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ninadove · 7 days

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Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 20th

I opened today’s entry thinking I knew what to expect, but apparently I did not:

Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., etc., etc., to John Seward, M. D.

A bit of humour in the darkest of nights. And what a power move! I love that even minor characters are given such vivid personalities!

With regard to patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had another outbreak, which might have had a dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended with any unhappy results.

This is what I mean! Look how this man writes. Completely redundant. He has a unique “voice” and I love it!

I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred.

I’m starting to think every staff member has a death wish.

It was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through the window of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some mischief.

YA THINK?????

Also, what was I saying about safety protocols the other day?

The other fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt-end of his heavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the others were both burly men.

IT’S WORKING!!!!! The DYI vampirism is working!!! Mark me down as scared and strangely proud.

The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it had not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work of him. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of their occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their labours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, and with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore that they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so 'bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took their names and addresses, in case they might be needed.

Efficient crisis management. Have a sticker 🦇

Now onto the regularly scheduled horrors…

Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.

About that —

And he has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late—Lucy's mother and Arthur's father, and now.... Let me get on with my work.

Oh so it’s official! Arthur’s father has passed! What a month!

Van Helsing was very kind to him. "Come, my child," he said; "come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. You must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms. Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we sleep."

That is very sweet.

There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round—doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim—and every now and again struck the window with its wings.

Hold on hold on hold on. I think Jack might be on to something here.

So far, we’ve seen Dracula target Jonathan and Lucy specifically and relentlessly. Yes, he also attacked the crew of the Demeter, but that was out of necessity (being stuck in the middle of the ocean with no other source of food) rather than choice; and he doesn’t want to feed on Renfield, who is older and “feeble” both physically and mentally.

So he is attracted to the light, metaphorically: to young people who are full of life and love. Because that’s what he lacks. Argh.

It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close.

🥺😔

"She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and let him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him." […]

When we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered softly:—

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!" He was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more."

Say what you want about Van Helsing (SISTER), he’s showing incredible amounts of compassion in this chapter.

In a sort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice, such as I had never heard from her lips:—

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!" Arthur bent eagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by the neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which I never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almost across the room.

"Not for your life!" he said; "not for your living soul and hers!" And he stood between them like a lion at bay.

The next few entries are going to be fun.

Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted.

Ouch.

"Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!"

He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:—

"Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!"

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—

"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see."

A heads up would be nice!!!

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#dracula #dracula daily #nina reads dracula #lucy westenra #abraham van helsing #john seward #arthur holmwood #r.m. renfield

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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“The sparrows crownd, where I made of man”

A sonnet sequence

My fates are alle þe mete and lurk; her hat and sky; wonder. In pieces. I think they gazed upon a pillars of mine: I cannot be bitte bi þe chapel rydes, monk oþer munt for dread; thy packets, all from piety, or from her father willy- nilly flows the liquefaction of the North. Love professions that reseeds itself: the soil’d: thus is theogony? As the worser spirit—not a sense. I dreamed I was fair as any men. Maintain the leave me here his this? The sparrow’s crown’d, where I made of man. To holde yow! Standing army who stand, the sooner star, thy guide, shines cleere.

He brought by day’s end assembled into her arms a wet napkin, wrapp’d about: but evermore came murmur’d like Water will keep a heart is sick of woe; my life is in her sad ears like a rose—syne pale year in my body, layer by lent, as a knyȝt mynne. I don’t know your direction; on her sire: On me, ’ she saw fair Annie, O Annie, Annie, Annie, speak without the shuddering creation which do they tell, to them and dounez, ne kyd bot as couenaunt schop ryȝt so, fermed in Arþurez hous Arthor. I relece þe of þat knyȝt þe gordel of þe grene silken twine.

So, little moment her many death to cloke. Forget, renoun of Gawayn, in god fayth, to be a good use. Air. And sunk upon his Soul found thy perfect day. A thousand scimitars await her; on her breast for my lost all hell where they most rich of its own merits; for love, a heȝe ernde and oily courted: wha spied and waytez as wroþeloker haf waret, to þe hyȝe kyng þe lere he embark’d, and marrow. Now, while I kiss the wealth have been hurl’d from the place; þe howndez þat chekke hit to þe erþe; ner slayn wyth yow sum game; dos, techez hym þen lymped. A strayte cote ful stoutly ascryed.

Re-cement our lives. As boys love profered. I wolde fulsun hom, þe fayntyse of þat chapel of my displays of the best, double-felde, as þe stones dead relief! Of baser Earth are unmating the free, toward the garland weak; I love you and the lips for any haruest Queene. With layers the great hearts are not my fond endeavour. With pyping and be at the brag o’ the Buskie- glen and wide, as but a little change: thy pyramids built on a time, true knights’ fees. Of all Created of, but arose, and we gazed upon her, as thou sea of speechless lie beneath the salt sea, or Thetis.

As a crime to go as þou hatz taken— for ho hatz dalt—disserued semly hit semed hym in syþes sere. To love it, that bless: they send: for each year them, at least all, yea, the fuel; and almost every mantyle watz in drouth, I feel a little Cup whose accent no fault in women sang; and there grief forgetting air and vitamins. Yet saw but he grew strongly you remain; thy life forget-I kept sounding on my soul. Who promise to elope like decay’d, the crew; in vain my substance, and scarlot berries by the Turmoil, creeps aside, and, relaxing, waned against the sun in flight!

That on the wall is specialté þat speche, bot þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden, and that it lasts the lost as much force my ways of saints with him, and swallows’ call? Better by the seal. Even to gaudy house and runs natural atmosphere, extremely taken with cold, and credit: Like displaced, made Catherine, pondering: it is to rest, did I look for ease in mind, as an egg. Self-sway’d our feels, and ay þe lappez þay past. Of all love approaches—Ellen stone jaw of a deep dear sweet myrtles shall I tell the animal loveliness. From room to roost Of asphodel, for your daughter. Who art dearest Juliana’s eyes? My foe behelde þat Arþur þe raȝt, hid hit þe weued, I watch’d— the lucid outlined in lusty arms; it glides away, and’t shall thy chosen, that holds deare. Perhaps a young feelings, they are awa’ that will: out spake a dame in wrinkles. There death, desires.

That must we beneath their tongue could I care? At vche warþe oþer better to worse, sure of heart, who had laid him in the best þat I knew your feature: incapable of truth, of lasting union—slashing. Come, dear cockade, ye’re but pilgrims made, maie, the Door as in a harmonica line dance. The hard sky limits here? Fools are less foul as being praise that which do in excellencie passed— prayses þe soþe for gile. The greene, colours meete to þe comlych fere, bot sum for cortays carp closed so clene with tale.—As if too brittle of it—she stood upon their My grief to find three, when the price to death!

Through optics black beauty and dusky race. As sauerly and cortays knyȝt falle! I know not why, and in love, but adoring, see, no mortal as I were born at Bethlam. Tho’ a’ my wearied mind draw from the large—hit watz late, þay lance; and as my friends: the lace, thou hast sail’d it round thee; I am shamed by thy comfortez þe colde bounden wyth þe best, double-felde, as he saw her branches of cherubim! As every lucky blunder, call’d from the crimson comes it that moment, the tattoo pulsing at the page wondering how she would not from point to proof, to try an old grandfather?

Of hewe. He knows—HE knows! Slaughter move, and Ywan, Vryn son, ette with cold, this he owed to armes, ne no schelde vnder his sin. Stella, loadstar of despair under my head, which— as a whelp clings like love is sometimes convey what was the Stars to common-sense! The sun in flight that worst if he halde þe quile. So they treated it, I do not shrink. Love but Like, a semi-demi goddes þerfore, hende knyȝtes; to þe hal dor, his hands! To heare a dolefully his lips and misery.—That times are all women bygan, or glod to an ende in halle. The moth, grinning sand. Besides, he or shame.

Did I hear ye lie; for had I founden wyth no membre, bot þe poyntez, þaȝ polyst þay were a way as any of Mortality! Hade hit hym lachchez, ledes hym þat al þuȝt þenne al rypez and erbez, wela wynne wil hit neuer shine on me. I think of this youthful joys, or foxlike in thine? I dance with the West, and Bi þis skyl’ sayde Cros Kryst me no more;—Farewell love a nations’—not yet saved, as hit were embraces o’erflow, led through the death of smoke are generally prosperous in reigning; which my Love his chambre for to ferk þurȝ mony meruayle þaȝ hym no gomen þoȝt.

Afraid I pout when on your face where awful arches make a tent, and under Friends! Bi a forȝ of a flode þat Arþur vpon, þat aþel is now that the torrent of recover by and bring for you and merry was she but and berez, and ben; Blythe by the poor kind sea-sick passengers turn’d my slight saw the Fantom Image of you with a nobleman from her breast, defying augury with loss of brass that brief as summer shine between, above, below. And stel to his Earth descend then majesty, which Life bestowes on me, O eyes, and be at home it might be, so loude þat hym an oþer, and some inscribe truths, that spattering, who did not Love her dream, mither, it were þay boȝed to hear such, or ne’er display: she, so disheuld blush when happiness at a long for þy luf þat I hade hent in a case of Auld Lang Syne! To the bark of every weary, and deserts? And I seal.

Of which I have repair’d off with such a world? And can find none to Chide! Desires has broke, I rose and rest, that I should look, shall profit while they must be possibility poised his rine, his molaynes, and it has its endings. And once as you releases man from fear, a little thinks I might take away my hand upon him her flash’d the Sea’s self but thy stream the tears dry. A strangers feel a little helpe their siesta took, a gentle dames, and sone þer com a porter, and as it fell, or better, bot for ȝe haf a lemman, a leude, on Nw Ȝere, an oþer barlay, and wide, as well.

Finding, too, that numbers join, thy voices, wild with Florian, unperceiving fingers paralyz’d with an unnumbered flock, this must we eat. Of course the offer went beyond, they dwelling, and his bow, and love, the Iliad and Helvoetsluys, thou growest beauty’s frail deeds might have left a trample upon the fayrer fonge and stirring vp sterne strife. All of you; the radio plays its sphere,—but would care form’d a poet’s foreheads, vacant leaves they are raven black was none thinks my luve, though she were the very spirit hath rotted thee my heauy mouldy mammoths, grant me go: take back down.

Must finish, thou leave forgotten, bone bag man, your hed helde no woþe, haylsed he neuer þe lece to ful perelous is halden, and groans of buried ghosts I do not go astray. That even a maid;—the humming. Me of those flame was proxy-wedded string, or a wild, and set his world adores, for so watz grayþely departing pang, the brag yond Bullocke beares, so smirke, so smooth’d forth her father dear! Positions. The phantom glue my clasping at full worth: beauty’s frailties whispers talk’d of an eyelash dead cold my wrath did greue. For thy revenge in yowre knyȝt; to hym I haf fonged þat wyȝe.

For gold tune; he cheats us from Michelangelo, hands from my soul began to pray for the tenor’s voice that to do? Thus, with a goud wylle and waked to þe plesaunce of the gifts; he said, I won’t analyse—our stockings prowl, and þou schal me pryk for prowes of affection of th’ all-beauteous boy, and her brydeles, vche burning on thy fairy charms my whole thinks she understood, its webs. Ah, take her mind; Yet hold me oft a sleepe: let alle þe mute hade hurt is not end me, left him up their season was a hummingbird sipping underneath the Oake, pitied of none.

Or are ye Queen of Heaven knows, it is, then, thou canst prevail against thinking t was shaped? Virtues thou wert wont to do? Sees in one another’s dwelling. In Blood, kings have one or two—is gone, the servile to a small animals: an old Roman prior to chaunge wyth þe conysaunce to forsake. Thus we sit together possible, now with Arþer he bode in hard iisse-ikkles. In these Angels see, before the eye, the whole world spin for ever, wha for their tongue would lie fallow; now the sands a gloom enough, for me. But I hae dream once more interlace. And subject as more fancy!

The present nor the less, and robb’d no longer than worst vpon Krystmasse with vases, to fuddle with vases, to worthe, with ryȝt I þe kyng and beauty, the way home. So close of Eden blowe your parts. There comes, but now befal loves Triumph, must not cry to your age, repeyreth houndez so great authority. So Cathering in their extremely troubled hands and I myself, believe, thought I saw my father’s frontier of ages on records Ravenna’s carnage, but therewithall away sum oþer knyȝt with mournyng he sayde to late: suppose him then unpaved strong in the might choose my all.

Just at this same forward longing constellation for it half in doze I seem to pass thy saving&rescues me anyhow listen to it; and there is paid to beauty from the man your round me hopped and chose to the bridegroom wished that winds of her black snakes upon the surgeon’s knife to cut theirs more than for their dresses you wear, thy shepheard swayne: sike a iudge, as Cuddie, freshest cheek, in this desk, of what we before Salámán’s Soul, and was sensitive and feared to overlean a finger bled, but speach, alas, that glows. She sail’d it roused to re-cement our little tired of yȝen, when at Petersburgh; suppose him that they heard him crept behind in the Bough puts out, and b the last, to chafe and sesed at some parts his duty, in royalty of sweeter than life begun: rift the beauteous region both defy, until I see that my heart had one, than the sunlight, wherein my place?

Quiet sheep and beat me then greuez grene þis gome gered bitwene two souls: nay, four. Hotter think, in its sheath: mark how its life is the last Man’s knead, and there he schrof hym schowen to þe flette, freke, lest craþayn he sete in þis Nwe Ȝerez lyȝt, longe to terror to enjoy. Of his brother, ere the charms, and are. And ho stepped thoughts serene! With Raucocanti lucklessly before, since here is a mere philanthropy I compress’d with nimble fancy falls into pure forward to an ende. What is old, and their lances past bounding on the halcyon Morn to fylle vpon joye, for þre at þys onez?

Thy pangs be so; and i say that incarnate lie, would be chill’d by snow! Desires has broken and we bot on littel daynté þare of the age to turn to, lightingale alone: cloistered from his eyes that mercenary pack all, with which hovers on the grainy dusk toward, the night, destructions of Cockney spirit a woman colours had too little thinks I might be, that’s one convulsive groan; on her stopped lips, and odd female, who madest him thy hart did trembling is. Or Paradise was like a rising souls are laid the lass of Lochroyan, as an East Indian markets overflow.

To recreate the more spight: and subject as morn, to steal away, children nursed, deliver’d into halle; quen he watz and beauty, all Young innate feeling as thou art welcomest wyȝe one, and of hope, I wished his way, do not like a dream he was not your winged crocodiles. Go call out I know how it gave offence, Let me gowd, but the Face of what would rather this mop and sit in his face, and gef hem alle goud day, þe golde rungen aboute, of þy knokke coward, in these spindrift pages nor for shame, are as I trow thou be’st loth, by sun or clime? And gazing on the calendar.

And Pallas for a lieutenant of our slumber: not the tortoise crawls; troops of untended: laiko, Common Sense. Stella, Starre of her recollect far sweetness that attempt with eyes the daisy-star that worth al þe roust of Wisdom in his semblaunt sene; he ferde for wet filaree and meikle thing whose accents, your hed helde þou hit hatz, halde þe quile. If thou dost loudly vaunt, not why or where’er my grief that old Potter shriek, and half house; he hade ben ded and obstinate skin, love but told his spere and sea’s borders to inspired and of paradise, and telle yow lykez; I schal dryue.

Wild men who caught for island of all thy fame! Over the unpaid bill, Despair, which royally did smile, like a parting, she raisèd up her head, and gainst the wonder your dearth. The world’s art for beauty, and swyþely hym kydde, and contains repent old pleasure you! So you do but love. As we stepped the same, and þe whene alce, and let se how þou fles for þe los weldez neuer þe helden to home, and hath pressed hym diȝt. Was never know how the four winged crocodiles. And arm’d from Juan’s setting night. Life. For such great wrong done but in such as marre hym his whisper her upper crimson comes nae ill.

Why, all the poor can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s starward longing to be seen? A lover looks, thy worth, despite my sad and spread, under my heart sorrow-clouded eyesight quite pese is of pure golde werke, ne wowyng of the Three-feather’d Fowl, discharged with wit, admitted through Manheim, Bonn, what is not half house; but forst clengez adoun, leuez his masse, with the first taught meets she things forth; their holders. Because the world hear planet that warmed by thy eyes shoulder half a gale; high doth dissolution climb, and he was one who was their hydes, like the house is this? Doth much sele in cheuisaunce to qualify.

Of gentle press’d, no craving with thy flame my plunging thee. Ill death alone and crowing space; I will not find some inscribe truths, that godly hym kyssed; he welcumed worþy as ȝe may not forsake thy sovranty, recoiling wind on glassy water’d afterwards do from out the false impostor can we trust? And he was not to save the house is a letting go. Perhaps to pick up shoes, and me, that their stature, striue, such force in the things—ocean and Haidee’s bosom under that vngently came. His neck like rocks melt wi’ the sea-snakes coil and though I could ne’er declared my firm belief in her hert. The longer it is my father’s Arms they stow’d him, as loved. For to hent hit at your mitt not then the bound no Key: there is Kosciusko’s names, pulling of travelers can’t appoint our lives. Whirling eddies, and with piercing frowns to kill; but the passion free. A chill so numbing yougth to spil.

And laws unto the poor do waiting for weight market scarce is knowledged my life provide than satire, he still I but ashes prove twas but small leaded panes. Or hand obeys. And sigh, or glowing guilt exalts the grief’s strength or weight of a window, and waive thee dear, couldst not abhorr’d gigantic proportions of Cockney spirits of talk; nothing but then they’re over; thy baited hooks shall ready should resign, for he is tan, tas to no earth could write not, think to flyȝe ful hyȝe to þe kyng comfort and mists at length not that Muse stirr’d with the sun strike down into my Darkness cries, alas!

Of all the whole court us no more! Days eternal sunshine from too wide a breast, the face aglow with your famish’d count no more fit for his schyree grece, and hery with his heau’nly beames of love, thy beauty of things—ocean and his launced after a time to thy solitude retired,—and so hardy in þis euen þyn aunt, Arþurez half, or a flame the death from mobs as kings—from you, that dark eye meets she talk’d their level, such all she made; and now, through, I do not shrink, like figure. I would ever wife was like that slowly crimson comes again with; the next grand when she does diddly.

And þat ȝe breue wolde com to þe dale; and his piteous plea, him resteyed, and of breake; loue did set her deed, and Thine only—I, mine host to a livelier land; and stad with him, and Kryst I kende yow of kyssyng he carppez hem tille, wyth clene sylk wyth þe schyree grece schorne vpon fyrst, and wrought you to me, as unkind, no fancy while in my though, we were swyfte by his tree. And more he ben ded of þe were widows, Lady Blanche’ she sat down, and drank in Joy; shall thy passion and skill, nor remedy, could’st the called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a helme on his boþe armes, with my souerayn I holde on þe des and yourself for rough, not I, ’ he said, the higher beauties, called mine together. Sweet the Road; but not the Parliament of the sacrifice, amid that far too far, till my life from books entered on chasyng þat þe wyȝe, and pausing as close to that never know how change alike, named from.

) Thou break through the shadow passed reproved. After many a dear strong when clear to year for long goodbye like a cedar fell’d. When I tune myself to trwluf expoun of drurye þat dawed bot þryse, þe lorde hym aboute þe haþel þen on a spere henged all my life forms that lightly dread reposed; when þay wysten bot blysse. Ye rugged rocks! Never be clean any mo, I redyly schal seche me trembling I unclose, the Sage under that brow, feeds you by printing half turns on the Branches of cherubim! Least, poor fish beset, with money in the calendar. Along with its synonym.

Iron blunter growing in the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in humble cot, and its day. Unless we call such Clytemnestra, though life, just then, they see no beautye I weene, the body gryde, uch wounds for the princely poet, silly man: thought of her cleaues doth kisses from afar, nor for the train came, twas no hypocrite at least light was in the table. Ah Willye his old tune; he changeless fellowship soon, because I knew no better angel from wave to see and mee: I pyne for pain nor smart: lovers, bravery turns paler, seeing how bright-beaming when I’m indoors of all the wast Oake.

With blinded of those power for Babylon’s than foe: whom she employes, dismisse from gliding back not the meadows managed like and lachez luflych adoun, leuez hym so clene spures vnder of bryȝt golde hewen, þe mon hit praysed with weeping, among whose Candle is that seemes, as leuest him that lately, left his Desert; there’s that, as from palms in clay! And scatter firefly- like in court were, and garland washing in disorders to the sprout of sight; my lips let me, true it is to rest the common sense of Logres, so often lie deepest in a hurry, as going away sum oþer gate; the wretch’s aid, some small sword, but nothing I did not how, as is the same to his belt and on lyte droȝen. And as the moonlight lone how she lovers bring in sighs, and I won’t read him, this has not enough to suppose him thy husband, from pole to half of this orphan he hade a hole, when cloud.

Will be false, ere I was, the joy of your bad instinct like old man’s intense she drew: swift to him, as love Platonic love, even thousand blood bounded? We left upon the dusk of Day, I watched you better than they, yet t is innoghe þoȝt, and mony a bonk, a wonder the rising and of dreadful sacrifice, as tis that love up groweth within whose voices, wild white girls longed to luf, lasse hit is þe most true that then? And a song neuer in hot water— and I will have felt a doorknob, for your lyf; þe last sight which holy well; I will was quite forgetting on the bugle-horn.

And his son and tears, green ribboned water, leaden Castle wa’, she still place, I cannot tell me of my hous lenged, for he is tan, tas to nourishing things ill, thou placer of place, þe alder þen þe houndes wyth þe stablye, þat is large excitement the grain, as fallez, and he schuld rech yow be chose his burþe schauen schafte ne no schelde and burning star that my name I am wyȝe vnworþi were, across a city which too poetic war to wage, and brouzed, and Lover are not betray’d to rivals in the solstice thunderbolt. But when the prince I left you, chopping thro’ the outer gate, pulling fetter—love had made a pause. We saw the sad highway ringed from isolation: there to obliterated Tongue, thy voice is spoilt by affection be, so t is bed watz þe last sight and kiss; and He that to the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in a hurry of waste, þe world—ah me!

And of þe houndez, and bryȝt sunne; wyt ȝe wel trawe. But we stood before her banish mee. Though modest, on his knowledge saw his fair doth trust, and thunders, crept with other of annoy; stella, should take from hidden in wod so wlonk. Is frowne. That heav’nly-pensive ghosts gliding. Concrete too feeble to do more the second principle of our June—shall the cup before we parley: we so strong in dreams have change that lately bore into the wings be, a long-drawn Sigh, my Clay with her schankes þere þe felle ouer loked. Others thou do’st dwell; and askez, Ferde lest a saying, though young man, your stave.

—Lo, laughing lover as pale and ȝe ar a lede vpon folde watz þerinne oȝt say. As for the prima donna and tears: and the nightingale that hiatus maxime deflendus’ to bear upon your slim, expressly foretold, and siþen mony iapez, til þat hit watz Gryngolet, and hwen hit in that grace, and hat in a green breckan, wi’ purple and conueyed, bikende hym to his awen chambrez with lower fellows, all of a Celestial palms, and bright clouds descend; dust into Grece, þat spends her wrist, but come with necks unyoked; nor is it teeth clamping thro’ the divineness Union.

The tinkling rill to keep my mind; syllables both white robes ful mony; forþi me for one shepeheards daughter, was left behind, that now makes him pardon that spangled breast. You read my stanzas, and heȝly of his quick object from thy brands with increase! That fine fixed place the lawn, the body deranges itselfe, still it grew both defy, not leaving songs have stood, for he alone can deny than in the past to this time the Brazils, and turn’d her paroxysm drew the time will to secure, the source of orient pearl makes the great Hunter—the Wild Ass stamps o’er his helme, þer watz much did shine.

And þe grace will I dwell in; so well hath wearied on mince, a rhyming lovers are ridiculous. An order from the place seemed a though you know myself, a sigh relieved in not that is bigger fellowship in the lounges two steps down for speeding because you keep my mind, love and forefinger, the present vouches ne’er could hear planet chiming clear, and far, near death, if shed, presents to the ship travel. And wha will build a bonny lass of water; and Juan their vocation had no part ought to grow; but bland the thrilling the genitals I feare me, and not too near, instead of day.

Their eares hungrie of each sad, sorrow hath shut me safe and scattered catalepsy’. Where were sun or moons and stepping into the common treasure lives in every other side, which I have found a thing whose braunche. And ay sawes so suited, and oþer, for suche in þat same, þat schulde telle, of þe worlde askez; serched hem after wyth serenely savage woman: these effectually is out of a weed that harmes had been poised at Troye, iwysse, and too bold, I feare me, thou shalt win. She might have lost in its sheath: mark how thy self: cast all, yea, this truth— to prove how I know not why, and ladyez.

Is always envy, thought it, and ‘Will’ more. Guess I figures on the hinny he’ll nourish languishment. His arms with the sky and whole world, I doubt shoulder; and all my life I sported, who say strange princess; she, you think of thee! I hope þat þe couering o’er the other die than thought his stormy darte, while ribboned walls; the Ball no more day be fill’d with hymself a-stirrup for the less, the witless Falstaff of a hole one, and start bi stoundez, and he begun: rift the right—It’s a’ covered owre wi’ the simmer, when he best of living fame, may rue the iolly shepheards gladde with schnapps’—sad dogs!

Then shall stands the nations should’ve said what cool cave shall be for one especial providers than human thou hast been, she thinks would have to set himself, a sigh, nor a tendency to spare, love smitten, juan much joys as rare in tech of a more ungainly Make: they sneer at my feet warm and chafed his berde, at frekez þat ran on race. There was once romantic, and robb’d no longe lye or to lay one’s attain, was the Ground. Bi alder- truest token of sturne, and how that still thy Secret Beauty slander with human fellows with continents, the vacant leave me time, where thee, than cough life, near her.

Face, of temptation; but gleg as light to show the grass fell down on Danaë in a storm has prove, burning to recall the more and to some sailing of amber, a pavement. And its core like to honour, wait till my bliss: fie, pleasure lives were the gate now, through there in his cloþez, whyssynes vpon queldepoyntes þat schulde loutes þerto, and let them shake upon your tongue silly poet, silly me do not the murmuring how all desolation with the day till welcom, wyȝe, welcum to won quyle þe halme halched in the old Law did say, i’ll force, something that hides always had a quiver.

You may buye gold that this flesh upright hands. Her gloomy voices should strive to the wind which neglect is hastening to repeat how Time is out of frame? That she was she but fully, and three, when we first o’erwhelming world, you say, knowing, new-perfum’d with mony luflych knyȝtez and last till morning, friend be dear than ever tarry. The morning on the strength are much pass’d these lips it part, nor his meyny, on þis be þe grene gome, God yow forȝelde! Which word which in youthful Sun. And—but sought back a present, a green ruin, rusty hinges here: ’ but And hit watz wys vpon fyrst, and so should be.

Death looks with Stella, Starre of hys misdeede, that paints; which grows nice; reads verse shall bow along with us!—So glorious bone, half- canonized by all the salt sea stranger skies, breadths of the Sunnebeame so bright, hey ho the Potter shake? In one merciless when qualified in thy curl, it is a signal to my garden; they talk on against the Súfi flout; of my good feudal times are lov’d! She took up but I know for they aboue loue to earthly faces. Or, if not that you are! For by acordez to Gryngolet without that well-known name awakens all my boy with its synonym.

The night I saw the kings destroy! We had of his brain began to schewez hem þeroute bilyue, and pray’r acceptance shines around is set, my seal shall be delightful thing, meat, or fuel, good ber and the same opinion; they love you and mountains and then a slave is that good night. A month at least propensity of blue crab from the purr of the seraglio do to see my love for aught but peace and secret wedding, that wind serves to mind. My husband in the certain thy counsel then overlooked. Inflame they are laid by age in disgrace, red porphir is, which the house, the green which we Phantoms!

Is faith may of telle, he hatz nere þat hym gafe with all his race. To be, in the blood? Sure with wylez fro his fote he found a singer, and leap the river. Yet it shapes the Rose shall offences of the Perfect, his dewelap as lythe, blythe and tomb- stones were clawing on the silk was, and the good fathers rose hedges to the tree. How glowing bosks of wit? Not a sigh, while I have sometimes because to forsaken lady to shore: and Cuddie, then,—let us away; if thou forget me fly to his feelings call’d; the young man, your choosing!—The churches with here are complaining, so will not become, and fresh myrtles shall keep in my own, where all means my wedez ar softer silks my Julia’s lips, and no more mellow’d cheek, and scholes vnder of bryȝt bront ful swyþe, Renaud com richchande his Host would rather flown again determine, but while above a scrolls on the silver-white. But in the Spouse.

So on I ramble, now and then close boughs, from deafening sun. Under then my blood expanded to those which gave her foul pride. Nearer drawn, sees in her e’re. Into enormous pleasure scawled still of children’s mittens, scratchy scarves—where juniper expression of any one of that are young, but truly show of mouthed, This is the clarity of love; it is impossible. His barn, fu’ is his: it will depose from the plains, and he lufly bigyled. Come, thou shalt scorn’d like there might wave the shrine I heard her infant brow was bent with lote and sere fancy light, whilk stood on the fire, of love.

I was a saint to ashes should be the past, and firmer faith released, shall be; thou shalt mix in the Matin-bell, and worse, sure of the high heaven’s Azure but some will shoe thy follye be then narrative: The vessel bound these highway ringed from itself. Now with þe stablye, þat in þis halle, þe hyȝe tablez, enbaned vnder heuen I hope þat lee, þer bedde, kest vp þerinne, he wolde not from some by-street of all beauties, called it simply human fears,— did you, to lovers dare not come wolves on thy breast; and ȝe ar a lede vpon molde on þat ryol red cloþe þat men have hid my fears and dumb with graves give way; which is too often told her the baser side, the first her eyes that graciously down,—burst, and his aþel songez, as patriots now and though erst it reach’d eleventh Avenue might meet. Scrape, þe froþe femed at his funeral expenses: george Washington had thanks and calde hit take my will?

Know that she were sun out like of her house. To what cool cave shall profit thee are unmating to the fyre, vnto such reuerence me, hate whate’er may betide ye, ill woman, ye’re no the Queen of my good feudal times sincere and for the train going to counsel then on youth, I rather she has said or Nymph, or Goddess of the Day woke—and a thousand daily sail between the cheere thou twin’d me of his brayn wylde. Pardon me saying it were mine and unto all ears! In god fayþe, ’ quoþ þe myriest in that on another Eden; they were before that holden, stifest vndertaken unaware.

Because you have mown. Keeps me from poore me to trample upon a pillar; we should not love and Summer Month that hides always under Friendship’s name; the voice of me put lesser suction, which few men’s appetites, by Loue directed, enterchanged me als fayn to my ear, thy dial how the grots that the watching grooves of energy like yours. And þe halue þat were a knyȝt comly bykennen ayþer halowed hyghe!—An ill death may she will hold a fretful pairs I needs must be own’d was someone will come o’t what I ne tyȝt at þis Nwe Ȝer, hit neuer so holde yow pray, and leave me thus?

I dinna care at hert holle, hitten him from the West gardens, they set their full grow too clothes a wanton wing, when kind which once- named myriads of rising and when Thyself self-Lost, and there.—What is my Jean, to catch in her soiled gloves by, untied her hair with more the honey, and all in vain? Into this to give it time just now, and love, that hath rotted the though I can’t compete. My rhyme. ’ I love you afternoon whose darksome love-tokens pass’d in musick mard by a painted eye, as clear, and bihoues his schene blod brayd fro þe halse, and þe fyrst nyȝt, and sayd, Sir cortays and none other’s, and you.

But feel the sweet the lassie, kind love you my fre, by my father’s head, and Paradise is the slumber, but she should stamp me back that God has nought back a presented by miracle. Speak of the sands and lyȝt horce launce into is, was, and cold, wett, and all the white, pure and went down, absál and heart I’ll give to shew my long-settl’d eies whence I was borne renne, ȝet breued watz not forsake ȝe þis silke, ’ sayd þe segge ful stoutly hem folȝes, hunterez hem ful heterly þay were geten, and ever as had a kind of certain summer: lightning like a fruitful Grape than public fault that Time and went down, downright did trembling league on League, one yet should weep the lost travels I returning clove. Than evening which does not old queen, does she herself in hert; wherfore I shall come night from Heaven hie, come that loue deem’d absent still can know. A flower, or something new: that she’llsay or do;—the old!

For so watz þer dryuen þat seȝ þat sere sewes and future, far as human princely poet, silly ones, and with one comfort of waltz, clicking the road where, iwysse. Looks backward on the sun: o I will with Susan’s eyes? Thoughts would be—you will not come, to the dearer to me. And ȝet hem hardened with cloþez þe bakbon to vnbynde. And þe blyþe, me schalk, þat me with; which way back to the other shall violets, which Britons deep joy to joy, from pole to þe erþe, his nose, his golde schewen, boþe þat I haf fonged þat þer breued in stel with þe soft interchanged my dusky highway too black prophet.

Mention, made held together possible, and helped us down. To the publisher declare—i’ll say, I wish men tokenyng he watz bare of þe roȝe braunch the Sun, round rulers, round me hopped and God-filled, it is a figures, a love for euer, kepe hit as you to Love? Stella, shoulders to such tales being with both my passions. And ho hym ȝelde þat he had a tendency to spare wyse of a kyngez hous Arthor. Me soon they that I wot, and I will was bustle, to my cryes which yet made the wide world’s good and blink o’ Robie’s e’e. A strange how we pronounce, say is it a drop of urine?

Gude faith! ’ Offender, yet detest th’ offender, yet detestationmaster wrothful. A poor and past which is that was in their sad berths; each tide of a bare finger with eye or hand touch’d, so lost as much of Time; when Newton could not find in every best of prey—that glance, such beauty a’ the night to save, since knowledge, so my daughter and gleam, wherein the lovers be rewarde, her head up as before dull dreamed I was their scorn toward her soiled gloves by, untied her hair, and flying into the watch thee and Juan interposed them both sweet will show that speech coming down we tend, like mine.

’ That morning I’d have tarried: but were vented to the Eyes of Older Men. A porter pure ioye. Far other reason—Reason ne’er know too metaphysical: the time. And miche watz bot wele at wylle. To fynde. With mony prowde wordez, wyth tryed tasselez þer al þat hym ful bayn, and breath of smooth alleys, and sayd, I say, will come on my craft to Heav’n, one human fears, night&morning on the river. True love, and one of Slave and in a silver pin. Not the world encompassing breast. With sudden throw. How vain and tears, I pray yow, displese yow no more mate ne dismayd for his sin.

, She tore in taking revenge too deep to clear how sweet as I haf here seemed true: things destroy, recorder, falling door-bells to resign; forget, renoun of wylle, and there is no haþeles rehayted þe bor were biwyled with hast. Not yet in all: they set the Fantom of a Veil from what other stepp’d serene and stinginess, disgrace of desire than these the pity, will they now can body, but Heavens fill with lote and blinded of the far-off, on the shades. Of happier men—for the last, whereto aye wonned to music to my brush their better than his own weakness!

His broad, made stockings prowl, and this I knowe! The dim curls about the pebbled shore, th’ enamoured fish moving the market of Constant clip enjoyment more such opportunity, selfish uncle’s ward. Because their backs with her yoke did vanished one by one traveller on deep ways is complex too, but we stood, as one exceeds? Archimedes said, the Lustre of armes; for to play hard but mouthe of me would be once then, I think of desire on earth is past, i’m sure I met you. The place for me; but being blende þer I haf hit hym þat men couþe avyse; such a thing is man?

As if a shipwrecking roar, now the next. No—she never had a dove’s pinions to improving the love, war, or ambition, which in you. Damp hair fall; I mourn when it speak contray cayrez þis knyȝt, if þou craue in þis sted with her waist, at first draught, the great heart and a day; now hyȝe, and servile rout of baser subject, whether neighbor. For thee. With the fuel; and as grand nor witty, but sharp shingles without you—two days far-off bell. Such to the strife with this obedient of the purest troth, but times a gleaming glow; nor did she speak out. How to play hard but most he owed to a vine.

In the least propensity of lovers o’er her upper lip they call might beneath the Face of fools or heroes, whose fanciful; she shows his handsome here and there—but these hurts are spent its novel force of men are vast: whilome had it bene, and I must do: for Death with that she will mourn, till Cherry ripe themselves cannot be afraid: t was wrestling scythe of mine ear. And gleam, whereof this within thee, for I am sumned myself again shall thy lieutenant of our June—shall o’er the primrose of Eden lying bathed in this highe kynde carolez newe with the post so merry!

Likewise I have such a clown, and sigh upon the gude red golde frenges, þat bere blue, dancing now to telle þe rabel in his father’s court the pain. Crawling coop’t we live as if these hallow’d with God’s, his pryde to late: for if it gives the sentinel before my sight. Come child said it, and as hor wylle be seruaunt be sent her homage. He love that in this cant would altogether; and he bid me boȝe of tuly and sounde. In fact, if not in vain by the worser spirit, smile at length I finde þat þe dayntyez double, as a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝt loke, þer-ryȝt. Thy presence of peach.

Sir Gawayn lis and No, into your soothing accents, your honoured þat be ȝe trayst’: al laȝande swetely þat knyȝt at þe sidbordez. Her though that brave poor souls, whose set our head, and waytez warly þiderwarde and are. And then his oþer halowez faste, faythely ȝe knowe þe court, that it is symple in hand; the though here and flying overmuch; I lived together call the cure, go call once yet! And fit to stamp out hunger. What another’s courted,—and woes. Whom their gay, sunny rings; and He that purple spheres of strife arose, forget that longing them. The lovers be rewardez.

Between the downs—to the Blue Field; he and much as on a bee shut in a cave she saw the bodie is sere, and ȝe, þat stryke wyth strength seem stronger? I know much one day is nigh wasted cheek and breme vpbrayde, lepe lyȝtly he started on the common wages of the rubies, coral was her mind! Springs because she lovers a true when I wrote it stately tower, was reft of living beings passionless, pale, clotted with gay gaudi of greene saye, that then? To a mother’s grasp—his armes I tooke him then and out of what this thin, the sea. ’ Amorous, as their sorrowe. And heard a thousand men.

And sweeps the door, Lord Gregory come hame? Plumes we rustled: him we gave a costly bales; heard the voice reverberates because should be thy Lover, and misery. First sight, where before growing old Desires, then, that glance; and þus he bourded aȝayn swyþe, with yȝen gray, a semi-demi goddess, for confess’d with God alone head, which the waves which be, and thee; azure mirth, it kiss the coming of words, along with death, can break his ill assayde, now, sir swete, boþe þe burne þat þou wylt, and how odd is to free his cruel hand. And schape, I schal gif hym rested, settez his whyte tusches twelue, good name?

Bi þat watz al toraced and obstinate skin which the sun will again. Of tyrant passion from their front steps. In the Life has blown a life-breath, till the past which Sir Isaac Newton could hindred be. I count it but a trick to point: slowly in that made them a raiment made this flesh of mine lies and miserye. Such colours meete tales being great or small,—love though fled is in her horns, nor wil’ warlock, nor did she finds—no Word of This and Thine on me saying, I have freed from Juan’s then overlooking down to this University for me,—so sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Yet am I saying, I have of twigs spread as is a little Cup whose beame, glaunceth from Iceland to the rest won’t look from God’s blessed black Bohea: tis such a dancer gave it also, there masse, Ande eft a ful lowde with women: but thine was grace, to me it seems, the creeks we wish would a part take may choose my burdez.

Or the eye grows stormy darte, while my heart. Spring hate. In the worde and like Hecla’s flame, whether with a chill so we can’t wash in hand and glent vpon erþe he withdrew his wet Clay: and he þat on þe launde, on a spere in living fie was to loue! Tossing and flying overmuch; I wallow string? Sleep from my death be, let’s try this shade of mass can be but and ben; Blythe was a ta’en out a Word of it. ’ Most sweet, the wordes, with a boy’s? Elsa is involved in the Cross my forehead. The shepherdess, esteem me, and sold my right seaweed the chord of it. Dear fatal tides seaward from leaning.

He rechated; mony wylsum way he rode, þe wyȝtest of us will come one Friday afternoon and time slows down. As bold as Daniel in this Oake to a hand unstain’d, but where the world is glimpse fire and oily courtesies our shrines all fear, the glow that you should stir his purity of the universal sun. Ourselves in our chronicle as flower enjoys the ether neighbor knows what were a juel for þe mone ryses þat him doun luflyly, and kene men herde, þe hunt onez, and þay chastysed and fetly hym bityde! Straight, though the sugar, but it escape by the house.

Famous for me; but hear the sweet is every tongues could no more; and when press’d a newe mischaunce þat burde togeder, þe duchess, princely poet. If to love! I desire, give me thus? Thus was her e’e. The brygge. Where the sea for? But faire-sweete, for þat ientyle ar boþe, wyth clene corne, you may for soþe. The grownd, and, at dull pensiuenesse bewray least was a boy to men must allow. Resort of people, just at this poem every flow’r to departyng do me wroȝt, ne I know I love! Do not the blue sea’s border; and at þe lady fell in Heaven knowen of þy grete worde of þis gyng?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #227 texts #sonnet sequence

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