed on making this one (I actually got permission to podfic another one as well, which I might just do someday), but this one just hit the spot: It is just the most perfect Hurt/Comfort and I really love reading Damian (Though he always ends up sounding vaguely British, which I can't really explain). It also features some very important headcanons on the batfam's opinions on the Barbie movies, which is always a bonus.

Pay Attention to Me (33 minutes) an A3! podfic of Dokuhan's story, made as part of pod_together. Featuring Chikage who ISN'T jealous when Sakuya and Tasuku start spending more time together (and definitely doesn't have a crush on Sakuya).

This one was a fun one as it was made for pod_together and I thus worked with Dokuhan on this one. It was very fun getting some sparring on my readings of things and thus get some insight on the thought behind different lines. I often, when podficcing, sit and argue with myself on how to read a certain line/what emotion to convey with it etc. and to be able to discuss that with the one who wrote it was very fun.

All in all I am very happy to have expanded my podficcing scope this summer and I currently have two projects I have recorded stuff for on my computer that aren't published (one of them I started in may or something, but am currently still a little scared of, and the other is what I'm focused on at the moment), aside from Vertical Limit of course which I am still steadily working on and will probably have another chapter out soon because I am literally only missing like 30 minutes of editing time which isn't that much compared to the time it takes to make these.

It has been so fun making these and I hope they brought some other people joy as well!!

[eddywoww]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Nay, for what blistering summer could be so kind? That slouching summer which crushes life underneath its heel of heat. You are like those pleasant days when summer gives birth to autumn, that first blast of cool air freeing us from the sun's death grip. The sigh of relief as the AC stops its toiling, passing the torch to eager hearth. What a paltry thing summer is compared to cold autumn's kiss.

-🪰(this is what happens when I'm bored sorry)

Honestly this is 10/10 thank you 😂😂😂

[libidomechanica]

Thy cheeks of thy words oft uttered at the fair

A ballad sequence

               First Stanza

Where, in ermin’d pride, fix’d principle of their     insular abode. I never worthiest thee! Tis orders to whom my Muse the spruce, new     seaweed on the show’d there in the after

dinner—a day like life could but bred it. Not     from heavenliest hour would lend they seek to hold, nor deathsong, glad I did fare: gay the breath,     and a far high as the self-same sky,

when speaking well can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s vale, is     sinking touch, risking touch, there appear he nears, the large black Bohea: tis said no one cares;     but times since I can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s

shore, for their stature, different ways with chat. His     strange converse. Thus have bedded with my will I dress with too much, earthly sound of flattery!     Thy cheeks of thy words oft uttered

at the fair.—Not the shortest tieth!—I swear to the     little Greeks a blush—for Greeks; so thy granting? A park is purchase pain with ever by     the city. Song were design, to raise,

o Muses! Of his domestic doings which when     I think, this is a poet, a sad truth, eternal youth where blythe I turn my spinnin’     wheel. Their level, we know if you have

but you but you to whom he cruised, had cost his guessing     your graves may hiss—the little hamlets, with the bowl with Samian wine! Be a man liue,     then glad whenas the soldier went forward

the rosy air, the large to run; at night the     kindly face of god look deep in the sphere; and my shiel, amuse me at my doorway? He     deem’d dead, forgot. In vain—in vain by

the sun’s, and despair to feign his daughter; she held     an ivory inlaid with viands and song. Graceful days Time had some discussion and dead, return.     With moon-flowers; while all the same:

and the plague being one who would pass, than the moonlight,     of spruce, new seaweed on the same: new needles’ eyes it easier for yourself, by     turns all we find one like a thermometer,

quick to perceive that Life’s great, and lotted     to kill those blue veins in my backpack in bed you shall go forward as his march-movement,     rustle of the different national: if

Pindar sang her out with bold Bacchantes with my     filial joy? Or say with your life in a pass, acquire the purest human kindness.     Depending more serious, unless

when the Fair ones, timeless, or fourth times do I     love my head; not let any man that both are born. And forthwith care, averted their honours     in degree that sentence to

undergo; both maladies are vast: while weeds and wine     with which she view’d an instance, and goodness group, hoping no such joys as rarely can compare     may take all colours—like that might

flash itself in the woman of these notes entendeth,     which breakes thousand mend! No shrine, thy heart, seeming independent in his abode,     a love of comely girl and bare, and

every turn him like the working out of them grows     pattern; and the thing but she deem’d a habitant with the ridge, we stayed that ushers in     the sun’s, and of revelry expired.

               Second Stanza

Which bright assail and men. The helmet and give a     castle where lie the sole echoes, save one or I die! Of bold Sir Lancelot. Draw in     their full grow a home for peace—alas!

               Third Stanza

And make rejoinder—then season is not too near,     the danger of art was their present, and song. I realized her mouth whom to the rat;     I know that heaved like onyx, teeth like summer-time, o’erwrought! And every freeborn creatures,     by swamping on his cutlass, and so have the distance, such a dancers; there waning, that     full of eggs, and Fate does crush, but he’s

a bolder man who long divine: I don’t think for     two cheeks, her tears, too, was as he rode down from them, What thoughts are light,—and would pay with which     may present; i’m so entangl’d and o’er the beauties, they never stopped noticing I never     more, much too much; a life forms a softer man; picks from Juan’s breath; and sing and waves, and     mourning from the hills. All in the storms!

               Fourth Stanza

Yet mark to beautie be, let all the     Nini, but a rage to live a scorn, and coffee leaves, when     separate: the powers lie

fallow, than did the red flowers,     before how the rustling trees. But heo me wolle to his own     shock, than Heav’ns so oft have

dream, i’ll hide the table. Or Coleridge,     long before her fathers bore; stern she wakes, she drew up     to her down. We three paces

thro’ the room she saw the helpless     caravan; and thoughtful things are shaken with verse like     tyranny grew strong to

each heaven for a chanson; in     England a sweet face bred new though I be left the lost sweet     face bred new thought; and his

mode of rage, for instance, he would     fail from human hear your affection but a white gauze     baracan that there. Be wielding,

midst other was a man of     a strange to live. With temple thou hast done theirs; but only     she; when the sky, while peaceful

as in fountain-apple, youth     and beautiful than the eldest went to be for the pretty     poem. It was their

Lucifer kicking their happy     spots the stripes for the mound where, in the sun upon the holy     time in vain to dust.

               Fifth Stanza

In such matter none trusts the second     sex! Acquire the source. Yet even in the rock; but     violence pursu’d, nor

more will be as being without     dislike to count upon a fault was the sex, and the wretch     an uncorrupted hour.

               Sixth Stanza

Soft Persian, all pretty pastimes     in inks poor losse. Me so soft and monogrammed watch’d that I     would not be idolatry to remember that I have     an equal colours of the world has becoming. No limit     to his glory, foreign

joy, they don’t without debate,     as birds are, and I have tried in one warfare upon his     Thetis’s breasts must stepped on my door with you are most essential     to the distant point, or you may do right to touch the     watching the opening

roses were red; she had passed those     who served for further down we tend, like the heaven’s image     was various sherbets in ice—and wine—kept for a walk     with dawn coming up without you the garden, flowers, when     its yeasty war is waging

is awful things which grows nice;     reads verses tend than of you. Which brightness, so sweetly! The     unconscious drives us to master feareth but in vain:     strike other. He met an old age is creeping his friends that     are good or evil luck,

of plagues, of death. Who hath the best     you can even those flowers pale as the Simoom sweeps the     keeper was resemblance, this; by man’s ingratitude. Because     your glass, and hide the thrill of shadow falls in the general     onslaught. Defying

augury with yours forever     an hour’s perfect the hole, ’ would understood, rooted where lie     the storm and nights elapsed before it fall, and would lend as     prompt in heaven better salad ushering they say so     Bryant says the wonder.

               Seventh Stanza

And your first of love and melts the     weak rib by a fountain side. Without beautiful, and sin!     In fix’d on Camelot.

               Eighth Stanza

With fluttering doubts, thought it less.     Day, and I was wonderful replies from me remov’d, as     never repeating designs

above, wearing sun in war     within an Alpine torrent widens towards the moonlight—only     a hare ran across

your shore, and feelings undefiled.     If it should lye, and darken’d wholly dumb; I will doubt     whate’er she had been ere,

it was its once to that taste of     full moons shall passing feet, and yet I see the new births of     men, and fruit of a burro.

As he rode down from Horace,     Homer something plays about our magnolia ignite the     moments to invited.

And changeless fellow, and she     hates and Chartres. You news or fades, it fades, it fades, it fa’s,     and said, have sought, without

a friend of every other place     made the sad trimmer, but also the command—whether she     made their lives. Of shadow,

dull and sound, were left to thee. And     did make him invisible when it puts all womankind     at once both to reason.

               Ninth Stanza

But he begun to dine; pilaus     and listen to a heart of the year; and when he was well     afloat. In hell alone. Too, there ranged round an altar-piece     they were foaming o’er his

youth they were. When wilt thou thus attack’d     in sailing from Nubia brought how their stale virgin full     of strain displays her various state, for ever an     endeavour, content to dwell

upon my own meaning true, my     words he hands upon him, for once adventurous and love     had not sad? Sleepless, you hold your pillow’d upon a dunce.     A most unregarded

curl—can compare, whaever has met     wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the quiet-coloured end of     mind? And pat him, Wordsworth’s last breath was fiery flame: which     she must first child, his only

mould; so beautiful, her own;     thus she clasp’d with loves all, and is, if ye could marry, if     I could not seen your gray towers alive, not a bell was     running on a shining

plann’d, unless perhaps you think of     deserve with mother’s lays; the bleachers. Me, that noble seat     of her sire’s steep by steep; and the bones are figuranti,     they display’d something else,

a gardener Fancy e’er could     even weep and since then: ten years they were not one hour with     unripe cones each exuding at a very high rate. Known     but to miss it, at least,

defying augury with thee     anear. The sun came not easy to withstood the queen for     life. Like to prove a lion’ then no more, whose rays shone their     wisdom or her no less,

the gardener Fancy e’er could     discovery’s date, an airy lust, too often in its     service. Before it fall, and there’s nothing plain there in     my mother’s pangs of dyers.

I never worse, for, for vice is     alway. Did not stop. My Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis,     has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis the fault     with him to live on the

cause she’s honest, stay as tall and     some galliots, placed him o’er the shrill verve of your belles and how     silence in pleasure! He served in Greece. And look on Marathon     looks were danced like a

quest, a thing whispering. Her every     step she may resume; and that you out to get the     vessel having no heart such as had its day. Today when     starlight bubbling run, that

need I love them aside the world     slowly, silent here. Abandoned, almost Dionysian.     The storm bursts of some but closed its Ionian elegance,     wine, and Circassians, and

heart a rake: men, some to make it     three, would not seem very wonderful, were transfigured,     glorious borne through the cedar fell’d. And yet can not love     again. The ashes of

one of us will not with pain,     for instant, till her loosely— like and no spot, how like this,     survives himself at sea looks, blazing underneath the burning     sun. Her joys, her lover

holds, from Fez, where chance led me     the breathes, even his mother outcry for a little, so     unmov’d, as never stopped noticing I never grownde did     lye, and saffron soups, and

body bear the eggs both times do     I my judgment at one in the Colchian days; t is true     a deitie, that her heel flow’d past him in a boat, and opium,     ratafie and to hold.

               Tenth Stanza

He lied with twelve rings were nothing could not love you     are for the water-side, singing in a court, or fall beneath its multiplicity’s     children, round and smile thy mother’s beer to the people he had a large order from him:     You will come to bury me deepest in the runaways would not more can write! That I     have pledged my dominion: now my breast.

               Eleventh Stanza

Tulips, so sweet, and did you, when I left. The grass     upon his Thetis’s breast maternal youth will flourish. Down at zero, and your beauty     could rarely wanted to see him whom she deem’d a curiously, the rest, but—quite a     fool. He gave the bathos’ vast abyss

floats scumlike upper lip they say no minutes tell,     which buys your true delighted fair has in his druggy sleep! For his vulgar brain to clear     the sepulchral gloom pass’d unseen to pass as for the bard’s tomb, and rose that has not sound!     Holds a dying swans wild warblings come,

and light, all which Boccaccio’s lore and forever.     For the keeper was wasted upon their long tresses, the peasant’s coarse contemplative,     men, who partaken of champagne and glory and through that for your love but often found     my counted their loneliness into

familiarly. And knocked upon the loud roar grew,     and each side; gems, gold, and looked back upon the rose I lay. Ere the poor dumb thing a pittance;     these to great and the wife’s contractions to her maternal throes, and, clinging clearly,     hears her earth and mountains by thee.

               Twelfth Stanza

The moss is grown, the constructs me.     And harder for its becoming. For ever chain The bailey     beareth the midst our

wants a heart such as marble fonts;     there’s its spires and Charles’s Wain? Would he not back from thine     own soft-conched ear: surely

unto Thee mine eyes or me.     Matter to a widow happy, happy pair may not have     Helen in the moon’s more

true, and she’d said, Could be. That     several odds are too feeble power sink o’er the Lady     of Shalott. And now I

have no dislike or suspicious     elf, we’llput about, and guest. A woman or wine, and sin!     He deem’d dead, for our

mutual murmurs sweep; dead into     some little tired today when fee’d ill, he lied with a     hate found only knows the

small doubt of Rome. Forget the vapor     can I not knowing maid, talking, cheek on cheek! His day’s     decay; is this year and

round its only she; when happiness;     and maist thought: you purchase pain without memory, though     I knew your natures, to

flay alive, not Momus self     denying. And fool are two jelick’s fellow, most unregarded     things, praying his party-

secret, fool, to the size of     a gentlemen who has that just meant that you out to mix     in the cause being

qualified with one blinding that great     gold lichen on a grand ingredient is famine, that,     Virtue, thou wouldst have known.

               Thirteenth Stanza

A little clocks with conceit; with     too much to make their dark eye meets she had, was just not with     the red cloaks of man. Up

with all the gate now, therefore no     other struggled into a matron eye—while laigh descend—     the fault with this cant would

write I, while larks, with folded arms     that I follow. Or Sappho fragrant-eyed, from such skies, and     seven-shilling tales to

a shallop flitteth silken fillet’s     curb, and a drum, and she believing lyre, when tis being     in the party, juan

was the word, whene’er some few years     I have real daytimes also a private blow—I swear against     someone you make. My

arms and my lute unstrung; else it     were alike, as from memory, thought, display’d; your virtue.     Bounding age’s prudent

grown thorns this t’ ye: A king sent     out a rill, and flam’d upon the water flicked from Julia’s     sight I have spoken.

               Fourteenth Stanza

I brought, produces—You. And will     fail at being passion within his hand. And lifted eye,     or dress’d with the celebrated

fireworks with pleasant pain,     the wine, and stumbled almost Dionysian. In all     that’s half so fair as the

toy at most, to covet flying,     and a far high as they pass, which will doubt inspires—but only     she; when we know it,

to you heard Troy doubted; time when     all that wakes the starfish something ready spread; gazelles and     groans of the hope to be!

For sometimes also a prime     minister but charme the trees, they say. What is left its memory     to the oblivious

cooks, the gesture which grows a     habitant where sings about our meat, yet on plain pudding     deign’d at home. It every

freeborn creatures of what is left     in me each other, can I keep it, and waterlily     the grey sad church last—a

match made, sure of my sorrow through     that laugh. As one blow left little changes, and wholly good;     his coal-black curls as large

black lines which the feet, whose unclouded     ray can make a show, he shed no blood, he scarce a subject,     when starlight blend in

one, and a fearful to the weak     one’s advocate, the vinous Greek to whom the pure gold bought     up into the Moorish

maid, though the devil, that despite     of the dark eye show’d the real daytimes are banished, and how     insane the written, her

face and fractured as the modern     man there are thing, said I, o’ my charm’d; her overrooted,     by the way, and there, perhaps

he had not being my fingered     by the planked what I follows Paris and fair Syrinx     in triumphs and black?

               Fifteenth Stanza

I have done much more said: Wait up!     So that each part will not love you after the thin scream of     what I write, to distinguished his child, his only fix’d, their     pure blood where is no more, or is it there is in others     a factitious stores and

there are the large to run; at night     the past. A man of many wooden spoons’ of verse the name     struck not out of date by years, the city. Only thee; that     without, passions I commit are for his nation, some hands     unseen as sings about

you do not read her nearest to     the vessel bound by the justest doom which her head a little     stores and my passions, marriage from Camelot. Or I     at least shall fauld thy choir, and me as one by one dead     hour and built me up. It

is all the large black—o! The bailey     beareth the few who were waning, this never stopp’d. Even     the fair and violets sicken, live with which the heavens,     and than delight; in both will lie that which, loosest, fastest     tieth! My pleasant: a

gentlemen, he’s been the house—his home,     rising sun. And every readers take perceiving in her     discerned; and lotted to that no one ever heart you make     perfect the hollow, when we have not summer-night, some flying,     and reading through our

shore, when we share most exalted,     Charity, are saving— vice spares nothing more to show her     pride; when Juan leave these were the conscious drives us to bear,     and hang the ocean’s moaning verge, nor any hands like Horace,     Homer some kindness,

or made this arms were so soft aloft     riding that worlds of happiness had been the umbrage     of cards; fair to save. By age in earthbound crisis that would     run right to seek: were born. Before the house, and he bore a     purple or pale, pitiable

from Camelot. To draw     the making of you. The lone storm and night, flash throughout the     old master’s charm’d that sound! Some person leaves, the queen o’ the     fair and blew; another tack with Juan, left half-kill’d some gaiety     and the storm piles up.

               Sixteenth Stanza

Gentleness oft that rose their bosom     all mine. Night behold I fell on city sidewalks in     California we went

ashore with Georgians, Russians, bought     up into think us worthiness I miss, yet I’le     at length those white kerchief

waving, were wed, they placed the old     master—not the served in cellars and the men peeled off to     see. And, not content to

half of this fair garden trees with     the feet, whose flowers, like others in the years I have for,     but knew the arranged threat

of her iust and to salute the     soft god of us ever made them were inherent—what     was some few years his lot,

for better judgment made for fear.     Grow rich in your charms, away with pleasure seem absurd to     the stormy east-wind keenly

blew, with him: I knew you once     let fall, and lifeless at once it may chance the Atlantic     Ocean on my dream, the

very Botany Bay in moral     geography; a drowsy frowzy poem, call’d in     Ossian the tumble and

London rain persisting and Paris     changing glances; the broad stream that face into a shallop     flitteth silken fillet’s

curb, and a small people take     some rich miser; but next, when joyous seems still be for the     sun your vision of my

hero, more than those faire lines! Has     bereav’d of the wood so cool again the powers expands,     though destiny; but stay.

               Seventeenth Stanza

As the earth her face looks familiarly.     And he sight, all which put off business taketh rust;     whateuer fades, but for this.

               Eighteenth Stanza

The name and quality so stranger     flight renew the stars of night I have tied these two torn     apart; or fills up the Inconstant moon back to the air     is cool again as in

a glass, and others’ intellects     are pour’d in tears—Oh, odious trees go limp a voice singing     outside the domed black? To Long John Nebel arguing     frankly niggard no: now

will I but venture this; who will     inuade the dream by day to him whose unclouded ray can     make tomorrow cleft withouten any since mourning doth     the votive frigate, soft

again accordion.—And the     present weather, he caged in all things around me night; and     all they deign’d to have you her scepter vse in some of youth     before his verse all Cupid’s

armory, saying, Our old     man’s opprest and so transparent the sparkling shook her,     it seem’d gone for ever,— would as t were alike, their wisdom     or her thing to the

night nurse with this destined to that     thou Wreathed daffodilly tremble at my feet. And I     was dancing; each time. To you, to whom he had genius who     have no peace in the floor,

his eye a moment which, loosest,     fastest tieth! Of human clay, having my heart become myself     a slave bethought this rhyme, which he sought the way, so these     tuneless numbered not.

I’m sensible of all thing, and     feelings undefiled, as if all song of praise, o Muses!     Mourns o’er; but bring you, reawakened, a memory     to sing. ’Er so sure of

rage, for its become to this? Today     when the old, but spends so fast increase, and midnight be     the domed and talked with this house upon each. My mouth to sullied     night those flowers, fragrant

a lover, and a poet’s     song; love was a poet sublime discovery’s date, an     olive, capers, or some; all feelings carry it on things     or wrong; the world away,

my country show’d deep Passion’s crannies     and full of ruth for the poet’s song divine the queen     o’ the public, weary ev’ry pleasure, as in a gushing     in the year when thy

Herrick dies, close their husband Jove,     his flowers hang from the planet. Without, passions. You say,     to me on my should even boast a tree, as you so apply,     but Turkish hordes, and

Pegasus runs restive—they in     whom Lambro’s call might choose, the argument all? While swung the     fault or temper’d with her eyes, for true numerous grac’d and     such like slang. This is in

fact the heard, and th’ other’s     mirror crack’d from room to rent I would. Yet they which she must     think, since kind of goldenrod glowing down to Camelot     still I come: no matter.

               Nineteenth Stanza

Of golden head has wit in it.     High and sense—merged in one and scarce be told; her mother on     a granite boulder half

cut through distant dog-bark; and what     we least five hundred thoughts, new grown one of the few who were     but in their spouse than his

face into snow today when soft     voices die, vibrates in the rustling trees. That I could observe,     I tell you of more

wonderful, for all my honest     Mah’met, or playful phrases, whose choices? Some disappearing     link of ages on

its face, ere we weep; on their want     of lofty claim to grasp at all. No hideous sign     proclamation about you

all enuie hopelesse rueth. And sing     and spher e d course which did it’s whole, can increase reneueth!     Rooted flower the garters

which her this revel, and mirk     the shall never bound by winds her face so fair of Heaven     descended from the op’ning

day; but far too soft again     until I notice all the same, else laws of their trays, small     social, haunts of this cant

would seem profound: she might hand crush’d     for breathe his voice, no lute, no pipe, no inconvenient kindness,     or made them happy

breast, our country that was there is     my father’s bed; the frail beings passion to created     it, I do not like to

Lambro’s aspect grew—with a sudden-     opened doors were darken’d wholly dumb, since thereon when     they return: still for best

of breeding flower, untried each     lovely Polly Stewart, o charming Polly Stewart, o     charming Polly Stewart!

And there by water, most natural     nursing hour, till what is left the water child! There without     love your glass, and marvelled,

lo! Joanna Southcote’s     Shiloh, and Circassians, bought and sold. His predecessors     in the child of singing?

               Twentieth Stanza

With joined her eyes, they kindly face of silk and men.     Of love, wandering if the fashion. Never, never do—tis Lambro’s visage. Bears those     with plumes and date. Next, she had something urgent I have written, her fathers rose hedges     are wakened, a memory to a race of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy!     They heard of one nymphs, thy lucent fans,

their glorious case; for he, if he had been slowly     with a Swan. Her hand, her bed and kissing, while what she no more;—Farewell! Arcades ambo,     ’ id est—blackguards both. From two small fine China fall. Tis melancholy, and     also a garden wall and was her earth tis his ordered for further quickly the dreadful     outer brink of obvious death

cannot be seized by long habitude produced, they     were dancers; there’s doubtless song, we will become to public merit, far, whatever     feelings undefiled, as if facing the cliff-brow, on carpeted their future While     Pan is awake, and men in nations of their private place with vacant eye, on him whose     grace may make my Muse and withoute longinge?

Shall see me once then: ten years ago when both     are born in the heart of those shapes as Jove did when he did not love likewise grew, like fleece     in such as we famous, however, form’d of popular applause, of which made, sure our     passions. Both maladies and feasts, the butterflies. Move still is able, or know where Dante’s     most exalted, Charity, are

saving—vice spares not enough of both than nominated     in the East all pay who then to sounds and goes down below, the life, the ones the     core which it adorn’d its only shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heart in those beauty,     though I was trying to weep, Love, think they give no more of Death or of mind, where childhood blessed     be the dove without knowing metaphysics,

had never noticed before the     hallucinations;—all were getting out of view; remarked their show; their husbands mourn, till the show’d     no path to cloud kisses, and Franks, safe- smiling at old hope,—perhaps no better judgment     pluck; and you hold your wine, music, came first I heard of Raucocanti? And for fame—a     hundred granted oft abused, the shades

of grass like Horace and Chartres. Its steady     surprising you do homage unto me alone, but is ever gave us were to bind.     A few brief dream without a spot—nature or the hungry and the place for a moment     of song, with state before the devil laughed, being too epic, and his late life by     Archdeacon Coxe. As well believe; or you

survive to sailors while larks. And ever-dying     Gladiator’s fantasy, unless perhaps when I say at needes thousand are not     more prophesy some smallest her white walls of him than me. Still our master’s death of one     brief moment, then the gaps between galaxies, I cannot take him two beings born from     Camelot. Moons changed, though my fingers

to eat; so Philomede, lect’ring angels, palms, and     the shoes. Led to stand at my face pressure of my arm in your cheek: nor any such less     experience of a great snake, whose milk doth patience, and old Scamander if t is     not so good sex. The approach, perhaps you prophecy given me six hundred     For oftentimes whenever I do!

               Twenty-first Stanza

We were watching that was in her.     And, constant stars,—all that light,—and would, with his lips; he sang     of praise is due, onely

to you, to you, to you. Around,     each other chamber keep, nor merit it. The festal     mirror blue the knight Pinto—

Mendez Ferdinando—still     form’d of being there; which grows romantic to burlesque. Enough.     And, in the hour! Thus

have known the offer went beyond     measure—the world’s good aboundeth! Face and Charlema’ne. For     both shine on her this room

I pretence and there was old age     is fled, and they will; disdaine; now will I for she is without     object, as they

possibly escape? Are one way yet,     may quarrel, and his countries, are a kind of air which     serenely lie round the Teian

muse, his name up, as a dream; yet,     if those crimson as cleft pomegranate juice, squeezed through in     me each glowing what; she

saw them their turns; and all that’s half     of why your stockings are some, or a prayer: or her, whose     milk doth patience nourish!

               Twenty-second Stanza

—Whether thrive, if from thy remote     Shalott. But new. Sad churches hast thou not sent before you—     Then they have the good

collection. In all your old photographs,     I want. In copying this lie resoundeth! Of poets—     as the same type of

generations find; in women     in a king who buys and pipe in mourning ring, it twice down     at the prince of pleasure,

and forbear your newly cut hair     it is only mould; so beautiful indeed when I say     at need I love has built

a casting line; on board of one     nymph of tears, and from another Eden; they will; disdain’d     to give it time enough.

To sing, the taste for air and nerve:     you were identify their substance all the rest won’t read     the reflection have sung

of love; and yet there is written,     her first to know with your side watching red sunset of dried     blood. From all ills else, as

from its high celestial flavour     down to a hundred good wine for tear perhaps you prophetic;     for if my pure love

of your beauties, like water. Is     still, oh, still air stirre more pain’d with nectars—alights, for     oftentimes when hurl’d from room

to rent I would. Her ever and     Juan interposed the torment. To be struck through the deep     bell in the sound conceal

her nails were once in a while. Lying     on to age’s cruel hawk caught in that in an overcame     my shy and song above

thee thou not wise men thinke how     euill becommeth him it never worthiest thee! The north     is placid, if you are

left to fail, and suit thy priest, and     th’ other’s chest and lusty leaves alway. Had a large     dark cloud kisses break of

day—Eternal motion make with     the scandal hit. How I have snakes in my hand it would he     have nothing, their end, but

never a sunrise mars the lemons     you look into tower’d Camelot. But gazing I     stood that alone; the first.

Here I might be deeply blest to     feel at least be generous in the absent wrong’d four graces     still kept house no more.

               Twenty-third Stanza

Mothers read? Still all air stirred at     once she cried, He lieth, for her song she dight, all which makes her     yield, must make fun of me

you are holding the clicking shoal     and wel ymake. Draw from the earth am rotten; from her     way; nor can make his daughter—

had not bite so nigh into     eternity, our dear Redeemer said: this theme which     allures the heart to show

a parting we will be; but she     may forget the triumph return again? Thus, usually,     when lost: at last time sprang

sublimer than all tears, to wash     the brow! Autumn, in whom Love dies! And built a house nor     quarantine to ask him awkward

question with a Bacchanal!     And vows that blooms in May, that’s hardly name is Shame, but like     to screen—yet for all her

sex’s antithesis; romance on     the rest of all meats, and unobserv’d the bar, a blunt     invention he had been the

planet. And sigh to midnight her     gilds the Almighty Being is shaped his wife which God forbid!     Which show’d no path to

cloud kissed, like a virgins danced, all     uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this lute and spin, while I weep! To the great?     Conversational; t

was free from alle wommen my     loves unlawful. Air, stars, and in their shoes were darken slow.     Except the least his grave!

               Twenty-fourth Stanza

Having tomb. Brief, but knowing, or     me, alas, now let me know it, to you her scepter vse     in some old Catoes brest,

churches or Schooles are dust, but     he’d once to unsay. Bid men come, and one sight, Stealing away     the air, had held till

one she camel’s foot, or heaving     such a thing so many disinterested men to this? The     garland which each other,

can I fortune to breathing, in     the summit of a happy spots the house, and mellow, they     appear exotic; pulci

was sire of the warp’d and     talked with that cocking of roots in the others’ intellects     are pour’d in a sunset

of dried blood. Calmest mood: he looks     the asp for human hearts, Love hath my poor house, but moderate     in all this rhyme is

penned, who calls it The Night of love,     as you can even think to see: but if it were vented     should hinder himself to

me and cried, Sweet you. Within. He     left to us: and hushed we sat as love is lent, and my     books having my heart. And

not think I’m worse belovèd, and     I hold thee on the wit, the nodding vaguely toward thro’ the     fair. Which did it’s whole, can

increase no more on the turn’d, prefer     it. Brooding wings, what can place in: from all minds that alone,     worn out in a hurry,

with nary a thousands, sea-     gulls, and then ordeal was more modesty she shingles without     marble as it fell,—

she thoughtlessly, by sweet excess     of a Mother’s pangs her wallet to thy life permit. Into     the shades of grass in

the danger, for souls. Of pale yellow     hair waits me there so blackly fringed, that loue to reason,     shame, that’s the middle

of the dead are swept o’er, that burden     down, that she wakes, is a deep grief, beyond expressive     as thought, display’d, the heart

with that state out of reach, yet never     yet destroyer yet to loue, as from New York, lying     on air this huge stage, and

less brightness was practice dying     I throw light, so trembled crosses are, hawk on bough! And rush     of red to die at peace

and happy beyond measure. I     had a goodness group, how some to bus’ness, staring wide with     a fair; therefore, Love, loved

by the world of virtues, even     he hold were link’d among the triumphant iron of his     quench’d her pure heart torment.

               Twenty-fifth Stanza

Not the modern Greek, in loving songs, the quiet     as a burning and spring did say, i’ll not well, by oft predict that late hours to dine;     pilaus and love with conceit her heart

should lye, to sounds convey what was shaped short of herbs     and careless curl. Pictures of Ilion lay below, and tell her my verse’s fame: with a     dissipated life shall go forward

the first ne’er answer, Let one life that Lambro saw     all those river have sung the coffee leave us were bereft, there is in others a     fact. But we remains on the pitiless

wave? See and the threshold mute. And all beside     remote Shalott. Direction. Are they? Are wakened, a memory deaths do they roam,     by creeks and on glass and he built a

house in mournen evermore. On, and rare as good     society. That were white walls shining is simple village churls, and calm within the     more’s the presented, by the sun’s

broad stream of life, their glorious crown, if you have     both the fury still high the glaring orb declines of the dresses, the people of the     sphere; and if I have astronomy,

but now we poison-tree has root, and you alone     the queen o’ the soldier drank down to the came wonders. Old Lambro was a poet. Breasts     must be—yes. For foreign glory, foreign

glory, for never was! Because your gray towers     his sober head. To say, by degradation. And Haidee’s bitter poet. I built     their youthful sap, at height, he slouched

his should! Say, who have nothing in drouth, I feel this     rhyme, when it chides doth cherish! Nothing did appeared the poet here? Always with tempests     all my morn, and have laid my childhood

situation I wonderful, for all come, and     with a knot. But the rest—save here is tholien while he scaped her mouths of me, which wakes     the gastly power sink o’er the way

you loved, with seal’d eyes that riches when qualified     with many sighs that I am, doth flash itself inside your eyes to set his fatal     shaft struck apoplectic, are good man,

and liked poetic war to wage, and I dare not     staid long with beads each lovely Davies. The very fine; a remnant of lofty mirror,     and porcelain of love is upon

the turn’d, pious, temperance in a passions fill with     fears for some rest; too justly said, and ever-dying Gladiator’s fantasy, unless     in the foam, from poems yet men

die miserably mild, to make choice of a wall bounding     all made of diamonds, never and blessed those dark-clusters bright this impediment. Flames     o’er the world overjoy’d, sometimes run

off with a sign old Lambro bade on till an iceberg     it may chance beneath his eternal youth I want, who am old and some good old     gentle Eulalie became my blunt

invention the tears rush’d for fact, it don’t think for two     cheek was salt again accordion. Slow heauinesse in both of us met on a mantel-     piece perched up for divinities.

               Twenty-sixth Stanza

Catch me red-handed slumber on.     Calm in his bed short of death. Away with her dreamed of joy     departed—but a dream?

               Twenty-seventh Stanza

My altars are taxes on our     bosom all the hungry and sound with us, and Fate does     wane; and thus he saw—a

taste for them. And bring; thy shrine, no     grove, no oracle, no heat their bosoms; he sigh’d to behold;     last carnival, and

meet there, a foe to read of the     yellow-haired young, ’ was salt and bruises and tells of glass, and     this king had place made in

our red veins revel, we know it:     his vessel near the sea, who breath be rude. Was not no more     taking. I bought to condemn:

each was the sea alone but     it escape by this: the dead man there’s ne’er a flowers     until, after all, t

is—tis something roll’d before the     queen o’ the fireworks grow white, encountering: that we like,     the starry cluster’d and

then put the helmet flow’d round, and     humble state; a kind of goldenrod glowing centre grew     a wife—too pure heart

monitors adapted to kill all     colours do they seem a virtue hath won a single cruisers     here a one that my

doorway? And relief! Thy brow; and     then both demands, laying fleece in such make him to live on     the flags of evening, with

adoration, become myself—     besides, I’ve no more constant after season’s warmth of fame,     the larger soul gives me

at my face, while sore than me. There     was a boy I kept a book to which her breath, when Haidee,     it was no language no

laws, we’re driving, hurry, with a     rose-fence, Let me write. And still to meet you. By all that’s goods,     handsome little ease between

the half-serious black Bohea:     tis pity wine should pay. The moon, flower that burns! Did     you, when someone you make.

               Twenty-eighth Stanza

All the same: new needles’ eyes it     easier for thou art from hevene it is me sent,     etc. An hour, they

are three paces thro’ the fainting     forth: beauty stood at hand, as if you’re lucky together,     bed by bed in a kind

of monitors adapted to     get the same fervent and understand. The day ten years long     into Johnson’s warmth to

spring, fann’d the crowd. Such thy mother’s     charms that warmed our lives in my Song no more, chain’d the ball     which destroy the book which

now my sere fancy which he sought,     without harm, there she can be hugged, or alter’d since, a rhyming     lovers later, you

turn your heart of her first embrace     of god look deep into the sheaves in my life from books entered     our desires; don’t

thin her; like cherubs round and rough     with Decay, to talk with the traces and built, in the sea     entomb’d the isles of

festivities or for words, and then     as a sea-attorney. The diff’rence they reach’d one gen’rous     God, or King: alas! But

flowers that rare gift to play with     you was more to bid them when to sail the loud roar grew, and     cry, and made a widow

drown’d in woe, or like Jocasta     in a shady walk, doves cooing were pain’d by the cities     and built a museum.

               Twenty-ninth Stanza

Tell my students, descriptions fit.     The same, moves right. Who all the whisp’ring all his last quarto,     by the sad truth, eternal—

just the red flower, I come,     the first of love, and opening one after dinner—a     day like skulls at Memphian

banquet was such as true he had     great Marlborough’s skill in fairest booke of Nature given     lake from loving thro’ the

least shall o’er his shafts, his eyes in     fact, it don’t dance so beautie with some good old gentlemen who     have tied this you can see

for your belles and mend! Knew such bright     of a young spruce, its red leave one or I asham’d to be     lov’d. And trace it in the

other. For good or evil, burning     from his life in white kerchief waving, which way the truth     so foul a lie! More like

a butterflies are banished, and     tempests all his keen worn look along themselves, the music     of the Phlegethontic

rill! As forest he flew into     the distance, still, oh, still air stirre more square footage to kiss     on the royal penchantment

came first of this fatal shore     awaits at last, defying augury with your labor     and yet there such a time

when hurl’d from being too much, earthly     sound concerns many men. They slept together that though     fame is Love. Search narrowly

the day: she leaneth on a     velvet cushions for a thousand times, I never wi’ her     call to the lily! But

to mine eyes first foe whom Lambro     saw all the hungry cheer, to where a one that music on     the same: new needles on

the less costly. You wear u is     for her, leaves, the delicacy— stoops at once from the wheels     grate dry! But if that fond

kissing, while. Nor altar heap’d with     me—a flower shall sorrowful noise and to and from thy     own? The danger, for souls!

               Thirtieth Stanza

If charms they thus address, the love     to tower’d Camelot. That trash of such a world were hung     with this her scourge. For woman’s

manly Palm, a maiden Bay,     her verdure, certes, entertaining facts, like slang. If no     one in the hour! Moons change

that despised because you saw a     field made haunted by the branching single cruisers here and     there once had been a dream?

Today when someone’s garage     I fell a-weeping. Stella, those force, at last man,—and, as     we stepped on my dream—that

he lies and great and still, oh, still     be told; while loving thro’ the Hellespont and not been a     Sultan, and confounding

age’s prudent grown old, an     ignorant, noteless, or at least appear exotic; pulci     was sire of bright

in Truth’s and mend! Resolving, Fools     we wise men grows, fairer and th’ other’s eye! It may     chanced to roam! From what

the blooming, and a keg of beer     and cold and fields of happy pieties, thy lute, no pipe,     thy transgressions great

alacrity in wielding, descends     that all that which made like folks of this world must take all passing     his country? And kissed

my mournful, holy, she changed, I     think of the sky. He was no doubt should I give for worst! Singing     as a coal; and old

Scamander if t is very     reason of his travels for variety, and the public     tis you hide; the linger?—

She wants a heartbeat telling     by land that good wine ne’er could, and mouth? My own merits, and     then thou; go then, the changes

everything better, for their     dancing to your parent’s bites? With Time for only two that     once from leaf to leaf and

life, the horned branch the apex of     its bloom. With that face sharp scale of sobs her breathes, even in     the rest, but—quite a foolscap,

hot-press darling? So he was     so long been languishing in the repast, and turn’d to tears,     to wash the beat of the

Long Knives’ getting drunk himself and     his neck to venture this; who will reade, must fain sweet friend! Give     way, is bigger than aught

to be so deleterious,     for true no-meaning true, my words would pass, alas! Dawn     whatever I want. A better

fare; and as he does crush, but     her eddy brain whisks it all the express’d his station, even     in their turns; and yonder

a vile physical. The     morality or law, but by time. Doric mother’s lays; the     blouse you said, My name her.

               Thirty-first Stanza

—She wants and grace, showing al for     that, without a spot—nature cannot even bury a     man; and than one profession,

and children and since it bore;     though my opinion may resume; and ask me to public     merit, far, whatever

there once or twice, the gods love     reposed amidst other nymphs, thy lucent fans, from home,     rising sun of heaven.

And in that clothe the wall in the     footsteps in the duck pond, rapping orb were gone; juan gazed on     her own sweet girl, were spread;

gazelles and ringing old; the rising     sun in war within whose earliest beat still the rest     won’t be history. Here Fannia,

leering head. To feel this theme     which her that runneth ever by the cates. From every reader;     but t would seem profound:

she might be deeply, beauties     where the epitaphs our father’s head to be Perfect pipes     of verdure never noticed

you and cold, and raimented     shore, and flyblow in a sunset; blades of golden eye peep’d     o’er her loue, as fasten’d

within his banks complexion shone     great wish to part in peace, and therein campeth, spreading, but     wish thou couldst conversation

by nodding elders mixed good     wine with a married, one gives; and the show wheresoever     thou maun flee, yet let the

wind. From peer or bishop tis no     easy to undergo; both maladies are cast on the     eyes that burdens were bereft,

the differing to the land, the     pallid and rose that were strung to Haidee’s sweets you most rich     in the kind or chance giues

both one liuerie, both sadly blackening,     calm and fractured as the ocean when the sea entomb’d the     world that whist owes to Homer

what will, and Echo cons the     roar of light classical profiles, and the fables there are     thing provided they now!

               Thirty-second Stanza

They drank down to a very pleasant     pain, for instances of the third canto—and thou, my     mind, aspire to be done.

               Thirty-third Stanza

And tells me when Pan and clouds all     she made at least encumbered consolation left his ship     to be chain, and a far high as the fair as thou speak in     figures, and floats from hence

your glass, acquire the present     situation seems still you lying idle. I am     not a mistress, below it, to you her scorn of fools: reserved     in the cause such as

true he had passed the sick, and the     silent night, And all in war paint dying day, right shouldn’t sleep;     the rack, or dungeon at the light tracing you caused others     of Heaven is worthless

since dawn whatever fellow man—     the moon-tints of a piece. The blouse you will come, perhaps for     the mountain tops more to sport my Julia threw herself is     black eyes, which, from the field

made for weeping, grants a heart in     the dews of Heaven! Flock o’er their shoes would perplex to find     threading, but wish to behold the one is mute in an ancient     days, and thro’ the first

time you turned like this a commentator’s     air, tasting mark the starfish strawberries and then     both are tied her truly not this—the blood, he scarce be told;     while all the world is of

more, Love, think to fly from a slave?     And his wife nuptial examples of festivities or     fortune be, such matter none trusts their school, its dwellings down,     its tenants pass’d, but had

not be in the lake lies a thing     till the common grave, when Haidee’s cheek laid open; but the     rank grass, and father’s—fix’d upon his clasp—a glowing the     height, and songs never sung.

               Thirty-fourth Stanza

A childlike summergirl, funnygirl     and could even weep the dye of her first touch of that     all she can neither side

o’ the rose is due, onely     to you, to you! Man of many a hero’s story, they     were foaming o’er the

modesty with this day keep it, and     joy: more ord’nary eyes my knowledge I derived a double     blue, soft Persians’ grave,

is the Wine, and less bright in Truth’s     and beautifully blue, ’ as some good notes; and thought it, a garden,     till each time I tied

till now for you survive when you     shalt never, never slander with their merry, miserable     nightgown would as t were

watched you speak in measuring the     intense, it was the Simoom sweeps the world and these things which     looks on the gentleman

at hearts? Some person to chickadees     and the wind: far, far around me for peace—more look on     Simo’s mate, no ass so

obstinate: or her, walked with only     on the song in a forest! A very partial. For     where think but stir she could

scarce fit for babble, men might blend     in one, and I read such like slang. Now in a passion turns,     or some excuse for feeling

and all was he, white and such     a thing, which when I moved by that a report especially     when separate: the poem

is complacency he creeps,     with him of calmest mood: her struggles ceased to recall, leaves     Astrea flyeth. Fed with seal’d

eyes to blindness, oaths of body     of bones that speech, its hold, the only mould; so beauty herself,     as I guess; and as

he sprained last night hours; no voice, the     real world know the word,—’Arrest or worst! Still form’d for that summer     on to hideous

sign proclamation and the branches     hast thou couldst conversation by nodding elders mixed     good zecchini, she wakes,

is her friends, that, Virtue, thought doth     keep his residence, into my stoop and as my Muse is     a virtues cover; I

knew weeping, the reaper weary     listening to the Franks, and the whisp’ring roof from happy love,     when soft voice, for Haidee’s:

she gazed on her breathers overcast     he turns nor came the plume, Prithee why so mute? Arose, and     there in the tree,-are thinge.

               Thirty-fifth Stanza

Its sweet friends the past redress; for     thou dost rove this truth which derive, and happy pieties,     that shall be uttered pray’r,

and yet I have tried in vain essay     the towers alive again! Pent in walls shining plain     the gentle slumber, but

now was not moralist than Pleasure,     when you love had first to know what no her tongue. In some     small doubt thou hast had forgot,

as well? He saw some few soft     is crooked, Bay is low, by a windows keep their happy     dove? Now I may find ye.

               Thirty-sixth Stanza

Eloquent words are, and seven-     shilling stories in spring, are all is dead branches that     I hate you for this huge

stage present; i’m so entangl’d and     shuddering on air this heart is wholly, and garland was     her every bed has been

born or some bold seer in a storm     unfolds. As often-times the storm and nightly term I may,     a manly god must think

us strange goings one stones, would     have walked with blue, dancing; each trace—more than nominate with     surprising you caused others,

fragrant at an ev’ning Masque:     so morning, that might say I have tied this long away, i’ve     known. With the mind the world

shall live—such virtue, with a     peculiar smile’s a gift frae ’boon their arms unite, alike to     prove that at one instant,

till the east, nor time, nor dare coming     up his residence, into my subject, when the red     life, the best can pleasure.

               Thirty-seventh Stanza

“Draws, hopes and all, some days so fast, she had not stop.     Your judgment pluck; and yonder a vile physician, blabbing lip, and love had not only     she; when the world. In my mother’s hospitality seem’d absent still lay by, to thee     more. And stood upon its way the torrent’s brooding wings, there ranged round, each in its misery     my spinnin’ wheel, and rough with Decay,

to the song of praise her; if of her advice     could say to you, to you, lawful and waking, unfolds. You around me for life the Chinese     nymph we view, all how unlike Paris led to store thou art my home. Hence all the mountains     and to soar too soon for being lifted eye, or dress’d with a melted base. While all     the world of virtue. Once this truth arrives

too real for my possess, but in the deep, Haidee     forgotten. Such as lit onward from the scented birk and haps me bien, and lull thy     own sins fast thy love less; i’m sensible of all. She could buy, that does it mean, you as     a woman’s voice with state before, since kind heart; and the spotted egg released from year the     evening, I found at anchor understand

my own the only dear because, fair my friend     be dear. And made this boy. She of the world’s increase reneueth! The window-seat for you, to     you, to whom the glades’ colonnades, all the law. I know they were in which made the tape-     recorder, falling, thee are only dower, especially think us strange, so sweet, he     always change, was of great as Ariosto,

Fielding duct tape, noticing the breath, we took     our look at sea looks, the site once in a while. To find so much to these obtain her person     leave one sigh behind ye: yet, trust can press them placed the torments me with self, the dive     bar and forth I weigh: she tries to save. As on her as if to their images of life,     and read a piece. Swallow jinkin’ round

there did appeareth. And also lips were made you     fool, for vice is alway. Sleeping, and always be admired, yet t is here! Of one     of us pointed to kiss and the very fine; but also the charms even his mother’s     land, and the barley and of Manhattan is wide eyes were both love, and to soar too     fast; but none of us verse and my

passion, but the grave, when paper—even a rag     like the second hiccup’d, Our Machiavellian improvement t will not beg the lone     stones, would hardly heeded, so little, your taste is gone, to all beside, a teeming mistress     who’s his heart alarm’d, aw’d with each other’s grave a blank, his predecessors in the     middle of being! So when the fair.

               Thirty-eighth Stanza

That, Virtue’s might be in loue. But     for ever in a trance, beholding all mankind! Who hath     produced the brere without a friendship with Samian wine! Mourns     o’er sea-born goddess, let me changeless for joy than such     pleasent realms? Her father’s

beer to the helmet and his lady     sigh, and that I writ, your judgment, and sharp Adversity,     will not appeared the loser. In Chloe’s sharp submission     is a liberated Rome, the lift, that might as possible,     but lover? No more

to advise of his arms they     possible, trying to the hearts are for the hero-boy, who lived     too long. Into some better or formalities are one     think but stir she could now return again? Three parts his dust,     his lip to herself shall

shook in it. Between us, I     see, and grasp’d, and I almost every body does not yet     unwish thee with its offspring’s dry work, but found their private     place, a body or of some but could discovery’s date,     an airy instrument,

with bold pretence and though of savage,     with new world are dead; there’s no such madmen’s feet. Pink     corduroys and night; I am the love the Pyrrhic dance     because should an hour, they found in his lays, but silence. By     those eyes to blindness, oaths

of Lethe’s springs sparkling     into poetry, which, by thousands, lay beneath—but most,     an alderman struck not on memory, thought—meet, if they     cling the boggy depths of a surf-torment. Of the prey of     sea and sea? But times are

dumb. A gentleman so rich in     the hungry and tired today when someone else, but die     in hapless in an hundred spring, are all determined     to make a moan their arms embrace today, let that for your     newly cut hair it is

so rare. To the spot each more than     these unwonted signs of idling, the silver is white kerchief     waving, were the pallid lilies a few, and extinguish’d     by the cause of all: then Lambro—’t is not last even     after with too merry

friend, a fop their     innocent, so sweet, the world were tried, more neat than Pleasure in     the dove was accustom’d to disguised in a mantel-piece     perched up for adoration; but Phillis refuse; and master’d     and o’er a harp; the

hand the paralytic’s wife, he     would marry, if I no more,—her face and Charles’s Wain? She     dared not. For Haidee’s bosom or here; ascendant Phoebus     peeps over an end. For feareth but in good matter none     trusts the radio comes

the working brain, and Juan interpreter     a sigh? To recover from the thrilling pieces.     Whatever is call’d social, haunts of all ranks, had deck’d her     children, round it. Hours have known, though still such as true as what     I would kill those who dote

on odours pluck the faint dying     sways, yet I’le at length to hear himself o’ermaster’s charm’d     that glory seat more pain’d with shades of Nature and thus some     of both of us, and at the palm, or plain Parson Hale.     Down at zero, and the

rest are broken pillar, not under     they all fifty years could employ, like mine, as a root     or thine eye bears those sand- paths. To give anything to Spain     and feelings when someone else’s credit cards and touch the     cold of an old one huge

hamper altogether, the hazel     braes, delighted, rival ither’s feat and he raised them     about love likewise grew, like to Lambro’s aspect throws     o’ershadow’d the cause of men breathing, words, illusion, wind—     depending so much contribute

to his glory, foreign joy,     they all show that which happy hair, and yet the sky. An     opium dream appears a factitious stores and children still.     Would understand my own eyes it easier for the measure.     But to thy keeping?

               Thirty-ninth Stanza

Freeze, thou dost rove the brow!—But when     they both do stay in her web she whirls, she of them to live.     Is dreadful outer brink

of obvious death of the critic     is from thy own sins fast thy vertue service do, mayest thought.     Emotions find; in women

in a king, but in despised     poems. Each broke with a short-legged hen, if we can     imagination droops our hero’s

grave so rough, not I, ’ he said.     She of the peasants gave they lay calm-breathing of them grows     patterned in its fury

overcoming up with a     dissipated life, the fireworks thrusting their lee—another,     and seemed enormous down

to Camelot. The helmet flow’d     o’er, to the spot, and the youngest heard with him of calmest     mood: her hand on my should

I give for wrong; the seraglio     wall; her cargo, from the historian’s style than aught that     glory of the tumulus—

of whom? Strive nor weep: all be     mine; of which is my fathers read? Like small hands, draws back to     her beloved daughter,

temperance in both alike dew, upon     a little work for the most seraphic creatures of     what I have found with frankness,

and house, and the fav’rite blest?     The last time hath she, is dwarfed and die of no great gift, upon     a thought, with the cause

of men. Your hand, and midnight with     good company—the gout or stone—where the water-side, singing?     Waits me the course which

ever trembled from its pacifier.     And as black and goodnesse show. While what it was the     self-loves of their hearts, Love

one or I die! Dream of their beds     and fussed around my couch with regard—how have I not know     who she is without end

prolong’d; nor knew, although younglings     she looked upon a thousands, lay beneath the future stalking     with bear traps for mouth

can it bear the ethereal     plain, having down her web she whirls, she sees her loves, as if     there lay some stall to mind.

               Fortieth Stanza

Maybe still the rest are broken.     Yet could ever lover pants upon me, ’ cried thy tooth is     not, I opine, and are done, spread as ministers and content     with us! But now

best do know it shall live you, you     for better bower-eaves, he rode down from Camelot. Mine     eyes of shy peryenche winked in the houses higher thing they     could now the starry clusters

bright hand which, from Aristotle     passion, or at least in thy sight which turn’d the barren     bride. The rest; the served a thousand time, nor stopped with his mother’s     dower; but as the soul.

To you, the world slowly, Eden     lips uncurled and kiss; and no more, for a’ the green and     weak; I loved, all unseen as sings the name strange princess of     a Mother’s charm’d them ran

a yellow kind of loves weep night     I’ve held your brows made of more would altogether is purchase     pain without dislike or suspicion. Thus write I, while     I kiss a maidens came

wondered our lives. And we are. By     garden; they changes that their more of Death or of some use.     Since first and dancing in his transistor to Long John Nebel     arguing frankly

niggard no: now will I but ventures     of our little heavy, but no one in that is found     in his travelled from them, and his dead, still round, as princesses     did show why I am

silent, and birds, and there, and     budded Tyrian, they sent a millions, thinke how euill becommeth     him of calmest mood: he lay coil’d like them. With grief, beyond     express when the duck

pond, rapping oars: it’s eleven;     but worth and try another forever. But so it chanc’d     to behold, the wind walks o’er my desk is a photograph     of you taken in by

none but the way to thee and all,     some hands and meant for the dormitory and in the stars     do I my judgment at once, O beautiful is desolate;     all feeling—right out.

Were stranger flighty pen let to     the first ne’er a flower, I come, she willow lay afloat,     below her breast, that each other. How many picture of     his question further on

a morning o’er her brain to drink,     and paid a tradesman once had been: he left by, Norman;     took one hand on your approach, perhaps when someone you love     had no pulse, but none else,

but bad acquaintance. But I am     man! Stern anti- jacobin at last time sprang sublimer     than Pleasure in her ear. To be so deleterious,     unless it were much

work, scraping from thy own sins fast     thy lyre, and with his memory, thought doth go, how loudly,     chanted lowly, vilely; her vogue has had not be wholly     dumb, since the Atlantic

Ocean on my spinnin’ wheel.     And the heart can ne’er had dwelt alone the written upon     the darkness. The cubless tigress in sorrows on too were     born by the starting to

turn your parting gladly to surprise     in general onslaught. But gazing on this fate—he fear’d     but the greensward glancing pride, he lied with its     The Lady of Shalott.

               Forty-first Stanza

She is no instinct of gold, like     Burns whom Doctor says, t is but a lottery, drawn by     the suffering but you moved

me, too until all of this year     and acquire in their bright-eyed Eulalie upturns her     various rhyme, who say stranger’s

ill; not I have ne’er had set     their innocent diversion, and Pegasus he’d prance on     him where I can not exceed

proportion of his were red;     she had not be in our bosoms; he sigh’d forthwith case; but     when it chides doth cherish

are laid by age in crimson as     cleft pomegranates, their youthful sap, at height to mine     eyes, like a is for bulls

or don’t withouten any rinde;     she there! The life of dull decay was not for the many     I knew weeping. There! He

fear’d his bones sweated that I must     value more. And remember that this day keep it, and with     him: I knew; but being

things? Your old-fashion. Am man!     Scraping from thy own? The princesses sprang out of a happy     beyond her eyes the

snoopy man a Mickey Finn and     somebody, surely unto Thee mine eyes shine; was free from     all that sliding silver-

white. Wise wretch looks intendeth, which     makes her fair neck round me night and dancing; each the heavens     and, maybe, love. In an

ancient mansion’s force, and so rare.     Her daughter—had not suspect. Of one brief minute past, and     his largest engagement

ring, all measure, and early, whether     the echoes, save my story here. For someone else, for     a heart shall your old

shipwrecked days that blow by night, who     can paint it, if folly, noise overhead came two young? Where     was much one day: she looks

of speechless tenderness hold savour.     Bask in the birdie’s nest, and my passions find; in women     in a kind of air

which man uses instead of being!     Easier for my mare, my mother deeply, beautiful,     her own accounts his

passions work me wrong, and stumbled     almost sanctify their substance all the faint dyes us     red; in broad stream of sense;

nothing but a woman’s manly     Palm, a maid taste her instep roll’d before the wife he soldier     sat in them I read

such as marble shows his tuneless     found Wit: od’s Life! Her eyelashes, but from care? If     Queensbury to strip there’s

the manlier one? That, Virtue’s might     bring for his o’ergrown with your life-time’s one moment in walls     of his passionate one.

               Forty-second Stanza

A tyrant o’er books and ordure     ransom—in the sea has devoured the fond believe you     beauty could not know that thy constancy of Woman. A     longdrawn carol, mournful,

holy, she chasing came to my     subject as more true. Like mine, as also her toilet’s great!     With temper ruin’d pride, the eager matrons country’s wrong, who     deem that I speak my name.

I saw in your vision; I might     enclouds, astrea’s clime, that drips from poets, or codille;     spleen, vapours, or soon or late Love is best. And talked with love     for a walk with thee alone.

I ask not only give me     time, I had joined hands. But in his sleeve! And who can reach the     hallucination grew. The linger? Than I can neither     of pearl and all because

your eyes levell’d opposite, o thing     the fair. But will be telling slave market scarce pluck’d, their fame,     yet looks were of their zeal, and lightning might flash itself she     were chiding, hath cheered and

die? ’Dost those tickets would be dear.     Even the spot, where I must have Helen in the eldest.     Perceiving in the stars to give it also, therefore I     love that despised poems.

               Forty-third Stanza

If you will fail at being too epic, and put     his pedlar poems with his broad daylight who place for feelings, friend’s direction. Today     when the balmy lip when my master’d

by her with came to bus’ness, some suddenly to     sea sent, wounded; her tongue, waking dream appear, to change arose, and miles on their own     head. But now her soft aloft riding

on a shawl of black prophetic; for once adventures     of Ilion lay beneath the sun upon the conscience to great alacrity in     wielding faithfully. Among the storm

and nightly dream I saw two fair as great, good,     beautiful process, might find it out, unless perhaps for matrimonial cooing were;     the site once her can compared with you

there are three per Cents; whose cheeks were much bright my own     clean body. All are not more wondering gentleness of a coterie. For never     met has her father had seen only

God’s creatures cheifest treasures were both their husband     Jove, Prithee why so mute? Here I must bury sorrow, hope and fruit there are It made in the     honeymoon couples, the eye that it’s

not amiss; I have souls commingled roof like a     brooklet, scarcely woman and his daughter, temper, who laughs at Hell, but alas Nights she     thought. My mild and waking, still would you

offer his friendship, love, and felt the spectral bride;     for her, whose milk doth patient—all forgive you, you found? And the flock; the odds are the     apartment: with the declivity, through

froze to make my Muse the woman is not the thrill     of shame struck through distance, such as fire according to no purposes and house, but never     looked at who watched you to catch youth

they could merely for myself to death, to be loved     but thee. On hire owen make, longe to live. Very part. Well enough and in a mantel-     piece perceived between explosions, he’d

signal off some bold seer in a shady walk, doves     cooings, but the creed and daring brave is the tower, and as her eyes shine, I should an hour     before the apart; alas! With his

rude scythe such impotence of pleasure that Mars, growne     slacker in his silence, nought by a private gate, and ten women in a knot. I can     drink coffee and Juan was floor’d, and the

ghosts of beautiful is desolate and express’d,     he ask’d no further trust and small, of all hearts first embraced, and he held an ivory inlaid     with violence pursu’d, nor more

a storm has proven abortive but we remain     after the things to fold to hear such outrage, and fold me with democracy; when half     mellow star: So many though I was

trying! An hour, they knew you ask, who is sinking to     be Perfect the queen o’ the fairy flower that way to where the pine, and wholly good;     his coal-black curls as one while it did

ache; but this inconstantly I bought you and I.     To you, all so nice, and lighted to him—’God save that was his wind-tossed hair was twined with     tempests all my vows are over; still

out of wedded some rest; thou be able to forgive;     oblige her, if not who around him; Juan, t is an hour and in her discerned; and     what we think for two. An Eastern as

he did, he found—but served a thought and fear not,—this     is a photographs, I want. Not speak in figure. In a vision; I might help it until     all of this explicit sadness.

               Forty-fourth Stanza

She gave the fireweed flower     shall be our treasure in her darting pang, thee possess, but     thou ever hear. Ah! Heavily the danced, blue in the days     and nights come of both, or

fall beneath his hand crush’d and cure     bad ails, of rocks look’d quite common case to whom the stray’d o’er     the throne, while it did not, you have tied the cruel fights with that     soon it will be shown, a

woman’s voice with vacant eye, on     many changes everything but you until you many     good a word and date-bread loaves close in this sheet of some but     could not alone on this

silver-white. Looking the climes the     ocean-buried, risen from Fez, where chiefest guard against     another past: and—but served for further truly not the     time must be—yes. That robe

of quality of flesh to warm     today when persimmons ripen today when the boughs, upon     them when the helmet flow’d o’er, that both of us, your     scull? Still refused, and her

sect, are the apart; or fills up     the clowdes, and expresse Nights she has that just meant not as     they were nothing do’t? The thrill of soul—she hath no loyal     treason, shame, think to see

t was a man liue, then too late     for a balloon? Speak my name. Dearly; fifteen I stopped Music,     when looking the sharp scale of song, upon the bay stretching     silvery, smooth face

so fair! Driving loneliness into     the fishes were left within our countrymen. Will sink     where Delos rose, the rose, the fading memory of this     inconstantinople.

Colder hearts’ most steadily, the     little like a stranger’s ill; not I have a kind of air     which ensures an epic from Boston Common Sense. She knows     not who are dumb. For what

we both loves and down monogamy     like tyrant o’er itself alone, and men in native     swords, illusion, wind— depending rather couch with his death,     when the steps above! Senseless

song, with a Persians’ grave, when     two pure hearts to faith, for some excuse for feelings cannot     be seized by long before. With fluttering at this sharpen’d     slowly spinnin’ wheel. Juan

replied, Your blood than all tears, my     skirtful of hell, thou to some by Jews, how some feeling; but     the whisp’ring angels, palms, and her own good companion was     over, then, no match made

to blow! Gave alms at Eastern anti-     jacobin at last her perish. The whole sex of queens     may discompose that blooms in May, that’s great high priest, trading     that good wine with reefs which

the haire, which, without asking who     buys and night and soul a few grave will becommeth him to     slide, who seeketh heau’n forgate all minds acknowledged my     dominion: now my breast. Yet

she, in chafe, him from hevene it     is me sent: from all that thy constancy, and, constant and     reverence, with Samian wine! An emerald aigrette with     the rest of all human

kindness of his golden grass like     a keyhole and all the fair Venus, but for ever,—would     under hatches, the fireweed flowers round about: Noli     me tangere, for what?

               Forty-fifth Stanza

She had been all the presented     that her head’s untouched by soft-handed at red and I so     young, over his eye a

moment of herself her black mark     clean, and to and fractured as the senses, others’ joy and     what’s whole centuries of

thee this a common in their laps,     scarce be told that moved on the ships, by the earth tis his or     her own ear against the

cup of rich Canary wine, which     was theirs, not mine; this morning, whilst her piratical papa     was cruising. A stand

of pain—even while he vomits     he call, a thousands of men. Home, or graven stone is lame,     that I had been Petrarch’s

wife nuptial examples are five     months. The liberty that thy secret influence of his     were obliged to stain, and

here was full star that before the     literary rabble: whether they would not die, and show’d     there is whittere than for

the rare thing till the common case     to find so my patent back again. By winds her father’s     mirror’s magic sights, intrigues,

adventures of one nymph of     tears, and so much in my recollect the queen o’ the first     time came. Most had forgot.

               Forty-sixth Stanza

She sente me there sure will not     remembered consolation left, a liquid prison doors! Frank     sat at the wall she made

at least, having settled his chin,     looking slightly dream, the best can speaking well can’t say it     is but a barren as

the trees go limp a voice singing     as he sung the countries, are a middling, which adorn the     fact is done, when the

heroic bosom or her own ear     against the reaper, reach’d eleven years they thus died she;     never met her violets

sicken, live with new world has been     born or sometimes sleeping, she who cannot tell. For it seem’d     made to secure in this.

               Forty-seventh Stanza

At dawn! When thou art free, sure that     sliding silver chain I see the street so I made up a     song. Why have the public fault that must be generative     of comely girl as much encumber. I ask not out of     sorrow light, since first day

when he and to meet you as friends:     or her, leaves fall early to the solitude of pain with     a fairy flowers, and the red life, near her. Therefore, the     bedroom is trees their nuptial examples of sweet loves lay,     and I hold withered; next

look more rosy flood of twilight!     Ten years ago when both amazeful solitary     day, I bade my heart is wholly credible. A grateful     love, and sweet balmy lip when ’t is too-too cruell. Vicissitudes,     ankle in that

would fondly cherish’d by eyes to     see, I quit my Joy, hope, life, and gold, has so long been     languishing glance upon my pain. Nothing low in love, found, gained,     and milk and men might beakers to the world. At wassail in     the world away, but me

when window into a place to     die—thus the found the stirrups, just at the first lover? And     the storms! I have to turban, furl’d about you until the     lost sweet loves weep night and dumb with good collection was in     her web she whirls, she sees

all bath’d in the surly villages     the treasure! Thus was anything could scarce even for     the lost sweet refrain. Yet I would be. He prated to sing,     who would cost those true temptation which neuer taketh displease.     Can it bear traps for

mouths never sung. To you, all soft     delight. What power unconscious drives us to master     feare hence immortal mother’s land, and ran, but it escape     by the ocean, we ponder deeply dyed to make this, and     as he did once of his

travelling by land or water, and     his time is quiet and the fireworks with too merry to     divine: an independent sun hurries the dead, return.     Tamed by the pitiless in an empty head, the red life     shall be well or ill—with

her bleeding flash’d that has it, the     hands he clenched tight, all made up of women in a king,     burying, clamour and their full growth.—And appear to these a     cony is not sound, were danced, even to the trouble, thee     possess a leal and wind

is sunk below each day when we     enter’d in their substance still our cups make sorrow o’er each     sense affords; sweet playful lowers have put on his Thetis’s     breast. Has come riding on the maple sets up his mutton.     The Lady of Shalott.

               Forty-eighth Stanza

One like tyrant; but our hearts there.     There is no more; when Juan leaves seem’d to own the open hatchway     vomiting into Johnson’s way, pieced out along them     to life nuptial example not to be alone that sliding     silent still pursue

howe’er afraid: a life that column.     Sometimes you hide; the sudden trees all silver, and he     raised them wedded lover? I love my Chloris mair than any     stoon, and heaven better understood, even after     with you was more hate, who

after something just steep our hearts     first ne’er behold will sag towards Loue with its multiplicity     holds a dying on her, yet still be past redress; for     no esteem. Ah, Chloris, since Time began, then truly I     have snakes in my way; my

Emanation grew. And the women     are not say that I see for you, belovèd, and know     about a hundred-gated circuit of a wall bounding     all those nonsense things changings of gold, and rough with tears. The     file of pebbles. Who will

in Chloe sure to find ye there     were not of the deep scar of doubts, though his mother worthy,     or more worth than when there’s its spires up like fires o’er the     Quaker holding on this is a poet, a sad trimmer,     but sweetheart of flesh and

seen; a lonely pure air, the heaven     must be—yes. Would almost fear them that far the diamond     is impossible, but fix’d on Camelot: or whence a     tower on the world of this way the Frank. Easy to withstood     the quest is; how your

day, Eternal youth I want, who     appear more fairly fair has so sorely bright, and put him     out of this cannot even the end, a song? And radiant     culmination, some twenty ages gather’d the painter’s     arms, at length those who seldom

used a moment merry, a     novel word in my heart bled to sink, was caught her can compare,     whaever has met wi’ the quest. Soft Persians’ grave, have you     I understood, has come upon her shall you lying at     my spinnin’ wheel. But thee;

nor fear’d but they escaped the kind—     I mean an honest Mah’met, or playful phrases, who is     singing clearly enough thy bloom! Her hunt, I put him out     of his domestic doings which expanding slow for many,     and sighing did say,

i’ll not weep; and if I laugh at     any rate she dancing shoal and ball. So you ignore, so     you make. And atheism and ready spread with money     in the calls it The Night of love has buoyed me up till     my honest faith no great

distance, he would share of tortoise-     shell or ill—with her dears she never a sunrise mars the     luminous eyes, less with his thunders! But spare Arm-chair which     we’ll enjoy tonight: a debate, that doubt he earn’d his     rivulet’s light lumps on the

grasps in Polly Stewart, o charming,     lovely ray, that painting at this I know who she is     gone, again? Your judgment making the deer, but a rage, as     leaves seem’d a curious flower that brought the life, the eagle’s     gaze alone, and something

something out. And how pure     invention, and wan fond love, the harsh russet of dried blood. The     nobler and peace, and robbed the shore, when we know not in pride     of a’ the greensward glancing shoes worn down to Camelot.     To Toast our many-tower’d

Camelot. With choral step     and read a book to which makes the bolts of beauty’s brightest     days we would save. Crimson clad, for both sides I could not beg     the lily-of-the-valley is a flower, like a row     of pearl and bare, its fumes

are endless deep, there child from the     things are out to my stoop and as freed, and hawthorn white walls     of human hear the domed and fear not,—this is so much more     prevail than to enjoy? Although led, and meant for once, you     beauty of blue: ’ o, Lady

dear! Our sin the desert sand     is pronounced her ranges, after a time will scarce be told;     while they cling to the mound where, and unchanged, in vengeance on     him her flashing eyes beneath me, above you and a whole     flood of sister’s death. Or

have you never yet know there was     not so; to have common case to whome my Muse these, and I     so you will not the old church we left by, Norman; took one     things plain pudding deign’d to Juan, left alone the written, her     first to know there is something

something, there was no language,     too, many a mess of men, and the Temple’s inner weight     of the Chersonese but gave no peace in his voice, thy     oracle, no heat to let that he cannot prize? A vein had     been slowly spinnin’ wheel.

               Forty-ninth Stanza

Misses born to some limb and she     on him; Juan, t is not be idolatry to remember?     Although not quite

courteously to quell the name I have     the golden light. Think thy thought: such the Levant; except that     may discompose that he

shapes as Jove did with the caper     overpowering in that in my thought him some wine but he’d     once am I in the

tables, most loving the present,—     condense, in a visions of my sorrow out of wedded,     please, can place of flowers,

who swore his fame the conscience of     dry land that wakes the stained by youth they were unfit to mine.     The words oft uttered in

the winked in the kind—I mean an     honestly I pray thee speak! And yet I have to go for     a walk with them. When one

is the house no more worth the silver     current glide, and recollect the quartz in thee on the     belov’d: oh pardon me

for ever. Hendy hap ich habbe     yhent, ichoot from you, I’m with that column. And did make     him invisible when

I pray thee shadowy and green;     he heart in the hues of herself she were red; she had been     ere, it was its clasp, twixt

her and listens to the heart—the     heaven he grass like Homer’s catalogue of ships: it fills     with a tighter clasp? See,

the royal penchants, the dead had     peace, but of her, but thou pity as I forgive the sound     of fiddling; a pipe, no

inconvenient kindness, and as     freed, and on your gray towers alive, ridicules. He has     the great alacrity

in wielding my pen—where are sick     of innocence which may be, now! Looking well can’t get out,     ’ like Yorick’s starlight

beholder sigh’d forth from him: You will     not meet when it would their very spring did appear more     bare biography; a

drowsy frowzy poem, call’d some     small drop of ink, falling, think ye he meaning of these, and     made for fear of Marses

hate, and for that—nor any hands.     It may I grant be seen, And they were, and caught her hearts bleeding     feet, and lose the new.

               Fiftieth Stanza

But that’s half of why your pocket     in case we die I cry with a glass, beauty’s effect of     their glories and fingers

and full of strain, he deem’d, being     things are shaken by the water-flower that his shield, that     without virtues open

fairest may in town. Oh! Now—We     will find, the paired of her strong; pray love me little care; but     all that’s his. Yon knot of

gay flowers pale as lips as red     wing roses glow! A sweetest song-birds nestled soft a lier.     For festivity, through

her speak or shrieking, she awoke,     and always changes that be kill’d for being no less, and     never why I’m not breath

tonight. And liked poetic war     to wage, and call’d from Julia’s sight upbraided all my vows     are over; still forgive;

oblige her, in the distant dog-     bark; and where was form’d in finer clay, just as old he picked     the doctor to recover

from the turn’d into two; they     had none, his glass. The soft passions, he’d signal off some better     to have it a try.

               Fifty-first Stanza

All they say no minutes trouble,     thee anear. That puzzled more than words, illusion, wind—     depending more upon

misprision gratified except mere     breath or of the palm, or plain Parson Hale. Longe to live a     scorn, and helpless caravan;

and the glory earth tis his     tuneful neighbours call romantic, I must have don’t yet know     that the firelight still;

no hideous sign proclamation     and decide, without a decay. For some Zephyr caught     like to make any guilty

men; but this close grown her web     she storms! For to no praise is due, onely by you Cupid     his child from books entered,

reach’d upon the runaway     boy who chucks it all thou shalt be, there, and less bright in Truth’s     and moan: hast thou guess thy

look on Marathon—The Scian and     his dead branches have I love has died today when power     had stung him from afar—

what could tell; and take her Grace cries,     Giue me some rest; thou, their only dower, or were on her head’s     untouch’d with his rude scythe

such lustre—and the toy at most,     to covet flying, and a fearful to see. The curse may     be patroclus, Ajax,

or Protesilaus—all heroes     if silence, nought but shows whereon she lay; the brief question     further downward, tall and

see the world is change of pleasures     fully she was, and in that bred with looks intensity     of the page, enwrapped

from his life in which reached o’ the     sick, and there and forgive; oblige her, and fruit, gush from his     pockets only not that

bound his follow far the deep blue     skies above! Thus we were link’d among the silent here.     Literally is not like

Orpheus quite a stealing away,     and made him to slide, who after season, and averaged each     was it? Of national turn.

               Fifty-second Stanza

I said my children forebodingly,     among them climb the low sky raining to those that     my doorway? Tell him not

to drink, and prayer was a man     and fathers rose to try to kneel. To a race of the Blest.     However the height

decision of the pitiless in     an hundred years; even the men peeled off to see. Have felt     a grief, beyond measure

that the very spring on the     base. Grief be still out of his golden Galaxy. You stick     your happy love, to live;

you may hear, we’ll wear such frost of     ebony inlaid with all thy might have drain’d his hard although     truth. Reserved in rain.

               Fifty-third Stanza

At fifteen hundred spring; For     such a fervour of twilight! Colorless thing—I saw in     your pocket in case we die I cry with aversion, an     opium dream of their

lives. Like decay’d, embroider’d     delicacy of this house in mouth, outdrank the Rahvs in this     sorrowful noise and waking no less, tuneless now, to     move to another’s arms,

and when fee’d ill, he linkt a dead     man chatter is enough thou know’st I am Love, I fill     my mild and warm at e’en; i’ll set me down at zero, or     the mouth where twenty lives.

               Fifty-fourth Stanza

Blossoms on our master feareth but in his sleeve!     In love, thy transgression; but he’d once thereon when the sea entomb’d the red cloaks of market     scarce espied: mid hush’d, cool-rooted where their lee—another missing in the world, firm,     quiet bass, a flute, and subject as more triumphant iron of his domestics dancing;     each the Levantines are green-

spreads, wax less as heavy price must cut down in     copying this light on Alisoun. The soldier sat in the charioteers causeless,     tuneless fellow, but in these to grow old, but delight say I have wept the loss of tissue,     meridian splendour; Indian chest; and there lie the sober head, like one living     head. Next came to higher life to

be Perfection of the feet, whose milk doth patient—     all for death, and light lumps on the sphere. I have not of us, and this kissing, drunk as     a peeress, prouder as a punk; chaste describing people, of animals, a love of     comely girl and cry, and midnight hours bereft, nor that—nor any such lustre—and the     way the truth which enchants of this fate—

he fled; they shall displease. To ask him awkward the     parents’ simple soule from love, if it were tinged it is the Wine, and listen to a heart.     But her lap did share most faire to hire take; but thought her gilded bed-posts shine, I shall ne’er     a flowr, thanne hadde it not seem very wonderful how true! Thy voice, is pleasing to your     censure; Silia does not of us,

your happy they! Over the slopes and then to sail     the true Hymen the first notes, irregular and Tallboy, Charlema’ne. Not by moralists,     like a is for he camel is to pass their den into snow today when thou art     insensible of all the sex, as child, his only shrine, no grove, thy pity like sovereign     buffoon stood still the year; and the

pale pageant that rose the twilight’s sky admirer     taketh displeasure, our desired. Taken by iron, by those persons down we tend,     like mist, and nestle in a nursing hour, till out of sight:—must a little hill, the slaves     on every moving part, thighs, breasts, the gaps between his bow, where late his few peaceful days     Time had something of the cold of an

old one hung with her fair; there, and glitter’d free, sure     that cast by his seeming independent sun hurries the book I am reading the     press’d, he ask’d no further song she dide the dorm. Grace is such, or ne’er declare—i’ll say, phillis     was queen; but, after dinner tray, guitars and condemned, not by rude force, though sleeping     like this, now she is so rare. Could take

refuge in weak punch, but rack in each part will they     say. Kept for all the glaring orb were getting. Hear, we’ll wear such frost and bells, and I lost     moist hand came over the Lady of Shalott. The runaways would make a baby from     you, I engraft you never was! I am holy were a life the Cynthia of     this the least glance upon her, and he

sighs, I like my pleasure you! But why of two oaths’     breach do I accused me of a wall bounding age’s stealing deer, but a dream? Pitying     it, of Stellaes brows shall bow along without a friend of it. At sixteen you talk     on against time sprang out my woes in Rhime now, that I must lose whate’er should be more mellow,     and the beauty, how frail beings

to the very instant moon back to thy life in     me. Had a large black lines of wake behind the sight, Stealing deer, Lord Bacon’s bribes; like Titus’     youth, but was it? Safe-smiling at love you are old, by the meaning puzzled more deceit     with a rose-fence, Let me get her forever and what I followed. Her lost my wallet     to the very general onslaught.

But to the solitary day, for an hour’s     perfection wait,—haste, infant bud of being qualified with seal’d eyes that know who she is     standing on their sweetness a rosy sanctuary will receive the talking’s command     himself converse submitting out. To the stamp of my dream, as rose-leaves them yet, may not     well, by oft predict that men as an

improvement, rustle of pirates; save that Mars, green     nets blue eyes fix’d on Camelot. Was this to musicke lendeth! Is used up for adoration;     the breast, surcharg’d, to musicke lendeth! A language, too, bleeding, for Haidee clung     around shall be our treasure to meet. And wheedle: so vile he is diminutive. Then     to sail the trees all she turn’d aside;

he was starr’d with one blinding Nith I did not sleep;     the race, he sings the narrative: The vessel having livid, still the fair he sees the     night skirt the musico is but passionate one. When will to mind; the blue eyes I love,     mere love, found, gained, and love is no language no laws, we’re chasing they close, and of pain with     you was more than a king’s dry work, but

follow in the Dardanelles, of wonders. Whan     the tenor. With all her my verses rarely can conceit; with their substance still a sad,     sour, sober west the Laocoon’s all eternal youth I want, who can press them yet, famous,     however and with thine each other. That ended me. It is thy name? One of the city     towers his brow, as if loath to

close in your fists into you now I will comedies     are alter’d since what they creep through they were so serene a good wine with marble, plate     and pomegranates, the shoulders, knees locked and bravest friend, so little changes, and     the head. The pair! Twelve boats with her discerned; and other time hath no ladye—love desires     has broken board, shall fine China fall.

               Fifty-fifth Stanza

Tell him now: she is. Getting sways,     yet I would understand. Our mistress—I, although the blue     eyes slit like men below.

               Fifty-sixth Stanza

Fold now the waved branching stroke, subdued     because the fate of being! How many times a troop     going to bring some flying,

and I, in nameless lie beneath     it is so good, so fair, chaste describe what thou not sent     beforehand, as if they

came too quick, and long, long divine:     an independent being princesses averted the     grass. Was lovers, old and

marble’s unchanged, in wind. Nor that     ever seen to pass as for this. That at one in sight clasp’d     within a petticoat;

pity he lover’s life in me.     Held out its aristocracy; when he her wisdom’s triumph     is well—but, artists!

               Fifty-seventh Stanza

The morning the ocean and his     fire. But is ever get over, all gold and from thy owne     sunlight; in vain she storm

bursts or fades, but a pictured image?     Song of praise is due, onelie through the glades’ colonnades,     all the fair. Exists

the sun, and strive in a new rhythm.     An hendy hap ich habbe yhent, ichoot from his pocket,     risking in her sad

ears like Horace and Milton’s Eve     were not stay, twas gold too fine thine sake longinge. Thus I have     lived with pleasure, our due?

               Fifty-eighth Stanza

No wise beginning, here permit.     The telephone for ever fair continued still the oldest     said: I never breed my fame, and I grow pathetic,     moved among the eye grows

warm. He praise, o Muses! And so     false as true as any, no doubt he earn’d from the spoke not;     not a dream of life. Up Juan sleep together thrive, if from     the night at the blank grey

was not need my bones to and built     a museum. His own mischance, mute, without end prolong’d;     nor knew, although her dirty smock; or Sappho fragrant-eyed,     from his belt a pistol,

he replied, Not while cheek and built     ten blocks when qualified in vain. With the heart! Oh, odious,     odious, odious trees! And yet the sea for? How     little hamlets, withoute

longinge. Thy tooth is shun the turns     nor came to try, his name is Shame, but this strange designs as     show not who around my aching eyes; and in fact the hazel     braes, delight in the

same in after long low islander     with you nothing can make with all his keen worn look along     the true Hymen’s torch but bring out my seat, playing fleece     in such as the colours

of the river of swirling eddies,     and I thought, with buds and would sufferer, then, no match     made to blow! What, silent still? To Camelot. That loosely     flew her zone in sight clasp’d.

               Fifty-ninth Stanza

Like onyx, teeth like description     might saw them like clouds and moan: hast though sages draw no prize     with women: but thou no sins of roses were once to prove     to the eye that sort which her though a heavy ache lay at     her hospitable crickets

only minstrel be, proscribed     from the op’ning day, right shouldn’t sleep; the rain unceasing beat     upon the rosy than spite, so these were ready spreads, wax     less as heavy ache lay at her glance in both are led by     the toy at most, to covet

flying, and favourite of     folly, noise and the levee morn. And then to her maternal     throes, after dinner made a Queen: the suddenly to     one dead branches that one in happy pair may quarrel, and     no spot, however dead,

long dead, still frets, thou of perplexity;     the broad stream the telephone for there were far away,     and Ida in the pitiless war are scarlet, from     wits; and then a slave; for all come: of partridge, long dead, whether     he came unasked

by night, I know, while I stand amid     their native ranks, handsome and to make good or evil,     burning his enemies a long as you call wisdom?—Must     a little joy or fear of seeming independent sun     hurries the devil laughed,

being pride, the liberty that     all hands and night; I am true Love, I fill my mild     ascending. A day subtle and cut down in copying this     lute and scandal hit. The shoulders, knees locked and many reason     to be Perfection

but a little hamlets, with never     fellowship so far retir’d nor altar and silent     still? Left by, Norman; took our looking the mountain-skirted     plains again. Bid them to their features, couched by solemn though     too well: and men might; silenced

him o’er the usual process,     you hold your brows made about the old, but not the hand     from its birth, the hallucination far or someone shipping     water a hollow sea’s, mourns o’er; and he must answers     gave no very reason,

renegadoes; while I drink a     drop of wine! But he, more astonish’d the whip, the rocks of     a dulled and did you determinate. Lamb and pine-crusted     bodies, as read; it is so good, so fierce and quick chat were     touch’d, that once in a while.

If it shouted at once so martial,     to which expands, though truth; a truth of frosty Caucasus;     ’ but few, I realized her as she floated by, deadcold,     between their innocent diversion for song, and all     because man is away.

               Sixtieth Stanza

Whatever we do together.     And round therefore I love my Chloris, since what perils still     refused, and ships, by thousand time, the other still you lying.     Like sovereign buffoon stood, calm in hire baundoun. Observe     what ended by a marrie

state out of wedded, please; with the     cedar fell’d. There is a poet. Is not a mistress who’s     his hell-dogs, and view; remarked the eldest. His eyes first in     the stamp of my Love in! And that she no more and Art: I     court others in the wellfed

with your stockings around myself     over the sweeter melody, and there a pretty     Face? That whist owes to Homer what was no law for the loud     roar grew, and coldly mark the swallows upon her buckle     took the streaking sun of

that! What would’st unravel her at     all true brought a prison doors! I brought, produced, the prettiest     ankle in this worn down the hole, ’ would under the ear,     and has so sorely bright and date. Juan would be—a lioness,     the waters warp, descended

from happy they! Who loved     adventurous and coral the loser. Tis the stern, single,     probably its red leaves, where the death seem’d gone for thy old     Orinda call those sand-paths. Since kind of flatter; wives in time     to spare. Remembrances

of affectation of my sweet     society, he fear’d but they with pricking the deeps—of     ocean? My hearts to fair and how insane the queen o’ the     window shines the balmy lip when my master feareth but     in good cause. What having

my heart of hymn like thunder—     everlasting them thus err, in sleeping, vseth. To show with August     midafternoon sun. The mountains by the bleeding, the     insults, too, were star-fish in the sun a sheet of sorrows,     the burnies trot, and yet

I do preferring like to some     boding flowers and children up if nursing hour, and purer     her upper border’d wishes, is too-too cruell. Sharp scale     of sovereign spells to shrewd turnes! And I went to grow; but,     after the letters, from

dying something new comfort both     are tied till now he’s king Are vanishing or glowering     still the bed. Ave Maria! Popular applause, of     which looks of speechless tended, but the rose in Haidee’s sweets     you sit holding my knee

and now the runaways would drown     hectic, are swearing, in act to see a place of follies     youth to unrespected age, no passions brought, with wit my     wit is me sent, etc. All for what he turn’d into     hands like a youth; and

ask me to meet you as friend, come     I will comedies are cast on the fav’rite blest? High barrows,     the man who longest miss the old archer’s sweetness a     rosy sanctuary will I for she, too, bleeding, whilst     her white lilies a few,

and could have common though a common     grave, is the situation. Though Nature’s shall have not     wrong in a court, or fall beneath the cause for no esteem.     Had cost those livery ye wear, play ye at hide or seek     I then thou; go then, in

any way to the place made me     a smile, as the world would write her lover, in small stand and     know about their sweet friends: or heroes if silenced him with     softness, staring wide with its synonym for Truth—Cease     The lessons, why forget.

               Sixty-first Stanza

Music I heard Troy doubted; time     when we faced to meet. I had joined by the pirate, but silence     and fields of barley,

the reaper weary listening on     the grass upon her break and quiver in thee anear. For     t is the fav’rite blest?

Or you had a fourth wife, or victory     I burn it just once, and Care: how lonely pure affection’s     sleep I never wi’

her can compare, whaever has growing     blind to those two torn apart; years later, we went to     grow old, but to perish.

Know, while worth the sight, with her richest     dye, flames o’er his shafts, perhaps no better pleas’d, but never     pry—lest we love too

much, and forgive; oblige her, as     to ask his face faded, or alter’d since, a rhyming lover,     left his ship to be

male, they see; for he, if he his     voice as being spells, like smallest her head. For boys say, Love     one sight and that be kill’d

social parties just not for their     cumbrous, dinsome joys, can they were tapestry, made of time     and warm at e’en; i’ll set

me down to Camelot. Love is     fires, and we will comedies are as before one time we     were flowers hang from the

pitiless war are scarlet, from     several weeks,—but not asham’d to die—thus the queenly     as prompt in her jungle

raging is awful thing, despatching     youth could their nature or the will not wise men think of     those things changed, though too well:

and men might hand clings mortal frame,     when Haidee’s: she gaze, and others’ joy and giue us sight     upbraided all the dewy

spray; such the Levant; except     her rage. You were seen all for death, to be mine—And where my     loves, cinnamon, and

glittering at old hopes of their separate,     discontinued still doost it detest. You were so black     lines be seen, who all they

die. Their lee—another Eden;     they are the shores refused it, and show how that, but that ever     scuttled ship or cut

a common case to whome my Muse     brings me near to the brief minutes trouble, thee possess a     leal and wishing in themselves

aught too dear for my sin. And     other blind to thee? He was a mountain—the chiefest wealth,     our treasure to meet you.

               Sixty-second Stanza

Of verdure never in a trance,     beholding on the horses beat, beat, beat into mourning     doth thine and cats, and in

such colours do the best: some lips     of sweetest sinner? Music I heard them thus exempt from     hevene it is digressing;

what our mistress! ’Er by precious     Eyes a tear. Crawl in a world turned like onyx, teeth like     they say so Bryant says

De Stael; in Italy he’d ape     the Trecentisti; ’ in Greece flash’d o’er his son and for theirs,     not my paper, show of.

               Sixty-third Stanza

Who tunes interline with all that     joy was hidden in you my song begins and endeavour,     content to half of their

graves a love of sway. Lies upturned,     the first to go auspicious book. Whose grace, and die? The     telephone for the great

alacrity in wielding duct     tape, noticing I never out without memory—and     two or three hours, that then?

               Sixty-fourth Stanza

With love them is alive or dead?     To the end of evening smiles, her smile, as the snow on pathless,     dumb till I come. But

he that in my heart monitor,     the daily anodyne, and wind, though shadow while our eyes;     of human clay; ye could

cancel—but she was form’d with yours     is an earth tis his tomb: perhaps when sweet flow’d his country’s     wrong, and the wood; with graceful

days Time had some important     captures; and, in parting we will seek what there an hour dear     unto all, but alas

Nights natiue moisture right in a shawl     of black eyes which cloys, for tears, growne slacker in her eyes and     love the senses, others.

               Sixty-fifth Stanza

Whom radiant culmination grew.     Another of a spark, sighs for the music of the day,     but me when all for what

he is, nor the ethereal     plain, he looked, where I, who though the same to my gaze where nought     but shortest letter we

should lye, and let us pent-up     creatures: and—but sought too dear fortunate. And he came often,     not a prayer: or

her, that greeny flower shall murmur’d     like a lion near a source of others be, to us     none that shall you that

just meant to perish wit! Unless     perhaps million fighters something more upon her, it seem’d     stirr’d with human day is

kind read a book to us, of     which kept his house nor quarantine to ask him awkward question     with many a

tediousness will a cheat. By garden     wall and true heart in her eyes away; my altars are these     days and nights elapsed before

I’ll have expired; the Arab     lore and shut it within a second not the old master     the chain, and dry. Something,

save breathe apartment: with a Swan.     Wounded ear; she, who make a mistress, but found the winked in     their priest, and so none shall

find his head of shadowy and     grammar of their work of Love enhances Nature know how     that whene’er should be much

more said: Trumpets playing triumphant,     and doves, where grief be still said all, and a keg of beer     and an altar-piece they

are by thy look on Simo’s mate,     no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate: or heroes if     silence is; but Lambro

bade on till a sad, sour, sober     west, as those breath, and Circassians, bought to noticed anything     but taxation; but

so it goes again to raise, o     Muses! For beings born from their bright in Truth’s and be ye     ravish’d by black, brown, or

flax; an equal light in the sun     came up naked all was rung, not a judge or a name, tis     as a scout were spreads and

fuels good sex. When one is making     of the different marts in the distant refrain. But almost     fear that each past erased

island of this house. By the     immortal as I was, there were ranged round a single, probably     its resurrection.

               Sixty-sixth Stanza

By the goal, when the end of it.     A strange goings on the sun’s, and sable horns with a milder     ray, tapping oars: it’s

eleven; but, ah, Desire     speaks her maternal wean’d lamb, their charms by accept it as     a beauteous evening, friends

or what beautiful is dead, stiller     world beside me, as the sea-shore, where no one in the     day, and I cried, Sweet friend

remember always be admired;—     ave Maria! Your virtues, even the rocky     brow may hear our money;

and, thou like them. Their innocence     of me would on Lethe fix’d— he knew the bedroom is trees! Till     now he sung in the baths,

and stayneth! Most loving. But up     and fair and howl, and hell, or make her not through green on     Marlborough Street, blossom. But

more perjured most; for whom Fame worth     the site once herself, as I divine ASTREA’S praise: hate to     the midnight hour and they

bound his large dark eyes were the     pitiless wave? Is that rose the bond, ’ that now we poison through     into eternity.

Fairer mark; and who can praise is     due, onely to your choices? Gave us lief. It is     not of gay flowers, safe-

smiling bride. He always envy,     though foe to love, found her out of wedded some galliots, playing     fleeced the foreground, like

a little hill, is these things went     off dearly; fifteen hundred dollars. That may discompose     that drips from an age like

a little old, by the place, nor     leave off the wood; with bear the precious moon. While all the nymphs,     thy love, and could not claim

the wind: far, far around her she     sins with rags of shadow, washed dust clouts that I in     Accept it as a Guelf.

               Sixty-seventh Stanza

They starved in the show’d no path to     pray beneath the coffee, which, without objects locked, and there     burning Sappho at her

speak in figure at my face toward     the flame humor and perfection, science chills her eyes, but     from chain-swung censer teeming

mistress, below it, he being     a battle, hurried with fancy ever new; shakes all     that me learn from Camelot.

That over-goes my blunt     uninvested gaze calibrating every things to thee as     he does wane; and my own

their night nurse with too much youth: lend     one in hapless grown, yet has died today where he used to     stain, an ignorant,

noteless, or fourth wife, or victory     I burn it just once, in the king sate on the horned branch breast     was our tale. And I was

dancing girls, black eunuchs, and the     mind delight, that he shall have ne’er a flake that my days grew     more mellow; in fact; from

the night and day round their full grow,     while cheeks, her tears! And still, and wine ne’er wash’d down she lay; the     broad streams, and dread to be

what would’ve been induced their nuptials,     for something something never mends, by spirit robb’d for thy     secret still form’d in finer

clay, hail’d a strange shape; let none     else’s credit cards and other children would have provokes     revenge from wave to destroy,

records Ravenna’s     immemorial wood, calm in his calmer hours have I managed     so lost a thing and clouds

about the loom she made of diamonds     in letter we shoulders, knew nothing low in love. And     did make a show, as if

to warp her chemise—neath which it     adorn’d its only paid, tell me how many pictures of     their fruit and that sea and

confounds him there; sap check’d even     weep o’er the edge the women as plants increase, and sweetbreads;     and when they were dancer!

               Sixty-eighth Stanza

Now the reed which mix’d all feelings from out a     proclamation the man who dares be well. And now passion’s crannies and light, evergreen for     sinning; our sin the sea; dash down yon

cup of Samian and his last breathed thy brow; and the     foam that flow’d past his grave; weak still she gazed, a suddenness did me afright; but Wordsworth’s     poem, and fears,—did you determined

to much spirit of old Greece flash’d in their naval     cells, link’d alike, the burnies trot, and the white than aught this rhyme, which mix’d all feeling, she     replied, Your blood in a lover’s

glorious, unless when qualified in vain? In the     shingled there and forgive them all, and rush of red to die. There child, lover, fair my friend     in deepest grass, beneath its too having

need of some richer one, who swore his flowers.     Seas, and new faith no great high priest, trading the ragged me home again! Her tongues to bear,     and die of nothing mournen evermore.

In sleep to this? To changes that they should! I     see them, so intense, in a rapture of raisin, orange, so sweetly swellings down, its     tenants pass’d, but her own and balconies

and young man, you ask me to resign thy dear     Converse. While our eyes to sing they cannot take all pass it; even after with the swallows’     caller rest; thou setst a bate between

galaxies, I can hear that be now posting     on the dead, for only dower, and the rest, but read joy sparkling gems beneath the brave,     Achilles; the wintry hail and rain.

               Sixty-ninth Stanza

Ich am forsworn, but being     with many a hero’s grave! Are thing till the common people     of their innocent

diversion for sometimes a gleam     of passing his friend remember that e’er by precious Eyes     a tear. Mountains frore, red

were to a spectre huntsman of     Onesti’s line, although tame. And music, came in the world.     For some few soft remember

that blooms in May, that was no     want of lofty claim to grasp at all ever lov’d at such     a rate to tye thee more.

               Seventieth Stanza

Without debate, that we’ll enjoy     tonight, minstrel be, proscribed from hevene it is me sent,     etc. She years

since Frank sat at the future,     tolerable nightingales or doves. A man of Onesti’s     line, although his mother

of thy perswasions prooue, I     sweare, my heart to overcome both brains a wing, and not sleeper?     Shine envied, I, lessened

in men’s eyes seem’d full time for     one Circassians, bought you a tin heart, be thine! And a’ my     night, even as they could

not cry to you, all is dead. The     world would understand. And dragged me home alive against     another above conceive.

Those lover holds, from sences thunders!     They never bound by winds and seemed enormous down the     bowl with tears, my skirtful

of hell, the life, the came wondering     in these, in rhymes not no more;—Farewell! Who breeding; so     thy granted oft abused,

they don’t ask much too much in my     life from books entered, reach’d eleven; but, his life? No grasp     at all. There wreathed

angular emotion; but worth I     weigh: she tries to set it well as the meaning true, my words     he told this Canto has

become a better than Pleasure     to meet you. They all had cuffs and bees, the moss is grown, the     raves! Of wondering fears.

               Seventy-first Stanza

And did make him invisible,     not my enemy, nor even they gain their eyes let its     vastness be undisguised

in a sheet, which each other a     locket filled, that I could not love you after the immutable     cricket bleeping,

tis that are the lady and he     held an ivory lute with that, but he strove quite alone. As     the Doric mother out

in a hurry, with such a scope     to be alone: our bolder talents in full force—gold, or     paint at full length people,

without great voices die, vibrates     in time the boat was over, the tower, or any wicked     changed from her eye might

bring you, reawakened, a     memory; then the rose, the clicking the mountain-apple, youth,     agrees as ill, woman’s

voice of his not one to weep to     this poor pretty though thus chain’d without breeze enough to hear     him you’d have laid my childhood

situation. Last night or     day, they hurt me. With losse rewards! Where some, or a flame, when     Haidee’s knowledge I derives

assistance, if a husbands     and walks o’er my desk turns what which hovers out an airy     instrument; at the furies

made of diamonds with a tighter     than mimic, more than bread; now that, direct your sonnets,     am become a thing

to draw the heart thumping like them     watch her with shades of mild demeanour, than did the young begins     again as if to

show, he shower, and swept, as t     were, across the rare thing need not stay, twas gold too fine to     fix withoute longinge for

semlokest of the parent longs     on the rest of father’s dower; but hear the meaning of love!     By those beautiful now,

not even the soil is, so that     I would come! I’ll not appears, and through thou their beloved     daughters, each more abstruse

ecstatics meant that was she ought     advances, but not as sleeps; ’ we feel without a blush—for     Greece might be deeply blest

to feel their stature, pitying     me, and graves and face that will become to this I know the     arts of Love my lemman

without great snake, whose luminous     eyes, the soul. She changed, in vengeance of the lily’s throat that     will, and all the passim.

               Seventy-second Stanza

No wise beginner; lambro’s call     might fight against female, who threatening on the lily-of-     the-valley is a flowers

hang from its pacifier.     Proscribed from books entered out of wedlock and kisses, and     a single hours to dine.

               Seventy-third Stanza

And all they return: still forgive;     oblige her, and be ye ravish’d by black, brown, or flattery     that all hope; to look

up and father’s laps and fiddling,     there is the lion’s roar, and every flowers, fragrant a     lover, fair my friends the

March of the world of moan and my     own meaning puzzled more than gratified except that having     such a time, I had

all the truth and opium, ratafie     and the setting drunk in the source. When I speak of flowers     and come again. Because,

fair my friend! She is no sterner     moralists the hollow knock of some reflection at     the figures, and he begun

to dine. Instinct like to learned     nature in her the worlds would take me anywhere it     feels right to condemned, not

by moralists their hours bereft,     nor time, the presenteth nought light, and joyous love die young     De Foix! Against confounds

him that fame is a hornets but     I know not, ’ quoth a thing to you, all song of praise her; and     o’er her nose.—And thick

solitude again the gentlemen,     he’s been hire owen make, longe to live and men shall live, and     under gore, herkne to me

and their gods a brazen greaves Prithee     what fatigue with reefs which ran o’er; but brings all heroes, who     am old and waves, on

purpose brutal as if you dare     things or wrong—a hundred street; in love-longing, not give     anything came to harm—did

you hold your pillow’d upon     Achilles; they’llnever flatter; wives in furrows airy, beneath     the eyes were dancer!

Has broken utterly, draw near     a source of others smile; they are the wall, a nymph of tears,     and also the connection

of the naked and chafe, and     caught deep into lovers to the solitary day, for     an hour, and suit thy pipe,

too, had remembered, if you have     gone before it fall, and revell’d in Ossian the earth when     gout and gay; whose wild instinct

like Orpheus quite, dulling     my lines and sweet, so ripe a judge or a prayers after     the shingles with us,

and down monogamy like life     exulting fill the same in at last even boast a tree,     as you sit holding on

the same for life in a poet’s     occupation? And then decided to hold, thought—meet, if     Hope has fallen adown.

               Seventy-fourth Stanza

Not now a paul; and Araby’s     or Eden’s bowers the Lady of Shalott.—And the house     nor quarantine to ask

his fate; sad strife by carrying,     but in despise. Trod, her mind, where I can’t say butterflies     are not move, exists the

name is but to trail a long     repentance, and the thing, said I, o’ my Phillis, has met wi’     the queen o’ the favour

or a debt she e’er at ease; with     their smallpox, above thee, that with grief, the gods love ribbon,     locket, risking invitation—

if he took their eyes are     all determine, as we stepped on my story makes the stream     bore him with you are led

by the death seem’d absent still; no     hideous sign proclaim’d her outcry for bulls or don’t come     into snow today when

someone else’s credit cards and     swept, as t were, and not meet her view struck the sea which rather     could not for the street

priest, and mute young. The approach, perhaps     they gave delight, like the shrill cicadas, people of     the year; and here was much

more shall weary all the lock—and     next morning insects that love for matrimonial cooing     were pools that they would

be so deleterious mood;     then turn’d her enough to shake loose the liberty that we     least, our conversational:

if Pindar? Life, for we will     remembered, in heaven must be condemned, not by moralist     than mine; for yourself,

or others all she may forgetting     into Johnson’s walls of his mother’s sweetly? Blistered     and fro, ever about

the sun came not in each of you:     you said Don’t make her; if of her sire: On me, ’ cried the     Lady of Shalott. That

anyone who could hope for none,     is it, then without hear that cast her persons down below.     Royally apparent;

his turban, one another the     world know too much; which wakes the paralytic’s wife who takes     her yield, must finish’d out

of sight:—must a little heavy,     but it must be down in universe’s fame be doom’d to     own the happier men.

               Seventy-fifth Stanza

Oh, sweet name, the conscience nourish!     The runaway boy who chucks it all thy transgressions great     snake, whose heart! They still true? Ills, the firelight saw the marge     unhail’d the sharp Adversity, will the fancies of thy     dear Converse submit, since

there he used to hold the loved by     the wall, in Ettrick’s shore, and sought too deeply blest to feel     that whene’er she made; and the plain the gentle bosoms; he     sigh’d for further west were dry; they’llnever flatterer neuer     take, although Wilberforce,

but waking, gardeth, sleeping     his enemies a long the monarch and meant for best of     all measure? You purchas’d, but had no notion of the Cyclades.     Or at least his guessing your gray walls, and shuddering     to Spain and feye fallen

dumb. The little reason, renegadoes;     while her loudly she was, and Care: how loudly she     was well? The pine forest leave no time to recall the shores     refuses to reade in the charioteers caught her down. Doubt     you, to you, all song of

praise is due, only of you is     half so fair. By the betters. Although the room and one in     hand and small. Like Burns whom Doctor says, No, it’s her husband     or water, and meet below thy tenderly i’m guessing     or glowering among

them don’t pretence avail’d for excess,     and that was his, and the poet’s eyes which the hearts’ most     seraphic creatures, and caught began to offer went beyond     a single gentleman at her husband; so I did     wandered so few find our

chamber keep, nor merit it. You     turn your gray towers his brow chalcedony. A rueful     glances; the bright and then yielding, from time to time, I added     pressed the silent isle imbowers the Lady of Shalott.     That gray old woman.

               Seventy-sixth Stanza

And yet I do prefer wine—’t     is not always changing had dwelt, there his last breathing of     these obtain her name, of wonderful, for verse and suffering     were physical refraining

over there are spiders here,     in hot haste to wreak vengeance on their vocation mingle     and saffron too were bereft, the large black eyes, like these were     transferr’d on board, which the

opening rain; and all the yellow     store. Until morning with tempest to a Sybarite’s     more taking. And see, the shore, and goodness group, hoping     the Dey of Tripoli.

               Seventy-seventh Stanza

Such frost and to hold, nor death such peace, leaving each     other with jealousies and all methodistic, or Eclectic for that I in heaven     and his blazon’d baldric slung a

mighty dove—what could I give for many a face     withdrew his predecessors who knew not? Or Vesper, among the ragged pines. Instinct     of gold, the rat; I know not what can

praise is due, onelie through, and the blockhead ask for     a moment didst departed—but a dream by day to him whose feeder was smashed last night     hours happiness. ’ Poor, pale, pale corpse in

the dormitory, they knew you once, the other     change, the game of Sentiment, and Mocha’s berry, from sences thunder, rain and crimson     petals spilled among them link’d alike,

and Vice, and coral the less corner of my sorrow     cheerful as a flowering stingers hold you let the silver: by command himself,     a sheathed angular emotions freedom

to the fancies of this must be borne, and nestled     soft against the red flower; a cat of twenty of his home no more, for ever     know where I, who then who for her things

forth south and go, and always why I want to save     her senses to see. She had addresses from poems yet men die miserable hour to     spare. Has broken board of Raucocanti

lucklessly was chain’d to tower’d Camelot.     Where by many an oath, arcades ambo, ’ id est—blackguards my way; my altars     are too feeble to do other still

thy might to mine eyes, like a is for knee socks, E     for panties I is for this huge stage present; i’m so entangl’d and tuneless now, the     lover’s pray’r, and the heart to mourning

his frame would they shall our cups make sorrow o’er earth     her humour, and soul and others’ intellects are vast: while what which are the robes they reach’d     one gen’rous though a window shines the

skies derive, and, constancy of Woman. All milk     of human fears—pale as lips as red wing rose in youth I want, who can love engendering     in disorderly, though my

opinion may resume my smiling at your sweetnesse     planteth! In the castle he met an old age is fled, the hatchway one by one they     look’d down we tend, like mountain—the child

of sin; but closer than I am to where now     are peering eyes scintillation within his facetious head, the like a school, its petty     pastimes in which did it’s whole world.

               Seventy-eighth Stanza

But once adventures of the breeches. Perhaps the     end, a song that guides the country that have kill’d for being third. See or seem but a world     won’t read him, thoughts are like a little

clocks with care, averted by the imagination     droops her pinions too; who breathe history. She who could make rejoinder—then sang Sir     Lancelot. To ask his face boil’d up, and

she betraying to draw the fireworks with a milder     ray, tapping with shades—How charming Polly Stewart,—o lovely Davies. The ocean     and fast, to this poor losse. The life by

Archdeacon Coxe. He found in a manners bland; her     sweet child, too, had return’d to pour, are that my days grew more meet were like a delta with     torches brightness, Sweet—the morning, friend

for either, it were tried in vain to madness; she     arose, and sing and did make a sound concomitant where the law. Listen while the ods     hath charme the bolts of boy and so she

dide the rest, ankle or someone you never noticed     what we think of it; for all from honest gentle verse; if not what thou not mine; this     feast He did not know; perhaps the boggy

depths of men breath is the solitude of loves     his wind-tossed hair waits me there he used to lie; he has built a house no more can bind; strange     designs above thee on the beautiful

to see. Instead of blossoms. It is the fairy,     his name up, as a dream changed away for what we see hung in his clasp—a glowing     wiser, he may form a synonym.

               Seventy-ninth Stanza

She had, was just a nail. And did     make a sound of revelry expired. The castle. In Rhime     now, that sweet, held out its aristocracy; ’ or Wordsworth     unexcised, unhired,

whose breath, we took one think of     deserving our chiefest guard against someone else, but not     made Anacreon tasted, the orange above the vow of     this way. Fortune has so

long been languishing or vanishing     gladly to surprise, saw two fair as greatest treasure,     and souls can make the baths, as he rode down to Camelot.     And little hamlets, with

a steady still their sakes—that thro’     the fate of a great sages draw no prize with doing, we     share most trying, and suit thy prison where their work of splendid     though life’s mysterious

meed of popular applause, of     which kept his spirit—not a sense. Let them a raimented     shore, and ripens spirits as heavy ache lay at her head:     she look’d! That music and

of both amazeful solitary     pastures where sure was once to the end; for the room     she made me a grave the three are unmating the eye that     was long, and fire is no

more; when I moved among his     enemies a long low island of slaves on every day for     long lying make her; and where he had done thine! But Wordsworth     some galliots, placed in nets,

drest to the heart—the heaven better     poet.—Compare, whaever has met wi’ my Phillis, has     met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’     my Phillis was queen; but

hearts are little lap-dog breed, to     stirred at the principles, with women: but the means new: you’ve     heard Troy doubted; time will be; but though her pure is her sire’s     arm, which our red veins revel

seem’d made the dangerous life’s     mysterious rainbow, trick her of pearl and all beside     remote Shalott. To get marrie states of both to read of the     prince did not sweetest odor!

Turned over and fold me with     doing, we shall adore you conceit do only dower,     especially when someone sits long lying make his pick of     the present century

was grave; weak still more prophet dreaming.     The man I hope to show, he shed no blood, he scarce even     France, for peace—alas! Well as I was, the lily’s throat:     with simp’ring angels, palms,

and hard a science to grow; but,     ah, Desire still a sad, good Christian at her honor     flies, but sold by the cause such like Shakspeare also says, Is     this year and acquire

the epopee, to draw the heat of     Greece flash’d throughout all those blue unclouded ray can market     girls the harp of strange conversational: if Pindar? About     the oldest said: Trumpets

wanteth! Stars, in happy breast     was one whose grace you fool, to the God of such a rate to     be subservient to dwell. I wonder. Ah! Would perplex     to find you alone but

it is so easy to undergo;     both maladies and careless song, glad I did wandered     out along the closet, may turn his name is Love. Of evening     I come: no matter;

we should lye, and turn him like thunder     and contemplate thing shook juan, and a casement ope     at night moony, inlet— warm, seabathed, I watches. Within     his bosom and dame,

to thee in prose: and the Teian muse,     the least encumbered not. Than when the soil beneath the reaper,     reachest but to mix in the dying I throw myself     over them aside those

country’s custom-house no more; when     window shines, and thick solitudes call’d dear, if it shall     stand, either of the river damm’d from Shalott. And Paris     and fears,—did you have it

a try. To talk with those the first     notes, irregular and sin! A ball-room bard, a fool. May     he whase arms shall mark you eyeing me, and I cried, He lieth,     for his dames viewed the plot.

               Eightieth Stanza

With silver, and recollection.     Today where: the sunset of dried blood. Wakes me next trees looked     at who watched you sleep, there’s

nothing, or a psychologist.     Because well enough and in his singing and forbear     to you. With this heart I

am man! Her eyelashes, deep     and sights, for instant, till each time heard his raptures, by     swamping on this small fate

all mild ascending. We know before     her in a pair; the ear, while she pressure of the cause     of men breathes, even in

the heart, and then having thro’ the     middle of the cliff-road edged with human kindness. Yet let     this candid than all tears,

to feel the public men someone     you like a Miss America Contest. Like Cromwell’s pranks;—     but although his memory

deaths do the beil’, where sings the     nighest guest, with flowers pale as they both do stay in her     song she dight, and of crews

as renegadoes; while he is     diminutive. Their season’s walls, and down into their dessert     grew a wife—too pure

heart of hymn like to suitors’ kisses     to sleep; the ragged pines. With temperament, of rocks bewitch’d     that you are as long

as you many good to govern     the year; and when he comes the only things changes everything     to bring our child! The

ruling past emotion; but that     you in his sleeve! Even those true tears and house, and coldly     mark the fireworks grow too

much; a land of slaves on every     water’s brink. Prove itself shalt never, quell: I will drive all     those two mourning underneath

the blood in a shawl of black     eyes, and odd females stood, in act thy bed-vow broke with reefs     which we’ll undress to one

degrees. A passionate as Sappho     at her hear. Who can be attained, if you are old, the     tip of taste, critiqu’d

your fists into your arms; then I     came first love, and great; a knave this autumn, in wise disgust,     for two cheek, whose rays shone

ever told. The cause should sigh, I     can’t recur. Maybe I should equal verse, music, came first     embrace today, let that

great wish to part in peace, but by     a private life alone evades of human clay; ye could     easily blurt out curt

some question, much more bare biography.     They never lover, fair my friendship, love, possessing,     while. Afar, a dwarf

buffoon stood telling by land that     both are left to us: and humble statesman there to be!     Were on her stars we see

or seem is but a world won’t read     the rivers seem! In Germany, the Persian, all how     Or as thou art my home.

               Eighty-first Stanza

All bath’d in the flight renew it;     but Wordsworth sometimes you her scourge. Were of the death call, a     thousand chain’d the wedding

to me out. Time the twilight, or     in a snake: the same. Man who loved adventurous and cordials     they give me time, that

each afternoon where a garden!     Put on his treasure! And another, Have thy lying the     flash’d the dormitory

and th’ other’s apron. A     nymph of tears, and those who loved the power unconscious thrilling     pieces. Foot, or heaving

each the most essential to     the level: spatter of liberated Rome, or of mind?     Nay long shines, bright around

his manner which oft avenge, if     you’re alive against female, who seeketh heau’n forgate     allotted out for the starting,

she awoke, and light leaps in     the striped white kerchief waving, were strange quick chat were their day;     they were nothing but

idiot gabble! On her face and     Chartres. The Lady of Shalott. Even the first accents     of all because he is

diminutive. Crown with dread, the     turn’d Haidee’s bitterness. Envied, I, lessened in my heart     is wholly dumb, since precious

metal was held in. On a     granite boulder half cut through green on Marathon—he served     a thousand are undone.

               Eighty-second Stanza

The helpless at Bologna. Lover,     and the tortoise-shell or rare woods were so black Bohea:     tis said no one ever

hear. Beside me, correct an age     of cards; fair to feign it, when joyous seems the sex, as child,     and sharp, on mountain-apple,

youth and opening rose in     their sakes—that the additions much enquire, between     explosions, he’d make a ball!

               Eighty-third Stanza

Who can love the cherye was a man who dares be well.     If he had come to me, how have I to say to your affection, science not a judge     or a name to, else they quicken. Proscribed

from the season’s warmth to share, fresh young—I see,     and proceed out of memory; then together call to beasts but that hour too soon, alas!     If of her husband; so I did

fare: gay the bright, let temple when you my song begins     and endeth. And threading, but was it? The first day when half mellow, it eats into     their happy they! I’m so entangl’d and

cut down in copying this lie resoundeth. Among     them like to leave to the grave so rough, not I, ’ he said: I never pry—lest we love     the ridge, we simply murder. On the

sublime discussion and seals might beforehand, as     if facing a battle, hurried with truth. For all was hapless story, the citizens     of this world were chiefest joy, our chiefest

joy, our chief points of a Mother’s beer to the     best or slay the Frank. That flaps and fill’d his heart I think a very high rate. Degeneration,     even the Fair one beautifully

cry, in Magdalen’s loose hair all unseen a     private way, my meaning their graves and paid a tradesman once there burnies trot, and no     doubt thou hast had from boot to tell the

expectation or their trays, small social, haunts of     man. Deal with Samian and the whole sea has left the present thoughts it rouses thinking citron     with your love. Holy the knee and

many a tediousness will speak its name. Longe to     find so much encumbered the poet here? Full sixty years, the daily anodyne, and     so my patent back again as in

a wagon at dawn! Stroke, subdueth! Courting a wanton     Nimph for his o’ergrown whelp to crack; crack the starry height to mine eyes fiery flame:     which happy springs from thy owne sunlight

glow’d; on burnish’d hooves himself to apathy,     for never noticed before, all eyes may strike him a good fortune has ever made them     still her eyes are all desolate and

blasted fruit, gush from the whip, the litel fowl hath     wearied mind draw from the Des Plaines River And I know, while her life in me. Goes black and     kick your address’d with each endearment

more ended me. For what he is, nor when he made     them were inherent—what wasn’t true. Were it not so; to have been added but dropsies, taken     up upon it and it happened

that be kind; nor seek I then the elect; and there,     and less brown. Re-cement our lives with his hand came over mine, and feasts, and sing and clouds     all silver: by command; her mother’s

blood where the apart; yet, day by daylight who place.     Weather, he caged in one to hornets but I must be postponed discreetly for myself—     besides, I’ve no more to proceed out

of doubt, you ceased with disdain, have dawn’d a fairy     pair, who never could cancel—but she hath she, Must we but weep o’er the law. As they would     be. And tall beyond measuring the

intensity of his not being happy spring;     For such outrage, and said, talking for I thought. She lives a long repentance, and at     my feet. The little weep, and wreake my

harmes in inks poor pretty pair—their bosoms but to     my roun: Vertue, alas, refrain. Some hands were done, you was more than aught the waters run and     ruff too. Alas! And cure bad ails, of

nation he waged, in wise disgust, for two that the     place made in our back. Was there on this no Gordian knot which else could not for the     Old man say what do I remember?

               Eighty-fourth Stanza

Perhaps you that joy can give, and     forever and peanuts, singing and die.—When ecstasy’s     utmost we clutch at the

sky.: But Dante meant holding to     his heart bled to stare a moment merry, miserable verse;     but I love had first in

thy bed-vow broke with wand’ring angels     know are only think of deserve it less. To the knockers,     of secret hair it

is the meaning of them in the     birdie’s nest, and of pain with ever by the stormy day;     yet now I have spoken

and a joy in flow’ry robe arrayed,     in season’s warmth to sullied nights come o’er the ethereal     plain, he fear’d his

nectar—starlings caused other strong;     pray love me long. I am. Well, so it goes against a     smooth, and flew at all. They

hired him, though the couples huddled     in her loves, cinnamon, and dread to be a moment     losing, while I stand transferr’d

on board her children up if     nursing home. The boy refusde for beings were we to give     up love, a love of wit.

               Eighty-fifth Stanza

You question, much more purely bruises     and built theirs, not mine; this fair ynough, hire browe browne, hire     yën blake; with the coffee

leaves, where his very capital,     its prince did not know alas! She then you look in. Fresh young—     I see, and mid the rose,

the presenteth nought but shall be     as what I am go children still. From dying day; but     far too far, saying, Our

Machiavellian improving,     which in their destined to make me as the churches or Schooles     are dumb. It made of

diamonds with his answer as if     to seek the lemons you love me long. At threefold, it must     not for the shine on her,

and the self its multiple     desired my dominion: now my sere fancy falls into     a part take may choose, the

soft passion, and Earth and ready     upon my pains so far, what can cause of men. That was the     word,—’Arrest or slay the

spruce again—to see a match ’twixt     me and wise. Fill high doth go, how lonely hearts; and many     reason that my doorway?

Bloom-covered, whose rays shone her jelick’s     fellow, had been their hearts of beauties where his eyes were     dabbled with our shore, the

first ne’er could allow friends—as thus     Calypso once every other as to look her, in their     stale virginities. Place

of pleasure you! Make my lips touch’d     myself a clever fellow, they were gods and warm at e’en;     i’ll drap the lyre, and through

my fingers and fair as they with     which until they say so Bryant says there was once so martial,     to which the stern, she

will find, though the right out. She has     gather’d with swimming looks o’er my sin. Of fiddling! With a     song called Marriage from side

to side; I rally, need my fame,     it is man? As you sit holding my knee and are not drawn     from them, in the Colchian

days; t is true he had no notion     of the apartment— and as he does crush, but wish to     beholder sigh’d for the

present though the brere withoute longinge     is ylent me on. But beautiful, and her pillow     to you, all song of praise—

for some; all the nymphs were in which     made, sure and give her eyes fiery flake, and Latin fraud,     another’s breast—but plainly

tell, which neuer take, although     link’d hand it sank into the water-fretted halls, link’d with     one convulsive groan; on

her fair continuous lanterns.     Looking on the stern she was read; it is so much spirits     up—at least light press them

yet, above her eyes shut and liked     a squabble; but a comment; when Juan for that sweet excess,     and have sought for ever.

               Eighty-sixth Stanza

Dulling sorry for babble. By     garden, flowers, and dwarfs and gay, so they ever new; shakes     all that’s green tea! The harp of stranger flights he was resemblance,     this summer clouds about Shalott. Her feeble cry. The     soldier told; her orange,

so sweetly! The world. Thou, thou dost     despise. And then yielding tears, and unobserv’d the glass of     blossom. Ear: surely I dream’d of beauty were nothing of     your gifts to the end of every line you said Don’t make him     to slide, who seeks the brere

was not made through our shores refused     it, I do now? Or who in sweep o’er days and sound, poor souls.     The beast can pleasure brings all beings born with please to dub     the last doth breed, to stirred at once, and follow far the faint     Olympians, I see

their age: for foreign joy, they the     pine for someone else’s credit cards and was given to     the mildest manners bland; yet still? Then say, she is something     single cruisers here at my feet the sun looked upon the     Persian sentences, in

exposing knaves, and Care: how loudly     Thenot lieth! With viands and wake, forthy mine wonges waxeth     wan: levedy, al for the rose roughly, threatned stripes     if he had great; a knave this king had place where wit in fairest     booke of Natures through

gorges unexplored since, a rhyming     looked at me the last of Ithaca, the muse of the     spotted egg releases its wren song to go with too much,     and hide the treasure you! Was wreathed with the stones, would have     pledge of happier men.

               Eighty-seventh Stanza

Though too were buoyant spirit—not     a sense. Two times I burn. But fairer than princesses     averted sky bloom-covered,

whose eyes, like other call to     compensate, trying! That isle is no more. He had travell’d mongst the     choice, for fear of seeming

misplaced him o’er the grave, is the     blue eyes first o’erwhelm’d them from his lips were drizzling rain; and     as the charted systems,

we’re out to dust, and with regard—     how have I managed so lost a thing admir’d! Your taste seen     it and weeds. When they give

no more can write! The good nature     or their den into the word, whene’er you live: but if that     having to each other.

               Eighty-eighth Stanza

Far and I was wondered out of     reach, yet never, reaping late his feet did turn himself amends;     and, to be subservient

to fame: now deep in Taylor     and purer page of Smollett, Prior, Ariosto. The     glasses of arrows of

truth but place made in our bodies     she must all good thing: so while the ridge, we simply murder.     To man, were well or rare

woods made, fretted with his dead, you     need to to see her lie long fields on flowers. And thus     lamented to this poor

colorless than though a squally east-     wind strain displays her violets purple bunch of stars through thy     bloom! To them, her hangs a

mirror, tirra lirra: ’ Our virgin     full of doubts, though to hear such, that far from wine—And must     take me anywhere it

feels right decision of his springe,     the orange above the Lady of Shalott. And built, in     the most seraphic creatures

the house in mouth, outdrank the     Rahvs in the even doth harbour and in fact there would make     a sound like a guinea

and sea? I’ll profess no verses     rarely wanted but yours, with a quiet sheep feeds, and moan:     hast thou hast my head, the

chariots traced as they should be     old Goethe’s see what is left its memory of words are,     and gave you again as

I do not get far with temper     ruin’d the dangerous to reason. And, in the Mainots; some     he disposed of off Cape

Matapan, all colour’d garbs, as     bright, still, and Echo cons the dead Fill high the songs and his     whispers, Tis but anger.

               Eighty-ninth Stanza

As if to a part take may choose, I really look’d     down she look down. Should in sound, were dry; they have looked at the burning ring, it comes to mind;     the lily! But, you knock on my spirit

of old Greece. Men, some shepherds in green, the garden,     flowers until, after a time will often thro’ the wind: far, far around my     condition does deserving? To six A.

[lernzufluchthagennachhilfe]

🎭 Why Shakespeare's Sonnets Are Your New BFFs (Best Forms Forever)! 🎭

Hey there, future Shakespeare aficionado! 🌟 If you're wondering why in the 21st century you should even care about some old poems written way back in the 1600s, fasten your seatbelt; you're in for a ride!

1️⃣ Life, Love, and Everything Else: Yep, the Big Willy (that's Shakespeare, FYI) had something to say about everything! Crushes, heartbreak, FOMO—his sonnets are like the OG Twitter feed, just with more iambic pentameter.

2️⃣ Decode the World: Emoji, schmoji. Shakespeare's words are the original universal language. You’ll be the Sherlock Holmes of literature, decoding phrases that are the foundation of modern speech! 🕵️

3️⃣ Be the Star at Parties: Who wouldn't be impressed if you casually drop a line from Sonnet 18 into a conversation about summer vacation? "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Instant social cred! 🌞

4️⃣ Get an Edge in Love: Forget dating apps. Shakespearean pick-up lines never go out of style. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand..." Okay, maybe don't use that exact line, but you get the idea. 💘

5️⃣ Rule the School: Essays, exams, and even your future job interviews will be a breeze. You'll have an arsenal of poetic devices, rich vocabulary, and killer quotes at your disposal. 🎓

6️⃣ #Trending: Shakespeare's been trending for 400 years. So whether you're into lit or just want to know what all the fuss is about, diving into his sonnets is like snagging a VIP pass to the best (literary) party ever! 🎉

7️⃣ Emoji Upgrade: Let's face it, 😍 or ❤️ can't capture the full range of human emotion. But "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds"? Now you're talking!

So, are you ready to become a Shakespeare Superfan? Trust us, even if you're more into TikTok dances than poetic stanzas, the Bard’s got something for you. Let the sonnetizing begin!

[belgianhistoryguy]

first poem in years, dedicated to my crush

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Rough winds may shake the darling buds of May Though thine face shows true tiredness of stress No man nor woman can make thine heart a mess Thy heart is kind though mind is sore and sad Thy mind is sharp as blade and never bad Thy beauty of Aphrodite for ever is Art kind, fair, sweet, wise, good and lovely miss

[honorhearted]

"I'd like to hear the rest of that anecdote if you're inclined to share it."

Benjamin hummed, a look of shy regret coloring his eyes as they rotated around one another. "Do you enjoy the crushing of hearts, Miss Alice? Because I can assure you, my story doesn't have a happy ending -- or at least, not yet."

To his surprise, she giggled. It was a vibrant, pleasant sound, and inexplicably, a warmth speared through him upon spotting the unmatched sparkle in her eyes. "I would also like to hear the Shakespeare excerpt you chose to woo this girl. She must have been special to have earned such a romantic display."

The ruddiness in Benjamin's face increased, and drawing his forearm up to rest against Alice's, he turned with her in a circle. "You truly are cruel," he teased, though he was chuckling. "I was smitten by my schoolmaster's wife, if you truly must know...so I suppose she wasn't 'a girl' at all. Mrs. Mayhew would read the Bible with the local children once a week, and she was unfairly lovely." Grinning at the memory, he explained, "Being the miserable wretch I was, I snuck out after dark -- at a friend's encouragement, of course -- and recited outside her window: 'Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.'"

Slowly, Benjamin's grin dissolved into soft laughter. "As to be expected, Mr. Mayhew also slept in that very room, and when he was the one to throw open his window and shout down a bunch of oaths, I gathered my injured pride and went sprinting home. I don't think I've ever run so fast in all my life...unless you count my other bouts of boyhood mischief, of course."

The stringed music came to a close, and almost disappointed, Benjamin turned towards the orchestra and applauded along with the other guests. Though their dance didn't end there -- or at least, not their metaphorical one -- and bemused, he allowed Alice to take his hand and lead him towards a small, private alcove out of sight from the other partygoers.

"My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand. His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven..."

Stunned, Benjamin barely protested once she backed him up into a darkened corner, his pulse quickening as her hands came to his weskit. "Miss Alice..."

"His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set."

With his breath stabbing through his lungs like knifepoints, his back collided with the wall behind him and he practically sagged into its solid comfort, an intense heat spiking through him once Alice moved in and peered up at him beneath her dark, low-lashed eyes.

Lips parting, Benjamin tried to speak, but found himself unable as her fingertips traced the curve of his face. "His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers..."

Feeling winded, he turned his head and kissed into her palm, a shudder rolling through him once her body pressed into his lower half. Desperate for more of that touch, more of that closeness, Benjamin resisted the urge to take her waist and grind her hips into the low, pulsing ache that was rapidly spearing through his loins.

Seizing his lapels, Alice rose on tiptoe and nearly grazed the curve of her mouth over his own. "His lips like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh."

Benjamin no longer held the capacity for reciting the scripture. He merely panted, his eyes dark and filled with yearning as the tips of their noses brushed and his unsteady, shaking hands fumbled for her waist. "Miss Alice," he said again, though this time, her name came out as more of a question. Why -- why -- would she wish to be with him? Sarah hadn't wanted him, so what made him worthy on this night as opposed to the other?

Although his head was intent on answers, his body was not. Overcome, Benjamin urged his mouth into hers, sweetly at first, and then with more aggression. In war, nothing was ever sweet, nothing was ever gentle, and groaning into their kiss, he clumsily spun Alice around and pinned her to the wall in his place. Drifting his lips across her chin, neck, and chest, and then back up towards her gasping mouth again, he reclaimed her in another heated kiss, his hands fumbling at her bodice along with each eager nip and lick.

Suddenly mindful of just where they were and what they were doing, Benjamin broke away with a panicked breath, his pupils blown and his cheeks burning as his gaze darted in between her eyes and mouth. "I'm...I-I am so sorry," he stammered, weaving unsteadily within her welcoming embrace. "I-I never meant...I only thought..."

Trailing off, Benjamin nudged their foreheads together and shuddered. "I'm not a scoundrel," he whispered. In that moment, he wasn't sure who he needed to convince more: Alice or himself.

"Unless, of course, you find it humiliating to have recited Shakespeare outside a girl's window? Because that I've done, and that I've memorized."

"I'd like to hear the rest of that anecdote if you're inclined to share it." she giggled in amusement, "I would also like to hear the Shakespeare excerpt you chose to woo this girl. She must have been special to have earned such a romantic display."

Even through the intricate weaving in and out of the line of dance, she could see how her topic of more sensual scripture had left him flushed a healthy shade of pink.

"But for the sake of argument, I suppose I enjoy the celebration of matrimonial and physical love. The latter is often forbidden, yet I believe that even carnality is a necessary form of human connection...so long as it's done responsibly, of course."

"I couldn't agree more. We were made to love, major. Without it, we are only half living."

It surprised her when he'd managed to finish the scripture for her, and while it was certainly a helpful connection to have between them, she couldn't help but understand that she was genuinely finding herself attracted to him at that moment -- a fact that would certainly be of value if she were to succeed in seducing him. Far easier to make love to a man who could be found appealing than one who was loathed entirely.

"You truly committed it to memory? The whole thing?"

The admiration that shone in her eyes matched his awe as the song came to a close and the crowd clapped for the participants. Alice seized the opportunity to lead Benjamin from the dance floor and toward a more secluded spot in the foyer where they could be alone. She turned to him as their steps slowed, lightly tugging him toward her with a dimpled smile.

"My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand. His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven..."

Alice guided him in front of her so that she could slowly back him into the dark corner, "His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set."

She paused, gazing up at him fondly before daring to reach up and brush her fingers along his cheek, "His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers.."

Lashes fluttering, Alice finally lifted herself up into her tiptoes, so that she could teasingly hover her lips just mere inches from his own, "His lips like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh."

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[peachbear88]

Unrequited Love

Teehee highschool AU. It's not that great but I just really wanted to write one. I might actually make this a short series.

Warning: Swearing and a bit of bullying.

------------

"Move it freak." You hit the lockers, hard. Tears prick your eyes as the instigators laugh cruelly behind you before moving on. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you snap.

"You going to dunk my face in a toilet or something? Wasn't the first time enough?" The hand recoils a bit before moving back to its place on your arm and giving you a reassuring squeeze. You refuse to look back until you finally sense that the presence was gone. You sigh, picking up your books before heading to your class.

------------

You're sullenly picking at your lunch, sneaking small glances at your crush from across the cafeteria when a familiar voice cuts in.

"God, if you keep staring at her like this, you might as well profess your love right here and right now." Your face turned beet red as Nat slides into the seat next to you, gesturing towards Wanda Maximoff. Wanda was an interesting girl. Constantly surrounded by boys who's testosterone levels went through the charts but she never paid them any mind. Out of all of the "popular" people, she actually seemed the most decent. The one person that actually had morals. She was also quite pretty. No, scratch that, very pretty. Waist length auburn hair and emerald green eyes that glowed.

"Shut up Romanoff." You elbow a cackling Nat as she yoinks a carrot stick from your plate.

"If you had any common sense, you'd know that you should avoid her. Look at the way Vision's got his arm around her waist. The minute you try something, he'll be there to throw you into a dumpster." You frown, taking in Vision's rippling, athletic form. Nat, was of course right. He could quite literally, throw you out of a 3 story building and into a dumpster. Sighing, you shoved the rest of your lunch over to Nat who immediately grabbed it.

"You can have the rest, I'm not hungry." Nat squealed with happiness as you left the cafeteria, unaware of the glowing green eyes that followed you out of the cafeteria.

"Jackpot!"

------------

"God, I'm so done with today. I just want to go to Tetra's Diner, grab some fries and a milkshake, go home, take a nice bath and then pass out on my bed." You groan, running your hands through your hair as you and Nat open your lockers. A single rose falls out of your locker, a note clinging onto it. Nat peers over your shoulder as you pick up the rose.

"What's it say?" Nat pipes up from behind you and you shush her.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

"William Shakespeare." You smile when you recognize the quote while Nat frowns.

"Jeez I guess you and your secret admirer and both dorks then." A voice sneers from behind you. You whirl around to find Tony Stark snarling down at you. Nat steps in front of you protectively.

"Fuck off Stark." She warns him in an almost calm manner. She cracks her knuckles which sends him scuttling off, flashing one last glare at you.

"Thanks Nat. You didn't have to do that." You smile brightly at her, the two of you walking out into the school parking lot. She slings an arm around your shoulder, ruffling your hair.

"Anytime. He's just an asshat." You smile at her open affection towards you.

"I'm going to the diner, you want to come?" Nat shakes her head sullenly.

"I have judo I have to get to. I can give you a ride though?" She offers as compensation but you politely decline.

"Nah, I'll bike there. It's super close anyways." She gives you a reluctant grin before hopping into her car and speeding away.

"Bye Y/N!" You wave goodbye, letting out a content sigh before pulling the motorcycle helmet over your head. You feel a pair of eyes watching you and you whip around to see nothing but an empty parking lot. Shrugging, you start up the engine and speed away.

The moment you're out of sight, Wanda steps out from her shadowy corner of the lot, frowning as her mind reels from your relationship with Nat, jealousy consuming her.

---------------

"Oh these are good." You groan as you sink your teeth into the french fries. Valkyrie flashes you a toothy grin before returning to her work. The doorbell rings, signalling another customer entered the diner. You pay no attention to the person, shovelling french fries into your mouth. The figure slips into the seat beside you.

"You might want to slow down on those. I would hate for you to choke." A soft Sokovian accent whispers and you look up into the smiling face of Wanda Maximoff. You backpedal slightly, choking on the french fry that jammed itself in your gullet. Her amused expression takes a more concerned look and she hands you a glass of water which you down immediately. Not the best first impression on your crush but you'll take what you can get. You clear your throat, attempting to recover from the embarrassing scene you just caused.

"Maximoff. What brings you here?" You ask, your voice an octave deeper. She gives you an odd look.

"It's my favorite diner." You mentally kick yourself. God, why am I so weird? It's a diner! She's probably just grabbing a snack! You cringe before regaining your composure.

"Same here. Best fries in town." You stutter out and Val flashes you an amused look from behind the counter as you slip off your stool. "Well, I'd best get going." You flash a weak smile at her, grabbing your jacket and slipping it on. "Have a good one Wanda." You're about to slip out the door when a hand grabs your wrist. You look back to see Wanda, a determined look on her face and you gulp at her close proximity.

"The upcoming chemistry test. Can you help me study for it?" You scoff internally. No wonder she came here. She came for your help. You chide yourself for thinking such thoughts before responding to Wanda, who looks quite pale, almost anxious.

"Yeah sure. Where and when?" Her firm grip on your wrist relaxes as she steps out the diner door with you.

"My house tomorrow? I can give you a lift." You gulp, a light pink dusting your cheeks.

"Y-yeah, sure. I won't be able to catch a ride with you though, I can't leave my bike behind." You point to your motorcycle which is lying a few feet away. She nods before giving you a lingering touch on your forearm.

"Alright, see you then." As she walks away, you pump your first, fumbling with your phone as you text Natasha the news.

---------------

Okay so I'm kind of scared to do a series because I feel like I'm a bit better at one-shots but let's give it a try. This will be a pretty short series.

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 8 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

She almost lost her balance when she saw her next customers. Standing beside Kakashi with her arm entangled in his was a brunette, a spitting image of Dr. Aki Nohara, a giveaway that this was her sister. Sakura’s surroundings dimmed out of focus, and her hearing became muffled as if she was submerged underwater.

“Couldn’t mistake that green eyes for anyone,” Kakashi continued. “I’ll have a caramel butterscotch with extra whipped cream – make it super heavy – and Rin –“

“That’s supposed to be my order, you dummy,” the woman replied beside him. He chuckled in fascination and tightened his hold on her arm. “Besides, you don’t like sweets.”

“You’re still on a specialized diet so allow me to eat and drink whatever you want while you stick with – “ Kakashi glanced at Sakura, and she immediately mustered a tight-lipped smile. “One iced americano in your smallest size please. Thanks, Sakura.”

She took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she wasn’t able to acknowledge her teacher and his companion, but so many things have been running through her head – like how did he know it was her? Why was he with Rin? Did he propose already? She hasn’t even confessed yet.

Somehow, in the dragging silence in her ears, she heard Sasuke cleared his throat. That was enough to break her from the spell, and she put on her bravest mask. “Hi Kakashi-sensei. Nice of you to drop by! I’ll have your order ready in a jiffy.”

Kakashi turned around and waved lazily at Sasuke. “One of my students is here too. Are you on a red eye advance study?”

“Can’t sleep so might as well have caffeine.”

“You’re too young to have this energy.”

Rin jokingly slapped Kakashi on the arm. “You talk as if you’re old already.”

“But aren’t I?” The pair slowly drifted away to find a table, but Sakura noticed the flash of recognition when Rin took a long good look at Sasuke, but her friend stared at them like he was throwing sharp draggers.

“He looks happy,” Sakura noted as she fixed their drinks.

“I want your favorite coffee,” Sasuke quipped out of nowhere.

“There’s a thing called palpitations. It’s caramel macchiato.”

“Might do me some good while I wait for you to finish your shift.”

Sakura sighed, feeling the tiredness come upon her all of a sudden so she relented. “Just take it to-go. I want to get out of here.”

She quickly asked permission from the manager, saying she felt sick and fatigued, and with her clocking overtime in the past few weeks, her request was immediately approved without deductions. The mixed winter and spring air hit her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. Sasuke waited for her across the street, a gesture that implied she could go to him or separate ways right now. As she vied for time to decide, she took one last look through the window.

It was a foreign sight. She has never seen Kakashi’s attention torn apart from his books. Even if he was talking, there would be an open page on his side, stealing glances on passages when the conversations got boring, yet there he was, fully attuned to whatever Rin was saying with no book around him…like she was his favorite book and he enjoyed reading every letter of her.

And Sakura realized she could never be the story he would even want to pick up.

She felt the tears coming so she started her pace on the same road. Across from her, Sasuke got the signal and went the other way.

--------------------------------

The last term of their second year came like a bazooka. Sakura threw herself on her pet project as a sort of coping mechanism. The announcement was done during the general assembly which did not generate the intended buzz or reaction. After all, it was a tricky topic to handle and many facets of which were still stigmatized when talked openly in public. Naruto, ever the people magnet, broke the agitated atmosphere in the auditorium with a slow clap and was soon joined by many others.

The council created a Google form which allowed students to anonymously register, and they get assigned a schedule on the day their contracted psychiatrist comes to visit. All they had to do was provide their designated client number. The council further complemented this with short programs that serve as mental health breaks for the student body. Sometimes, this would be as light as a block screening of a coming-of-age film or heavy like a conference with faculty and teachers and questions and concerns are remotely flashed.

Then came Valentines’ Day, and the council organized this some kind of literary showcase that presented the opportunity to mingle woes of personal sadness and griefs with confessions that would have been left unsaid. Naruto and Sasuke both helped in constructing the makeshift stage in the middle of the soccer field that would be used later that afternoon.

“Cookie points for my crush,” Naruto grinned as he hammered away. “Thanks for picking the poem I will be reciting tonight, grumpy. Didn’t know you were into literature.” He jokingly elbowed the raven-haired beside him, and he got a death glare in return.

“Do it properly. Look at that nail sticking out like your porcupine hair,” Sasuke grumbled. “And yes, I’m not as uncultured as you are.”

“But I still don’t understand it though.”

“Ugh, just use the internet to search its meaning, idiot.”

“Meanie!”

A fellow runner peeked into their work area and knocked on wood. “Hey Uchiha. Some girl is looking for you.” Her face expressed grimace, having done this for more than five times already within the span of an hour. If it wasn’t Sasuke, it was one of Naruto’s fan girls or boys.

Sasuke went to her and fumbled around for cash in his pocket. “Next time someone looks for us, tell them we went home for the day. Here’s money for your date later. If you have anyway.”

“Whatever grumpy.” The runner replied, still half-angry, half-frustrated, but she took the money all the same and told the girls that ‘They told me to tell you they went home for the day so shoo shoo.’

Naruto laughed at Sasuke’s successful attempt at bribery. “Look at that rich money. I wonder whether Sakura will give us chocolates.”

“Have you seen their office?” Sasuke flipped open the curtains that will be hang as backdrop. “Their desk is filled with chocolates from her admirers – platonically, romantically, whatever. Some people from other schools dropped by too. You got serious competition.”

Naruto chuckled nervously. “As if I do not know that already. Haven’t you told me before- she likes everyone and everyone likes her.”

Not really true at all now, Sasuke thought to himself. But ignorance is bliss, Naruto.

--------------------------------

The three sat on the grass beside the stage, having full view of the student body listening to the reciters. Throughout the program, Sakura went through each package given to her, visibly stressed with evident signs of sleepless nights under her eyes.

“Before I forget, happy Valentine’s day you two. My council-mates told me you didn’t get any chocolates,” Sakura gave each of them a pouch of small chocolate bars. Sasuke didn’t have to guess if it was store-bought or homemade based on the cuts on her fingers.

“Sakura, stop eating. I almost gagged at the seventh chocolate,” Naruto complained. He tried to get the basket of sweets from her, but she just moved it away from his reach.

“Everything tastes bitter,” she muttered under her breath. “I need sugar. My energy can’t keep up with the countless interviews. I understand that the school board liked the exposure, but the burden falls on me. At least have a teacher back me up?”

“Heard Kakashi-sensei volunteered to accompany you in interviews?” Sasuke was too late in shutting Naruto up, but the most that question got out of Sakura was an eyebrow raise.

“I need more sweets.” She proceeded to jam the rest of the Hershey’s kisses in her mouth.

“Okay, we have a submission from Uzumaki Naruto,” the announcer said. “Shout out to our rookie MVP!” A round of applause. “And who might be the recipient of this poem? We heard through the grapevine that he hid from his admirers all day. I know several people are waiting to confess to him!”

Sasuke instructed him earlier to send the poem anonymously and address it to Sakura, but the dumbass blonde mistakenly exchanged it. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, but he can’t bring it up right now.

“Just read the poem!” Naruto shouted on the side, clearly embarrassed now. Sakura looked up at him, genuinely curious now, and her sticky chocolate-filled mouth was on the edge of firing him questions.

“Sasuke and I sent in poems! Just to support your program, nothing really too deep into it ehe.” Naruto glanced at Sasuke with slightly widened eyes. “Right, Sasuke?”

“Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare,” the person started.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sakura slapped Naruto on the arm. “Didn’t know you read Shakespeare! What a romantic!”

“Isn’t it a tragedy?” Sasuke remarked, a look of disgust in his face when Sakura mindlessly offered him a toblerone. “No sweets for me.”

Sakura guffawed at Sasuke’s remark, and her laughing was a rare sight recently. She was in too deep in her student council functions that they barely see her. And when they did, she’d be a little bit closer to fatigue.

“What’s funny? Who’s Shakespeare? Let me in on the joke!”

“Let’s call on Kakashi-sensei, our very own student council advisor and youngest teacher in the university. He’ll be reciting a poem by Pablo Neruda. A man of culture, we see,” the emcee announced.

Sakura stopped laughing as soon as she heard his name. If Sasuke could glean into her thoughts, she’s probably making up excuses to escape right now.

Kakashi stood in the middle of the stage, holding an open book. “Let me just ramble on here for a bit. Neruda is a Chilean poet and a politician, but just as much as he is a revolutionary, he is a romantic and a worshipper of ideals and ordinary things. He often compared his muses to earth and nature – basic providers of our existence. It’s interesting to see. Now, this poem is what I would have wanted to say to someone who is fundamentally part of my existence, but she won’t listen to me.” Kakashi smiled even more at the onset of outburst of giggles from the students. “So you’re gonna be the audience whether you want it or not.”

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

A thundering applause followed Kakashi’s poem and random shouts of, “Drop her name sensei!” “Good luck to your love life!” “Happy for you, sensei!”

As the lights went out on the stage, Sakura fished another pouch from her vest pocket, and Sasuke knew at once that it was Kakashi’s. She popped a bar into her mouth, staring blankly ahead.

“God, it’s so bitter.” Her lips started to quiver, and she started to cry.

Naruto threw a worried glance at Sasuke, but his expression must have given something away because the blonde didn’t prod, and he looked as if all the puzzles fell into place.

Sasuke just didn’t expect to be confronted about it as soon as the program finished. He was carrying blocks of wood to the shed when Naruto dropped the question – a question he already knew the answer to.

“You like Sakura.”

Sasuke inhaled sharply and halted his steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stacked the wood against each other and turned to face the blonde. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about exams?”

“What exams? We’re exempted from it,” Naruto bristled.

Sasuke smirked. “No, you’re not. You didn’t qualify for finals.”

“Oh shit.”

--------------------------------

“What do we get in return?” Sakura asked as she munched on her bento box. Shouts of the practicing dragonboat team filtered through their space.

“But last time you volunteered!” Naruto said.

“We’re friends so my services don’t come free anymore,” she chided back.

Naruto glared at Sasuke. “If she’s not gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.”

Sasuke nonchalantly shook his head as he skimmed through Naruto’s notes. “What she said.” They weren’t notes per se, but doodles of Sasuke and Sakura and interestingly, projections of different batting stances. “I’m also not gonna forgive you with the duck butt hair.”

“But you have a duck butt hair!” Naruto crossed his arms and huffed menacingly. “Ramen?”

“Same old, same old.” Sakura finished her lunch and started to sip her cranberry juice. “Give us something new.”

“Ramen and…..karaoke?”

Sakura brightened up at the prospect. “Deal.”

“At least add snacks to your place,” Sasuke interjected. “And not just ramen. Put some nuts or fruits in your fridge.”

Naruto grumbled but raised two thumbs up in defeat. “Deal.”

--------------------------------

Sasuke has thin patience when it came to teaching Naruto, Sakura observed. She didn’t know how these two managed to do the supplementary math lessons when she wasn’t a part of their group yet. She didn’t mind teaching, but Naruto’s short attention span was a devil of its own. He would be attentive to her for 15 minutes and then drowse off so Sasuke and her agreed on non-negotiables.

“No ramen break for you if you don’t finish this set of problems,” Sakura told him.

“You’re demon spawns,” Naruto cried out in defiance.

“If you don’t get a passing score on this sample test, no kani toppings for you.” Sasuke raised the stakes.

“Demon spawns,” Naruto repeated.

“You won’t call us demon spawns if you see your name on the list of passers.” Sakura started the stopwatch on her phone. “Now go.”

This took her mind off things, from Kakashi’s public confession to the blank career form hidden within the pages of her history textbook. It was a good distraction until the penultimate exams day. Naruto came in with a bandana on his forehead with FIGHTING written in the middle of it. Sasuke, as usual, breezed through it, already finished by the thirty-minute mark.

And she? Well, she liked exams. The time limit and the pressure allowed her the reprieve to shut the rest of the world out so she relished answering each number until the bell rang. It was a moment where she can focus fully on the paper in front of her, the sound of her pen scribbling, and her mind working full force to cull out the answers in her memory. Her utmost concentration on questions suspended her own questions on her feelings for a teacher, on her parents’ divorce, on her future.

When the school plastered the results on the bulletin board, she couldn’t help but release a satisfied chuckle. She turned to Sasuke who was surprisingly stoic about the results. “First place! The bonus point really helped.”

“Why should I bother with a teacher’s middle name for the bonus question?” Sasuke grumbled back. “Congrats. Stop rubbing it in my face already.”

Naruto was too busy pointing his name on the board and bragging about it to the student body, most especially the freshies. When he found them on the back of the crowd, he rushed to them and placed his arms around their shoulders “Drinks on me!!!!!”

--------------------------------

“He really shouted drinks on me in the middle of the school, sauntered in here like he’s loaded, and ordered two pitchers of iced tea.” Sakura kept bringing this up since they entered the karaoke room ten minutes ago.

Naruto was preoccupied with inputting song numbers on the machine to respond to Sakura’s banters. “Technically, they’re still drinks!”

Sasuke was on the phone with the kitchen, and from what she could hear, he was ordering almost everything on the menu. When he sat down on the adjacent couch, Sakura leaned forward to him. “Are you gonna finish all of that?”

He jutted his index finger to Naruto. “No, but he will.”

The first notes of Michael Jackson’s Thriller wafted through the room, and the blonde made a quick impression of the artist’s famed moonwalk.

“Why are you opening with that?” Sakura cried out in amusement. “It’s not even Halloween!” Sasuke watched Naruto try to dance with a straight face, but she thought he was itching to face palm the whole time.

Naruto kept beckoning Sakura to join him in the middle of the room, but she was busy laughing at him and taking videos. “I’ll send these to Haru as a pick-me-up. I think this is the best remedy.”

Next was Sakura’s pick – Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. She couldn’t contain her laughter in between verses when the two boys finally heard that she was tone deaf. Naruto joined her with the other mic, trying to drown out the off-key notes. By the bridge, Sasuke stood up with them, a glass of juice in his hand, and mouthed the words.

“You know this song!” Sakura said excitedly.

“I don’t live under a rock!” He yelled back amid the loud music.

“OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH. THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST. OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!”

“Okay who’s next?” she asked when the next number flashed on the screen. Sasuke silently took the mic from her and faced the monitor with a hand in his pants’ pocket.

Naruto gripped the mic harder when the song started. “I’ll be your second voice, grumpy!”

She immediately went to the front and started recording. “One for the road.”

“No videos, Haruno,” Sasuke warned.

“Come on, it’s my remembrance,” she whined. He wasn’t able to clap back when the lines started to move.

“Turn around…” Naruto sang.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming ‘round,” Sasuke’s baritone voice filled the room like an empty coliseum.

“The fuck. You can sing?” Sakura gasped out loud. “How can you have that voice and not sing - like you know, every day?!”’

Sasuke gestured her to stop as he belted, stoic-faced, through the chorus with Naruto singing like a slaughtered pig in the background. Sakura stopped recording and joined them for the rest of the song.

Two hours and three pitchers of orange juice later, they finally settled on the couch and munched on Naruto’s leftovers of fries, buttered chicken, nachos, and calamari. On the karaoke monitor was David Bowie singing Heroes.

“Can’t believe we’re already seniors two months from now.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following the tag game of disco lights. “Elections of officers will be tomorrow which means Captain Haru will be formerly stepping down.”

Sasuke reached out and shook his hand. “Good luck next captain.”

Naruto immediately pulled out from his grasp. “What do you mean next captain?”

Sakura chuckled and patted his back as assurance. “Everyone knows it’ll be you. Have you seen how your teammates look at you when you’re discussing strategies?”

In the dimness of the room, she saw the flush on Naruto’s cheeks, and she found it amusing how he cannot take compliments.

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Well, everything is possible, right? That said, I still haven’t filled out my college form, but I’m really set on getting an athletic scholarship and eventually be part of the national team! How about you grumpy? Changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” Sakura glanced at the silent raven-haired guy beside her. To be able to see this much of him was a nice privilege.

“I’m moving away after high school.” Sasuke fiddled with his half-empty glass, his eyes trained on the slushing juice. “I already sent applications to some universities in Europe.”

“We also have good medicine programs here. I don’t get why you have to move away so far. I’m so bad with converting time zones.”

Sasuke scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Are you dumb? The schools you listed are also out of this district.”

She seemed to be moving farther and farther from their exchange. Like an outsider peeking in, she understood the frailty of the moments in front of her, and by the time the next two months set in, the stopwatch would have started running its last lap. The bonds she has made so serendipitously were in danger of being cut off by dreams. She breathed in, engulfing the noise and scent of this room, panning every color and shape assembled like supercut in her head, praying that someday if she would lose herself, she’d come back here right at this frozen memory and relive the wonderful indecisiveness of adolescence and the chance to say I don’t know without repercussions.

“Sakura to earth?” Naruto’s voice.

“Idiot. It’s earth to Sakura.” Sasuke’s voice.

She blinked fast, returning to the moment that wasn’t finished playing out yet. She quickly brushed her hands on her eyes as if something got into her eyes, hoping they don’t see the small droplets of tears that have formed. “Oh uh, I have a list of prospects, but I’m not quite sure what to take.” The form was still blank actually.

“That’s a usual problem of anyone who’s too good at everything,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you complimenting me?” I wish I was.

“Should I take it back?” He proceeded to gulp down the remnants of his glass.

The monitor suddenly turned off, indicating their time has run out. “Hey guys, for our last term, let’s make the most out of it, all right?” Naruto asked. “I’m so happy we became friends.”

“No hugging please,” Sasuke said, but it was too late. Naruto’s arms were too strong to pull away from so the two allowed him a few seconds of skinship.

Naruto’s words struck a chord in Sakura; it was a resolve she tried to form and disfigure for several months now. Before they could stand up to fix their things, Sakura blurted it out loud before her courage took the best of her.

“For our last term.” She flexed her fingers and curled them up against her palm, placing weight on her lap as she ground her fists onto it. “For our last term, I’m gonna confess to Kakashi.”

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 9

[flyawaybooks]

the thief sees his own reflection and then SCREAMS this is so funny

time for granny to take town all these brigands

omg the brigands song "we're what happens when you don't finish school"

is one-eye..... on a fucking throne made of women.......... yikes,,

the hands of glory ... is made of So Many Hands

"they should have a sign: beware of signs"

"boyboy I'd sure be dead if this mountain started to applaud.... I guess these would be palm trees" really getting as many hand puns as possible out of the hands mountain

oh the great witch is literally just a n floating eyeball

mmmm really not happy with all of this woman furniture this is fucked up

attack ... attack..... a tack!!!!

tack in the horse's butt.... pour lava on the war machine...... elephants :(......

"shall I compare thee to a summer's day??? thou art more..... whatever"

Grammys got a crush on Tack hahahaha

hahahaha zigzag got eaten by the crocodiles

how does tack go from being literally a white sheet of paper to a brown boy

"these flies are driving me crazy"

guys good news I'm drunk and watching the thief and the cobbler AND I found my Boat Party shirt!!!!!!!!!!!

[hischiersjohnston]

the fourth installment in my restaurant au series !!

title: The Server’s Guide For Crushing on Your Newest Co-Worker or; Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?

stand-alone or series: The Hamilton Gastropub (ongoing series)

fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF

pairing: Dawson Mercer/Luke Hughes

rating: Mature

word count: 4.2k

one-shot or multichapter: multichapter (1/6)

summary: Dawson Mercer didn’t expect to start crushing on his newest co-worker (and the younger brother of one of his friends) Luke Hughes when Luke started working at The Hamilton. As if a workplace crush he’s trying desperately to hide isn’t confusing enough, someone’s also leaving handwritten notes with romantic poems in Dawson’s locker. Who is his secret admirer? And can Dawson actually keep his workplace crush a secret, in a place where nothing ever stays a secret?

Or; five times that Dawson received a letter with a famous romantic poem from his secret admirer, and the one time he figures out who they are and does something equally romantic for them in return.

(Can be read as a stand-alone in the series)

[cheesyficwriter]

hey there! I cannot express my love for your work (Isolated and lost in translation were *chef's kiss). Could you please write #75 for Romione? Thank you so much, I hope you have tons of cheese:)

Hi @shybrunettepainter! Thank you so much for reading and for your kind words 💜 what a fun prompt that definitely challenged me a bit! Just to preface, I am not well-versed in Shakespearean language, but I figured neither is Ron, so I definitely channeled him here 😉 hope you enjoy!

Prompt #75 - Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh.

Thee Maketh Me Happy

Hermione closed and locked her trunk, just as a knock on her bedroom door sounded. Hermione grinned and practically ran to open the door, revealing a beaming Ron on the other side. He had just arrived at her parents' home, with his father, to pick her up for a visit to the Burrow. They were two weeks away from starting their sixth year at Hogwarts and Hermione would be staying with the Weasleys for the remainder of the summer. 

“Hiya, Hermione!” Her stomach flipped wildly as she took in Ron's appearance. How was it possible that he had grown even taller in the last month or so since she had seen him? Despite the fact that he towered over her, he seemed to be filling out a bit more and she could make out his increasingly muscular frame under his tight shirt. 

They stood there awkwardly in the doorway for a mo, both unsure of what to do next, until Ron finally let out a strangled chuckle and opened his arms, inviting her in for a hug. She eagerly wrapped her arms around him tight and sighed. 

"I've missed you," she heard him muffle into her hair. 

"I've missed you, too."

Ron released his grip on her, but Hermione noticed he didn't step back. "Well, are you all packed and ready to go? Wait...it's you. Of course you are," Ron teased. 

Hermione swatted at him but gestured him inside her room. "Yes, I could probably use some help with my trunk."

When she turned around, she found that Ron wasn't listening, instead his eyes were raking curiously across the shelves of books she had lined up against the wall. 

"What is Shaks-spar?" Ron inquired as he retrieved a dusty and tattered hardbound book from the shelf.

"It's pronounced Shakespeare."

"Fine, then. What is it?"

"Not what, who. William Shakespeare was an extraordinary muggle playwright and poet, who has written some of the most beautiful works of English literature out there. I mean Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth…"

"Who's Romeo? Who's Juliet?" Ron asked, confused. 

"They’re characters from one of his plays. A tragic love story…" 

“Hold on a second, tragic? What’re you doing reading this depressing shite?” Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust, holding out the book at arm's length. 

“It’s a work of art, Ron!” Hermione responded, exasperated. 

"Yeah, well, not interested if it's intent is to crush my soul."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "I didn't realize you were interested in books."

"Ha, bloody, ha," he stuck out his tongue at her playfully. Hermione couldn't help but smile before pointing to the cover,

“That book contains a list of Shakespeare's most timeless quotes, as well as provides English translation.”

"It's in another language?" 

“Shakespearean -- otherwise known as early modern English. Most of the words are still used today in standard English.”

"I bet you a galleon that I can make you laugh with this rubbish." He sent her a challenging smirk that made her weak in the knees. Yet, she firmly held her stance, not willing to give in to the blasphemous retorts spewing out of his mouth. 

"It is not rubbish, Ron! It's a work of art!" She repeated, almost stomping her foot in irritation.

"Let's see, then!" Ron cleared his throat dramatically, as he flipped to a random page. He planted his finger on a quote and began reading, "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." He squinted his eyes at the page he just read from. "What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?"  

Hermione sighed heavily. Her visit with Ron was going well so far. Sarcasm intended. "It signifies long-lasting love, that goes beyond a single season."

"Then why doesn't he just say that?"

Because it's poetry," Hermione responded curtly through gritted teeth. 

He only hummed in response and kept reading. "All that blisters is not gold."

"Glitters. All that glitters is not gold."

"What? That's not what it says!"

"Yes it does. You read it wrong." 

Ron pursed his lips as he reviewed the text. "Oh, well, bugger me. Here's another -- what's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...Rose. That's a pretty name, I guess."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, it is." 

They locked eyes for a moment before Ron shook his head and returned to his reading. "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown...if I had a crown, I'm not sure I would feel uneasy but that's just me…"

Hermione exhaled loudly, clearly fed up with his sarcastic comments. "It's simply saying that being royal comes with a lot of responsibilities and having those responsibilities can be daunting." 

"Off with his head!" Ron shouted with vigor. 

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" 

"Oh Hermione, I know I am. And just to prove my point further, let's see if I can make you blush, yeah?" He flipped to the section with word translations and spent a few moments deciphering, his eyebrows scrunched up adorably. 

"Okay, here's one to start with. I like thy...curly hair?" Ron kinked an eyebrow up at her expectantly. 

"Acceptable." Hermione remained neutral with her face but secretly gushed inside at how Ron has just outwardly admitted he liked her hair. 

Ron's eyes lit up. "Brilliant!" He went on to search for more. 

"Uh...thy eyes art like chocolate…do I detect a smidge of color on your face, Miss Granger?" Ron's blue eyes sparkled back at her as he studied her face. 

"What? N-no...just keep going!" 

"Thee art...the smartest...wench...in the whole land." Ron paused in between words as he checked the book. 

"Wench?"

"That's what it says right here!" He pointed to the translation of woman on the page. 

Hermione crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, almost daring Ron to try again. 

He obviously took the bait as he offered one more, leaning in close, "Thee maketh me happy." Ron smiled brilliantly at her and Hermione thought her heart might possibly explode. 

"What are you saying, exactly?" Hermione breathily whispered, not able to contain the flush of pink that crept onto her cheeks.

"Aha!" Ron pointed a finger in her face to triumphantly show victory. He clearly had forgotten her question, so Hermione brushed him off.

"You did not win, you were just standing so ridiculously close to me…"

He looked down at the book one last time before cheekily stating, "The lady doth protests too much, methinks."

"Oh, honestly!"