#Espie yearning hours

[rose-reveries]

Just want to live in a silly little house and do simple easy work that lets me live comfortably and live with someone that I love and they also love me and we are soulmates but we are also both aroace so we just live in perfect queer platonic bliss and I kiss their forehead as we lay in bed watching tv shows

[libidomechanica]

A wobbling pad

And the halter was a time it takes to our hour; but whose name . Thy soul’s eyes and guinea helps the bosom cold, and less; that tempt shall painting so highest wandering about to the castle gate; till each simply black, for thing, he is due, onely air. No man e’er conceit do only born. Yearning pace perch’d my eye I eyed, from thy distracted; madly darte. No more, O Where it came into her to the wind enough! Pass away and have heart. Having grottos, full brown life’s waste the bloom go I! Spread; The One remains which gentle rushes and the little strife, deep is my golden herbs understand—better things prepare. Were danger, I cannot the soule by cunning Time she was frailties, and day-long but sweet maid, hae I often, often come, the ineffable on its bodily tenement. I cease thy meed. ’Tis scarce espied: mid hush’d, and over-spangly lighten this—a laugh me down.

[yumejo]

I have this old lilimana thoughts I always wanted to share but couldn't. I was too shy;;

There's this old Filipino courting tradition called Harana, it's about a man who'd sing underneath a girl's window/balcony at night to court them. I thought it would be cute if Lilia does it to Mana with the rest of Diasomnia as his wingman🩷

this made me so happy!! 😭 thank you for thinking of me and lilimana... it fits them perfectly!! it was really, really sweet; i couldn't help but write myself something..!

lissome fingers sewed stitches into a new outfit, one that grim had implored for, as mana listened to the crepitating fire and the aforementioned beast's snores emitting behind her; the hour well past bedtime.

tap, tap, tap!

mana's concentration was ruptured as a noise resounded throughout the room, her blue eyes trailing to the window and espying a pitch-black bat bonking its precious little head against the pane.

"hm?" startled by the critter, mana dropped her needle and thread and padded over to the window; unlocking the latch and prying the glass apart. "lilia-san?!"

down below the newly repaired balcony was lilia—with the three children he considered family suspended behind his short frame. the sight alone has mana's heart fluttering, hearts emerging from the depths of her eyes.

"did we interrupt your sewing, my little thimble?" lilia inquired, albeit the simper curved on his lips was indubitably unapologetic. "do you think you could spare me a moment of your night? i have a gift for you♪"

mana's gaze shifted over to the diasomnia boys, and how they each retained an instrument in their possession. silver and sebek have various instruments mana remembered seeing in lilia's room before, and malleus has his violin—and that along is enough information for her to surmise what her beloved has planned.

tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, mana sheepishly leaned against the balcony's railing as she smiled down at them, "for you, i do."

and truthfully, she expected the music to be as chaotic as the light music club's performances—but she's pleasantly surprised as malleus' bow begins to slide along the strings, a dulcet sound pulsing through the night air. silver and sebek's instruments gradually begin to coalesce into the soothing melody, highlighting the grace of malleus' playing.

the three of them continue to play, and mana felt lilia's eyes fixated on her; as if observing her reaction, his entity radiating a rhapsody of joy and excitement.

lilia was content knowing she's enjoying herself; that they had enraptured her and monopolized her attention completely.

mana found her breath being thieved from her lungs the moment lilia's guitar pick thrummed with his own strings, and the mellifluous sound of his singing voice echoed afterwards.

"even if your hand, your voice, and your afterimage fade; i am here—please let this message reach you~♪~♪"

finding her legs growing weak, quivering from the white-hot ache imbuing itself in the crevice of her chest, mana rested her weight forward onto the railings further. 'how beautiful...' she thought, overwhelmingly emotional, 'lilia-san, and everyone...'

"for it won't be long before i find you, keep the way home in your eyes; someday everything will return to the way it once was~♪~♪"

those lyrics evoked a tender yearning from within mana, her dewy-eyed expression shining as she kept her own gaze riveted onto how lilia's body swayed.

as the song's culmination came and went, the euphonious tune simmering down into steady, gradual beats, mana clapped and cheered. "that was wonderful-!" she effusively praised, giggling as the boys behind lilia all flushed.

even if she didn't understand the reasonings behind the sudden serenade, mana loved every second of it.

"kufufu, did you enjoy our performance?" lilia called up to her in congruence with a swarm of bats accumulating around him—and in an instant, he was fluttering right beside her; his body nestling down atop the railing as a hand reached out to cup her cheek. "i wanted to surprise you. i learned of this tradition on my many travels; isn't it perfect for showing my love to you?"

an airy laugh overflowed from mana's lips as she nodded her head, agreeing, "it is. why not let me sew you a new outfit next time you wish to show me a song?"

"does that mean you'll accept my affections?" lilia teased her adoringly, the devoted gleam sparkling in his eyes enchanting.

overlaying her hand overtop of his, mana avowed, "always, lilia-san."

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Ok, folks, hear me out: (country) dance scenes in novels and period dramas, particularly 18th/early 19th century, miss so many opportunities.

I mean, some have a certain level of authenticity to be sure and the dancing looks great, but there's so much more to dancing than the aesthetically pleasing coordination of several people.

For starters, there is so much hand-holding involved. And eye-contact. Eye-contact galore. Sometimes end up with a partner you don't really know and have never spoken to, but you just harmonise perfectly on the dance floor. And for authors of couples that aren't straight, there are many figures in which the women and/or men of a set dance among themselves- so your romantic couple of lissome ladies or dashing dukes can absolutely have a moment on the dance floor holding hands, even if the social norms of the day dictate they can't officially dance together as a (romantic) couple.

But, what really gobsmacks me is how those pretty melodies the gentlemen in white stockings and ladies in muslin-dresses always end up dancing to are never named. ...And some titles are just... something else.

Here are some of my favourites:

Imagine some Regency teens huddled close to the DJ (aka the harpsichord/piano-person), asking them to play Hey ding a ding and they don't seem to know it, to which one of the youngsters tries to explain what tune they mean not by humming it, but by singing the melody to the words of "Hey ding a ding" with their friends either enthusiastically joining in, or shrinking back in embarrassment.

Or:

Captain D— has been an odious, wicked fellow all his life, and is definitively extremely interested in the beauteous Miss H—['s fortune]. The only thing is, Miss H wants nothing to do with him, which is why the only dance she condescends to grant him is this one:

...Then perish, Captain D—.

Or:

Consider Miss C— and Miss M—, who really can only see each other in public because otherwise, their families might suspect they're more than just best friends, which in turn would jeopardise their chances on the marriage-market, which of course their fathers aren't particularly keen on- their little girls are supposed to be wealthy countesses one day after all. Not being able to spend time together alone is really, really hard for them, and in her yearning, Miss C— requests the band to play the following for Miss M—, looking at her with long, meaningful glances as they stand next to each other all lined up for the dance:

As the night progresses, Miss M— has hatched a plan; she requests

...and softly whispers "the library" into Miss C—'s ear as they turn past another dancing.

Or:

imagine a couple having a bitter fall-out. Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so had a fight over whether to colour-coordinate their outfits for the evening, which has alas sparked the fire of a dispute as old as their marriage (possibly some decades at this point): Mr. So-and-so never listens (says Mrs. So-and-so), and Mrs. So-and-so never compromises (says Mr. So-and-so). They've ridden the carriage to the party in silence, and as soon as they arrive, they alternate putting in requests:

They're both fully aware what the respective other requested, but as much as they want to be angry with another, they never really can remain so for long, and so, the tune of their requests changes:

Or:

The Duke of W— has espied his lover, the Earl of R— in the crowd. The hour is late, the company is slowly dispersing. As they 'accidentally' brush past each other, the Duke hums the following melody before waiting meaningfully by the garden door, where the shadows of the night shall veil any and all things that may happen there...

I got those gems from Volumes 1-4 of Thompson's Compleat Collection of 200 Favourite Country Dances perform'd at Court, Bath, Tunbridge & all Public Assemblies with proper Figures or Directions to each tune set for the Violin, German-Flute & Hautboy, dating to ca. between 1750 and 1780.

Maybe somebody else would like to take a look at them- be it to bemusedly study titles, try playing one of them, or get inspired for a story of their own...

[perlen-gold]

Tale of a Forest

Prompt: *Freebie* for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: M!Fenhawke

They seek refuge in the embrace of the tree.

The rain, decisive withal light, descended upon them at no notice.

In one moment, the forget-me-not-blue and snowdrop-white sky an exuberant brightness, in another handfuls of ashen-grey clouds were summoned by the wind to befall the lands with astonishing rains.

Fenris espied the riven tree first. Born from one root it stretches its triplet-trunks luxuriously like a three-fingered hand. Above, their crowns reach to rejoice again and, while still bereft of their leafy dress, numberless limbs entwine twistingly as if to warm each other. It stands alone, as if left behind by its comrades.

So they are hurrying towards it with quick steps, their rebounding feet falling lightly on the springy gras spraying larksome drops of rain every which way.

Between the three bough-branched, moss-matted trunks Hawke and Fenris shed their cloaks to put them up. If not drying they would at least provide a woolen canopy fending off most of the hoydenish rain. The wetness is not fancying itself a storm, yet prevents the toilsome start of a fire.

Under this they settle, Hawke leaning against the inner side of one of the three tilted trunks, and soon he reaches for Fenris who is still busy with the arrangements of their makeshift roof, dauntless rain drops tugging at the white strands of his hair, afly now and then in the welling wind. In one well-practiced, fluid motion Fenris sinks down on Hawke’s lap, his arms around his waist.

Thus huddled midst the three-faced tree they listen to the quiet weeping of the skies.

After a while, Hawke reclines his head and smiles, eyes aglitter. “You wish to continue our fight from earlier on?” 

“I did not fight with you,” Fenris answers, “You did not yet know you were wrong.”

Roaring, Hawke throws back his head, his throat resonate with laughter. “They do not know where to go. They are refugees now.” he says after a moment, smiling appreciatively up at the man sitting in his lap, anticipating the game.

“Which did not prevent the man from attacking me with blood magic when we drew closer.” Fenris counters with arid readiness.

“I was assailed by the Templar first.” Hawke retorts slyly.

Fenris’ response is instantaneous and fast: “Whereas the blood mage attacked me behind my back.”

“Of course he did, you cannot expect the poor lad to attack you to your face.” Hawke replies, candid.  

“I was bending down for some badges to help him.” Fenris indignantly snorts.

“Well,” Hawke continues with relishing insolence, “you forgot to shed your murder-face first.”

Slightly Fenris’ eyes narrow, pondering this for a time while leaning back. “He was trying, if only amateurishly, to use my blood, Hawke.”

“Yes, and that is very outrageous,” Hawke concedes in serious graveness, “but the boy was only sixteen and, I think, he was far too afraid to cut his own little finger.”

Fenris grimaces and therefore Hawke, sensing advantage, is quick to plunge on: “Whereas the Templar I was to try and talk out of threatening the poor boy – “

“You mocked her.” Fenris interjects dryly.

“ – whereas the Templar I was trying to jolly along”, Hawke insists, “with her sword nearly hew off my arm.” he ends with a gleeful triumph.

Head slanted, Fenris raises a dark, versatile eyebrow. “The Templar who was about eighty years? At least?”

“She was a very agile eighty-year-old.”

“She,” Fenris dissents with blithe stubbornness, “did not use blood magic.”

“Because she did not know how to. Neither did the boy.” Hawke explains mock-gravely.

“He meant to.  Although I even smiled at him.” invokes Fenris displeased, his eyes an emerald conflagration.

“Baring your teeth at a mage is not smiling, Fenris. It is murder-face.” Then, as though adding an afterthought, Hawke impishly grins. “I, of all people, should know.”

At this the tension shatters and this time it is Fenris’ turn to give a low laugh, Hawke can feel it spiraling in his chest, a plumbless, youthful sound, his chesty voice vibrantly flying up to bead between hundreds of lucent drops of rain.

Gently, Hawke bows his head. Thus, Fenris forehead comes to rest upon his, their breaths mingling.

They listen again for the soft thuds and whispers of the rain.

After a while they kiss. Both hungry and savoring, a tender, silent game of questions and answers of lips. They graze each other’s skin, seek softly for familiar spots, a patch of rough skin, an unfamiliar and late bite, slightly swollen.

A little later Fenris and Hawke talk, dripping clouds lazily passing by, their voices quiet and clear to each other.

Hawke tells Fenris of his mother, the feel of her hard, rounded belly which he touched with young hands as a small boy, of his brother and sister, how they were born in the midnight blue middle of a storm-wrapped night, how he used to play hide-and-seek with tiny Carver and climbed ancient trees with little Bethany, and the fire the two of them once started, unwittingly, in his mother’s prized flower bed.

Hawke tells him stories of his childhood, stories of white-capped mountains which send their frigid howls down into snow-swirling dells in a Ferelden white, of forests so dark and mystical, moss-green and bark-brown, brimming with tales of walking trees and talking wolves hidden between shades of innumerable greens in short summer, every conceivable shade of white in winter. Lands, fields and streams still ruled by chilling winters and long-dead kings.

How did you survive, Fenris asks as the pads of his fingertips trace along the arcs of Hawke’s cheekbones and scrub against the defying black of his beard, in this threatening cold?  What does a frozen sea look like, Hawke?

Hot meals, Fenris, long-burning, flame-red fires from crepitant logs and twigs during long nights, and warm, heavy furs like the wild men wear in the south.

Fenris, in turn, talks then of dense jungles and tangled vegetation, the unmatched feeling of overwhelmingness in opaque, dark, colossal jungles of towering trees, giant green leaves, spear-like sunrays that pierce the otherwise impenetrable green, smoothing darkness. Of tall stone pagodas overrun with twining vines. Of roaring cataract waterfalls amidst lushes of leafy, muggy forest pervading the sight, the sun a remote memory under the eclipsing canopy of virescent leaves, a luminous baldachin shrilly alive with all manner of cries, chatters, chirrups and sundry shrieks. Of a turquoise blue ocean which sheds its color to a cryptic midnight blue after sunset, leaving a taste of salt on skins. Of a stupefying onslaught of water, dripping, drenching, dousing during incessant rains permeating for weeks on end. Inbetween these onrushs the continual dripping of beads on ferns and creepers like a sheet of crystals, mixing up with the pervasive thin layer of sweat on the skin, adding to the moisture in the air. Of the everlasting, impermeable, out-reaching fog veiling warriors of egregious stealth and skill, who harbor but secrets of the origin of the legendary Griffons from the vast mountains tangy with cinnamon and nutmeg, a fragrance that weaves in and out of the luscious greenery of ferns. Here, Fenris pauses. Somewhat lost in reflection, contemplation. As always.

At first, this was difficult for Fenris.

Speaking. Talking. About good things, too. Things worth to remember.

Testing the power of your tongue. Letting your voice fly out of your chest and settle somewhere within another heart.

Letting lose things, of birds and beasts, flowers and thorns, things you are not sure you dare to examine yourself, things that bear both blossoms and poison. Power indwelling and evoked in both. And by letting them lose, that power transfers into the listener.

So Hawke started it. By letting fly small stories. Kirkwall, the first year he lived there, Ferelden, his hometown Lothering. Short tales that grew larger eventually, as Fenris tried, hesitantly, warily, distrustfully the power of his own voice. Hitherto he had spoken, oh yes, words burst forth from within by runaway emotions, unbridled, only to be shackled again and frowned upon afterwards. So, with incredible difficulty, tentatively, cautiously, with a lot of faltering and long considering pauses between words while Hawke listened to him in silence, Fenris tried.

What does a white beach look like, asks Hawke, rubbing Fenris’ arm lightly as his quiet stretches on, how does a warm sea leaping at your naked toes feel like? How does it taste, the moist sky and jungle air?

And Fenris tells Hawke, under the shelter of softly padding rain drops, of ensanguined beaches and mossy ground trembling under the everlasting combat of Tevinter soldiers and Qunari warriors. Fenris tells, his voice clear and quiet, after great consideration, also of Minrathous, a city of marvels and terrors alike. Of how he endured nights of stomach-punching, mind-dulling hunger in a palatial, marble-pillared place brimming with food, of nights filled with the heart-pounding, ceaseless listening for hunting pursuers, of the guilt and pleasure of stolen crumbs of bread over a dead body.

There are stories, yes, stories Fenris does not talk about which Hawke hears in the mute, overpowering echo of his silence. Stories Hawke both fears and yearns for.

Therefore, Hawke talks of his father.

The tickle and scratchiness of his father’s ebony beard under his boyish fingers The way his mouth curved, sagged and arched into infectious grins. The reverberation of his resonating laughter when no one else would laugh but anyone be provoked into it by his quiet smile in a fuliginous hut. . The smell of tender arms. Of his father taking him for walks by hours on end into the winding forests, teaching him magic, pure simple magic, and considerably more.  His father whom Hawke invariably, ineradicably venerated and revered, a man of such kindness and protectiveness that he would help anyone who stumbled across his path. A man of unparalleled strength of will who wielded his magic before Hawke’s admiring boyish eyes with skill unrivaled, a man who seemed not to draw magic from the elements but rather be flooded by it from nature itself, while Fenris’ gaze lingers upon Hawke’s features with a softening, gentle expression whereas Hawke’s voice deliquesces to a throaty hoarseness.

Thus, a forest of stories arises, familiar ones they have shared many times before to one another so that they sound like lullabies from forgotten childhood days to either Fenris or Hawke. A forest grows of stories which they find new aspects to each time they tell the other again, a fresh point of view to ponder, a new silver light in the snow of a cold morning to behold, an almost forgotten, dusty taste to palpate in their mouths. And new stories as well. Stories which they are strangers to themselves until they have finished telling, somewhat scared, their gaze intend and steady upon the other’s face.

Inbetween stories they kiss again, patient and slow and between hushed words, indignant laughter and childlike giggles to find them.

The rain obscuring their sight, they have not seen the sun riding low in the sky and being pulled below the earth, illumined with streaks of light threading their way through the clouds. On the opposite side the moon rises behind the horizon as a vast, unbelievably sublime coin. It is aglow in ember-colored tones.

Meanwhile the rain has stopped, the clouds somehow, somewhen drifted along, revealing a welkin unsullied. Along the branches of the three-fingered tree buds glister lightly with the occasional drop, each heavy with the power of a rainforest’s monsoon, falling with a dead Ferelden king’s immortal might. A pale pink brushes the skies in the early evening, enchanting the horizon into a silky teal flowing into dainty rosy hues, dissolving to mysterious lilacs and, ultimately, velvety cobalt blue, their pastel shades disintegrating into one another.

The rain over, they rise from the embrace of the tree. Hawke tastes the squishy ground first with his boot, the grass springy and spongy underneath him. They bring down the almost soaking cloak which sustained shelter for them all the same.

Albeit smudged with winter dirt, the rain has bestrewn the wet ground with a scatter of shyly budding blossoms. But lying on a green bed of silk, violet crocus flowers wreathe among snowdrops of impeccable ivory and valorous-greened, saffron-yellow daffodils. Once night descends and soars again, hidden birds will begin their songs of time-old tales in every direction despite the cold dawn.

As of yet, Hawke and Fenris listen into the evening air, indicative of battle and fear, fading at last. The barely interrupted fighting has stopped to an exhausted stupor.

The lake from which they ran around midday lies shimmering and serene, struck by spring twilight, its depth wrought in the remembrance of a waning winter, not yet radiant with the lapis blue it will don to bedazzle its entranced surroundings.

With the cease of daylight, the war cries gradually cease too with tired people soon returning to their makeshift camps and jealously guarded camp fires, holding their enemies at bay by the threat of a night ambush, and a sort of weary silence returns to this once tranquil land.

Hawke’s boots squelch and Fenris’ incorrigibly bare feet slap onto the wet grass. Both of them look up to glance not at the spectacular fulgent full moon but westwards.

Behind them, under an unblemished plum-purple firmament, the low horizon would emanate a peach-colored, splendid glow, were it not for the bilious green exuded in the sky above. As both Fenris and Hawke look in its direction, upon their faces is cast a haunting light which throws their features into unfamiliar shapes, rifts and cracks, defacing, distorting them almost into unrecognizability.

Tentatively, Fenris hand touches Hawke’s chest.

“No news from Varric yet.”

Almost absent-mindedly, Hawke’s hand comes to rest on the pocket underneath his armor, too, where a carefully folded, thin package of swiftly-written and often-read letters rests, not speaking at once.

“I would never have believed to say this: No.”

Thoughtful, Fenris looks back at eerie sky. They both appraise it for a while.

This night, although they do not yet know of it, they will spend with rare company, sharing their food and secureness despite Hawke’s being careful of unearthing his name and self. Young and unkempt, a girl of maybe ten years will observe Fenris with curious child’s eyes, after setting fire to a winter-brown scrub, whom he calls witch. She, consequently, proudly informs him when I grow up I will become a witch of the wilds. They thereupon continue staring at each other, she peering, he glaring, till the girl lifts her dirty hands to snatch the apple in mid-air, revealing a gap between her teeth with her grinning at his gift.

For now, however Fenris’ hand easily slides into Hawke’s with well-practiced ease, a modest squeeze tiding through Hawke’s fingers, filling the chill which has descended upon them with warmth, a breathlessness and contentment flaring up inside him, as they set off for the winter-worn, mage-marked, templar-torn, spring-awaiting lake.

Behind them the solitary, three-stemmed tree slowly becomes one with the sinking crocus-purple night, a forest of trees fading with it.

______________________________________________________

😄 Okay, normally I don’t show drafts and I really don’t feel comfortable sharing  things I feel are not only unrevised but still rough, blurred and incomplete BUT I really, really, REALLY wanted to contribute something to this last day of February and @14daysdalovers so I’ve worked through this for the last three days on end and I'm deciding now to simply bury my face in my hands and be done with it! 😆😅🙈

💗 Thank you so much @scharoux for your invariable efforts and considerate kindness! With your help what would have been a disheartening, quarantine-ridden February was transformed into weeks of pleasure, creativity and love! 💗

🌹 THANK YOU!!! 🌹

PS. A million thanks, too, to all those incredible, invisible people who actually bother to read my stuff!!!

[fiddlerontheroofproject]

Happy Pride Month!!!

Instead of working on the script during today’s meeting, we took the opportunity to read some creative works by queer Jewish authors of the past. Included in what we read today were several beautiful poems by Spanish-Portuguese Jewish-American poet, Emma Lazarus. Lazarus is best known for her poem The New Colossus, part of which is inscribed on the base of the statue of liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

Emma Lazarus also wrote queer poetry like the two poems that we’ll be sharing with you today. The first, Dolores, is about her watching her friend sleep and fantasizing about what it would be like to marry her. The second, Assurance, is about her having a romantic encounter with a woman in a dream who reassures her that their time spent together was real. I’ll drop the poems under the cut for anybody who wants to read them out loud or to themselves. Dolores is particularly pleasant to read out loud since it’s written in a beautiful rhyming meter.

Dolores

“A light at her feet and a light at her head, How fast asleep my Dolores lies! Awaken, my love, for to-morrow we wed— Uplift the lids of thy beautiful eyes.

Too soon art thou clad in white, my spouse: Who placed that garland above thy heart Which shall wreathe to-morrow thy bridal brows? How quiet and mute and strange thou art!

And hearest thou not my voice that speaks? And feelest thou not my hot tears flow As I kiss thine eyes and thy lips and thy cheeks? Do they not warm thee, my bride of snow?

Thou knowest no grief, though thy love may weep A phantom smile, with a faint, wan beam, Is fixed on thy features sealed in sleep: Oh tell me the secret bliss of thy dream.

Does it lead to fair meadows with flowering trees, Where thy sister-angels hail thee their own? Was not my love to thee dearer than these? Thine was my world and my heaven in one.

I dare not call thee aloud, nor cry, Thou art so solemn, so rapt in rest, But I will whisper: Dolores, tis I: My heart is breaking within my breast.

Never ere now did I speak thy name, Itself a caress, but the lovelight leapt Into thine eyes with a kindling flame, And a ripple of rose o’er thy soft cheek crept.

But now wilt thou stir not for passion or prayer, And makest no sign of the lips or the eyes, With a nun’s strait band o’er thy bright black hair— Blind to mine anguish and deaf to my cries.

I stand no more in the waxen-lit room: I see thee again as I saw thee that day, In a world of sunshine and springtide bloom, Midst the green and white of the budding May.

Now shadow, now shine, as the branches ope, Flickereth over my love the while: From her sunny eyes gleams the May-time hope, And her pure lips dawn in a wistful smile.

As one who waiteth I see her stand, Who waits though she knows not what nor whom, With a lilac spray in her slim soft hand: All the air is sweet with its spicy bloom.

I knew not her secret, though she held mine: In that golden hour did we each confess; And her low voice murmured, Yea, I am thine, And the large world rang with my happiness.

To-morrow shall be the blessedest day That ever the all-seeing sun espied: Though thou sleep till the morning’s earliest ray, Yet then thou must waken to be my bride.

Yea, waken, my love, for to-morrow we wed: Uplift the lids of thy beautiful eyes. A light at her feet and a light at her head, How fast asleep my Dolores lies!

Assurance

Last night I slept, & when I woke her kiss Still floated on my lips. For we had strayed Together in my dream, through some dim glade, Where the shy moonbeams scarce dared light our bliss. The air was dank with dew, between the trees, The hidden glow-worms kindled & were spent. Cheek pressed to cheek, the cool, the hot night-breeze Mingled our hair, our breath, & came & went, As sporting with our passion. Low & deep, Spake in mine ear her voice:                                                            “And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be asleep? And love be thrall to death? Nay, whatso seem, Have faith dear heart; this is the thing that is!” Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss. Dolores, published in Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine, June 1876

Assurance, published in Emma Lazarus: Selected Poems and Other Writings, 2002

[autolovecraft]

Fairest of all is the secret lore of ocean.

The old captains of the azure sky, and having such carven figures of gods and the air was filled with soft songs under the full moon and dwelt in the phosphorescent depths of ocean.

Of that land, the City of a whiteness greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Fairest of all is the Land of Pleasures Unattained. And the houses, and he seemed to know well, and many are the groves and pastures, bright and beautiful, and they have conquered. Then as I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the crash that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the sea rose lordly terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and they have conquered. At night the deep waters of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the heavens.

In Sona-Nyl is known of men and of many things besides, in the heavens, the crystal headlands, and cities of gold. Blue, green, gray walls, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the celestial bird, we beheld the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and when the wind howled eerily from the South it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically.

In my mind I would say to myself, is the Land of Fancy, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. And the floor of the ages. And I have read more of these things which were not men.

All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and my father told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but I heeded him not; for from the templed terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and chilled me as I crouched on the far horizon ahead the titanic spray of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. And the floor of the West. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the West, but ever would the bearded man left the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness. And whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would glide very smoothly and silently over the sea was rough or calm, and their pavements also are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and sounding mine own praises; the praises of me, This is Xura, the land of Zar, where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come from the templed terraces of Zar, we beheld not the Land of Hope, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song.

Out of the ways beneath. Out of the great monarch Dorieb, and with the memories and the hours were filled with soft songs under the full moon one night in the long autumn evenings when the moon shone full and high in the Land of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the happy folk, of a Thousand Wonders, wherein the oceans of the ways beneath. And on the distant thunder of falling waters, and felt the first stirrings of unrest. Fairest of all is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the rocks, and saw that the White Ship.

Into Thalarion, and I know it well. Far from the templed terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky the spires of a whiteness greater than any I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the North Point light that my father, and many are the houses, and as I crouched on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. This is Xura, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned.

In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, I would often picture the unknown Land of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. And the bearded man said to me in the later watches of the seven seas. This is Xura, the land of Zar, we beheld not the Land of Hope, and the mist lifted, we beheld not the Land of Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the cities of Cathuria are all palaces, and their pavements also are of gold. In Sona-Nyl. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the full moon and dwelt in the immemorial year of Tharp that I dwelt for many aeons.

This is Thalarion, the land of unnumbered cities of Cathuria with its splendid groves and pastures, bright and beautiful, and in the phosphorescent depths of ocean.

So the White Ship on a bridge of moonbeams. In the days of my father not so many aeons ago. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and as I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the crash that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the wave-tips or of the palace of Dorieb, and sounding mine own praises; the visions of young poets who died in want before the crash that I dwelt there I dwelt for many aeons. And the houses of the West, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the singer and the streets are white with the bearded man, bearded and robed, and of things which in turn he told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but watched me as I heard the shrieking of men and the lore of books is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the happy harbor for untraveled seas. I dwelt for many aeons ago. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and we walked to the White Ship sailed silently away from the grotto-born river Narg. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and chilled me as I glanced out over the city. Its forests are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and in the immemorial year of Tharp that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as of the West, but watched me as I heard the shrieking of men and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. So the White Ship used to come when the tide is high. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I would say to myself, is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams.

But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of the singer and the hours were filled with wonder. Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the music ceased and the air was filled with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the sloping meadows of Zar, we beheld the green shore the bearded man warn me to turn back, but who can tell what lies beyond the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and whether the sea. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber.

In Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and now there are so few that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. And as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun.

Green are the groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the torrent. I were the last man on our planet. Out of that land there is no bound, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. At night the streets and the air was filled with soft songs of Sona-Nyl; for from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I saw that the city was greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. And the cities of gold. It was against the full moon. Nevertheless at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the living Olympus. But the bearded man told me of that land, the City of a whiteness greater than any I had known or dreamed of before. And when the wind was friendly or adverse, it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and ever did he beckon me to turn back to the White Ship, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the sea was rough or calm, and with the reluctant bearded man again implored me to turn back, but ever would the bearded man to land me at the next full moon I boarded the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, and saw that the light had failed for the first time since my grandfather there were many things I had left it at the next full moon. But the bearded man spoke no word, but I heeded him not; for Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and though many times since has the moon shone full and high in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. The old captains of the cities as blissful gods view them from the full moon one night in the harbor of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for beyond each vista of beauty that come from the South came never again. And when the moon shine on the night I espied upon the terraces again I saw that the city. Over the countryside and amidst the splendor of the sun and enhances the splendor of the azure sky, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. Nevertheless at the next full moon I boarded the White Ship. And when the tide is high.

Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are; for Sona-Nyl, and chilled me as I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed.

Then I spoke with the reluctant bearded man, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the South it was that the city.

[libidomechanica]

“That, it is like wool”

A sonnet sequence

                And strong, it hastily, and revisions and revisions of eternal rest! And blocked doors to one deep solitudes and denisen’d wit do sing; you that are so cold, that sentence. Pain, yearning, not a Sage of the evening, lingered species, huddled in snow: arise from the light stretch of mud and brown? But when I resemble her the head. A Greek’s ear, speaking sense. And now, O sire, grant me your train across the moon. They cried, if Lucy hould be. That, it is like wool.

                Of zero. When sparkle and are fair: to dance to lutes is delicate and bare straight grow sad. Cause of angelic kind, some emanation of low-thought buried age; when I’m old of its country in my eyes show so yellow smoke like Alexis’ ashtray; there willing flames resign; forget, renounce my roving hand of gentle as freedom by. And nuances spoken with myself I’ll forfeited? Poets fury tell, some do the sough and found him as a beast is half-said.

                Along the best man and take the hangman, with the puppet of a cure that wastes, and discernable wallowing, dwelt full on that like the stock from Sunne, though, if I could have known! For oak and elm have I answered them did knead, which, though I have one glance, but stream and adulterate fruit might put the Judaic ground is buoyant as they wounds. To bleed and me. He does not what I need not think of the moon. Alas, no mirth, pleasure theory afternoon hours do, and drank his quick beat: come, all silent seas. The eye is the white neck was rosed moon in a still on stilts of Fear the yoke, I wish it gentle as freedom by. Of smoke that I am thinking moon. Pleasures which is many wishes flaming together.

                By your assumptions about Judas come into treasures prove, that once, or the Lord, and look up my burden I bear, and frantic-mad with those amongst the sky! And gleams of promise tied, on horsebacke met him enter too. Foul demons that pray’rs I try, o pious fraud of am’rous charity! And each other, fluid, affections ever ev’n, tears that quiver of his mourner will; she wound, and Paradise; and that same fruit might put that fix you in compassing. Then how should look at the stroke of eight: each helped us at our night, but day doth daily draw the shard, the morning away from happy I hae been—down by yon streams that are broken: let him our sad, our tenderness. My horse moved him off to thee.

                The hangman with my wretched man, and there was still grow a night I came I danced in mine, to this dungeon darkens ev’ry green, pregnant of the pull of days in one soft word and rare flowering leaves linnet’s pipe as sad as plover’s cry, and thoughts, new grown a bulk of spanless girth, that some when she learn’d but surety-like to the rest. And in the face of god look deep in my eye, while the burning winding- sheet he lies, with the pale marble shall feel em most. It have you, love.

                My sparke of comforting her body making a famine where I find the degrading details I haven’t unlearned to me, say one kind graves and still usher’d with leaves of midnight here. The lamps grew pale: heav’n scarce espied: mid hush’d, cool- rooted in it, had a mother, husbandry in honour, wait till tis not the eyes that I say; I stretch of mud and bright meet in her eyes: and withal she rather took the airplanes. You wish you coming end you here this sort of trifling?

                A pin, when you have offer which stupified them to me at these antics were the rough oceans roll! Burn, or drown me, choose ye whether, fierce bubbles of life, the lamps grew more lovely Rose,—tell her the child; her hair was lying soul employ, far off everybody loved Chick Lorimer went. We were left of the Assembly of the lever was an hour at the things, the white limb of a birch through the cold and becoming the women, and snicker, and had our wine, in autumn.

                Before me like home. Am I failing? Sugar, my pain I could not her Step! Love on a gold-haired lady’s wrist too much love knows nought of Summer from despair, resent, regret, conceal, disdain—do all the morning, sir, find out thy bed of crimson joy: and then these antics were that healthful anodyne; with traveling show, or I shall feel em most. It will come and bawled the unknown world. And each brain on hands that each maid that will lean in too soon; as yet than alive less bird, brooding. Yet so it seemed, or someone always than one must die before me like that I speake doth fall; these pleasant pain, and make him. And seemed light and gay, but I can’t open it: there we lay? But Ida spoke not, my heart to mourn for me!

                My lips touch’d, but your Highness breaks, in a suit of our only visible worm, that which I shall ever be my love, you and me, should I begin less never saw sad men who looked so wise methinks were held in gyves, and cold, cold earth for they fled with bugs me as stubborn as insomnia. And me the Herald came like this steel temper? And no whit less. She saw the grot, with which may covering the taking in a nest was vowel-keen and cleanse Thy Bosom of Material Form, and wake. Nay, weights, a horror of his owne hurt themselves. What does it with which is many wishes to gold i’ll wrap it round some men can claim: deep down behind me when the evensong; and, as if she ranked my gift of a corpse!

                Descending, burst the women stared at the arms already with a cardboard guitar, a map of the pilgrim bore bloom in prisoner’s plate …. And think of this wave of black and perish beside me doesn’t care about my ribs, and, puffing, proues that man’s face and skill, your naive ties, thy words, relieve the stones, My Empirie, how oft had I Heav’n; dispute. Oh happy we have him quiet, my faith rewards my love, sometime to go outside, and flimmering sky with formal pace and juicy.

                Whose piteous haste to put a kiss? Our tragedy, is it then brake out my ribs, and, puffing, proues that flows from it hastily, and tea. That you in my sight. The small hands when they’re nothings I overlooked, and stronger? That is not waken’d minds quick object. So yellow-green, and sighs most fearful things are the day return in happy pieties, the rest …. Did see its hopes are blest. As fancies like in words your way of heav’n: but such pain tortured me, enchain! Who sees her, must die.

                Your lips just as eager or as meek, your heave their present-absent with such glee: to men who looked upon the Cross my eye-balls roll, and shuns to have been at by the great wisdom, I shall not have been dreams my erring soul!—La belle Dame sans merci hath the clicking coat, my collar take his sightless bigger than forgiv’n, here all us colored boys. One who lie in the skies; and in shop windows shed divine perfume from the future, crowned the unfamiliar bloom in Mrs.

                To sing my Highland lassie, O. He does not rise in me. Pheromones, newly born, were fix’d, but rapt; not walk by night, and sank and, into your face I have seen the secret deed. Is humming a tune I have fallen: the more Alexis smokes, the gallows’ need: so with new- borne sighes and fall dreaming. The brethren here in our lives? From which we are free, more by the stair, with a singing in me understand how one could raise, and turn the listening; after the number zero.

                Coming home. Came Psyche true!—If one, settling rowes; you that day could not know what to their jingled, while my crimson currents flow, and follow not why. Joy into the centre of Spring opens touching steed, and no whit less. In a tremble too, where there is iron in the tomb bestrew wherein my love inspiration. The richest in bounty and Rigour are both were about me: my serenity— that mirror, not from me, not from it has a pall, this steel temper?

                Warm from soul to Spirit all possessing the tress, and when you mount, you beside the stones i’ th’ bed of strawberries. To love, disdain, have their arms and leaving only things … and is set, my seal shall growing. Who turned the better become but soone a night and gay; but I never prayer. Beam for roof and floor, and from out my ribs, and, puffing, proues that breast: ev’n thou art more low, mounting Chick? Thou wilt restore, to be happy where I’ve been worth the pieces down to the sky.

                Her tears that passed to the evenings, morning; if these antics were that in the wind: far, far as pole from pole; rise Alps between us. Train a minutes crawl: o moaning wind! Bending moon too bright, when down below a prison wall was strong, it hastily, and a contrite hearts I knew. Each face vnarmed marcht, either Sun nor Moon. From out His care: their heau’n did moue, they would lie outside swells with new stings! His hair is growin’ yet. Needs must never came; the moss, and hospitality.

                Two times uncertain half-deserted street by far, go thou art bright and dost him grew tall as a figures do us both, two outcast men were wet world, by that tender heir might have been arraigned, chafes at his plan and that have been knows now where on his face, and I lost my ways of Lady Blanche at distant refrain because of this dungeons may call, and damning thin! With us, and in, from thee. Jenny kissed me again: they cried, The world is wide night things are the all of me.

                Them a’, my bonie laddie’s young, and so laid the room. I have no scent behind the same loving and said You suicide bitch! You love not how, but she is full star to such an one, the bright to pay. Take the stationmaster wrothful. Or how did Judas was no grave and bells, and each other, you’ve been known them all: not Caesar’s empress would sooner fight the lake, and gibe the pomp of dreadful things in the fiends, and pray’d, love’s hallow’d taper tremble round her trunk. Now, hearing not I heare of prisoners call the sense of this we gave that will let the way, just a thick with that under truest bars to lose. And the painting hope, when body’s work’s expired: for the sunset. I never saw a man who has not attain’d his noon.

                Unholy joy: when a fool’s eye light wings, after tea and cause enough, and waft a sigh: the man she saw three bonie laddie’s young, but effectually is out; for it no form deliverers, and dawning mourner will wine-red rose would lie down, sir. But high upon him, like the stones, we turn the Mighty Hand that held them went the enamour’d let me pour forth my tears mix’d thy Dust inscribed the rich light brown hair! The thought woman in too soon, yet, we’ll churn. Yet now past time I can tell you from the gallows’ need: so with cracked, my flashy acrobatics with which only was my call, and wavering fled from the child in me under the accident, I told him his sentence, but clamouring on, till Christ enter in?

                —Within the shepherds feed there is the Southern balm breathe and love doth with iniurie: who since now I love, tender embassy of love was long decease, his hair black and death and bonie castle-green; for that stand so nigh. Then will was stand: they marked it at my feet the cloud, so sorrowfully sings a bird of Paradise; and the plain roofs as piety could raise, and turn the cost of outworn buried age; when sparkle and sunly and moved through narrow cell in prae-digestive calm.

                To sing my Highland lassie, O. I may remember you with my rage until we cease to dominate with one man might; silence let him enter too. You and me. The common men with the repulsion of my darling, now, proving speech, or blush, at least thy flame, when loud Hosannas rise, startled soul to pain between us! And the night were the Thief to Paraclete’s white brow to frost or snow. Had caught in one common, common men with their presence to murderer’s heart as blithe and well-a-day! The rich light to grasp. You take of my arms like or white faces that shadow-like to thee. And why the Earth in which starts and mine only things as were she kissed my beautiful and put it is battered limbs go lame!

                Or laces, or a travelers through it had been worth while, after the cords with each bright clouds of falsehood, in sure wards of cowslips bind him, and the dying gales that all the wreath’d in sight, the Count your slight in we went, within my Lucia but a kiss whirls me to murdered in your crime. My thought can wake at dawn to her I say: is that putative spot exists in thee; fruits of painted on the sea, the dark hour, when he drew her robe to me befell. This husbandry in honour!

                ” I come, Shame, burn to life, you less. Cold even now in Eden with the yearned to mince the hand, which kills outright is that art not, thought can walked, for blood he clear round the taxing rocks. Inspired and me: he pays the white fish on thornes; so many noises and can with you are out; but how contentedly, and strike this step seemed to reel, and this last arctic blast has slain my falls to grow old … I shall strike things that dullard fit? Oh veil thine Eyes from its heart be press’d to marriage.

                Cast all, yea, this wide, looking at the rich light and gave his pall. She is full, possessing, or worth! Humble grief forget long since I’m free, ah! Disgrace, so pierc’d, so lost as mine. See from a dress with kisses to outnumber nor altar for fool and knife. Alas, no mirth, pleasures may thy mother, and the same. In all yours, it isn’t it to believe the lakes that to my thought they be leap, beyond this love’s loving hands and the green, a fellow’s got to swing. Shall I, unsustained, flares like a shotgun. The stone is that be. Sun. Love thou have one glass eye. And the gardens standing thoughts that quiver of love it, that all the day return into the house your madness unforgiven, and they slander so! They will not free.

                Madam, you this seed, this sort of the raging seas, over seas at rest, pass these men are hard, in prison- cell or yard, and withal: so three little else. Trailed himself should prepar’d with an easy tool, deferential, glad though you know’st how guiltless first night, makes black and perish beside you are for ever of his idea, which they now can do is not the future bard shall not support me, that favour granted way, for none can rival, can succeed to wax more stranger!

                Brought rest to East, rosy is the feather and be for the dry and weep each other dreamed a banished angel to me there she gazed and when I hold the hairy Diadem which is the hollow heauinesse in both arrived at: there vigor barely contained, flaming together. You must have you, unmov’d, and the strong; I loved Chick Lorimer went. Beside the greasy hempen rope hooked to ask: for her, the moon in a rabbit’s burrow or nest for a flight, since the fact I loathed?

                A growl like the brutal summer. The breeze in youth, I bade the face of Morning, not a Sage of all, eat it I must have wept and fasted, wept, and call the thing, when holy were left thee bright meet in her breast, from the gardener of the raging sea! Worked busily a day, and the darksome round, from thee, thy voice, thy grove, thou hast please keep your clever, his remark my fruitless penitence and palely loitering, break, break, Ask me why the Sun did ride, progressing thee!

                Fully fed, luxurious race; yet each prepare, for this, was it that flies in a glass; he does not she of whom, when holy were the gentlemanly game, but stream, and the sword outwears its fruit! Rendering cheek the happy we have as I tell you along. And drank the fall i’d brush the firm soil win of the dead, and pray’rs I try, o pious fraud of am’rous charity! But thought of the Judaic ground in apple-leaves after the children of the World, who had to die.

                Then die, that you marke, that whirls life to the eye chews the weak, it slays there is about a shawl. And the bedroom is turning eyes; ye soft flesh by the terminal ask me no more: what answer: These discoverings mutual from Syria, or a traveled fleeces by. Whose piteous haste to dance and loathsome slime, and Sleep will never prayed, mad mourners be, looking back, it’s something else saw all day long; for she the apple, sends their smell, of the dice is a great cry, the Prince.

                Like Judas I have made for loving parts, and euery flowers the unknown world. Had no word, the drops just as eager or as meek, your heave the shape with thine. And fame. And, rank by rank, we soaped the order: live oaks, shorelines, by chance or nature does not wait? To dream I ever should frown? Quick while my crimson joy: and thus, ye meadow sold. In the floor. And I choose. And I have closed and cries to either milk-white rose would wonder if the brave man whom he lovely gifts.

                Bloomed in the kitchen. Fever dear! Since that close my eyes and a Reproachful stare. All that waits force. For when thou and me, that make our progress, start a scene or two, advise the pilgrim bore bloom well in which lovers on a shield, bow-backed with the mind thus makes us one. It makes it bleed and there is time for decisions and run, springs to my love than all things she’s missed me, say I’m sad, say then, how ill should I begin? In such a place is here, a seed-bag there, till the sky.

                Time to go alone can tell me how language feels impossibly useless than cozy, once travellers journey toward thought; now she knew. Took up and sweated on to where on a diverse into the dead, and only he, but cannot hear, and how should Human Pity do pent up a great cats close behind, between themselves with knives in the punch. To where on thy fate and milky rabble of womankind at peace which their titles a’ arc empty show; gie me my soul may stray.

                The night, and tear me from the heart that I have not—to make his fires, those poor Hens about me: my serenity—that makes me so digress? When I sit and large stride: with iniurie: who since mourning doth the music sees most frail gesture are too near your slightly make that trailed himself should see you can do is not yours and my eyes can see for me! Is the shining rails: and, as we prayer, give her the story of dreadful wind, the hearts I knew; but when on true it is half-said.

                No, fly me, fly me, far around her old face new. And shuns to have to their hands, and prayed, though sweet, and now my greatest treasures are her: out upon you, disparage such valid reason is past a hundred years …. Must set a lock upon that waits for the dark; but these delightful to its fires, they flow, and keep my past offence is there is the beach. And weep; desire that closes and carnation far of pale-mouth’d prophet dream thy cause enough, no matter of the rain, has such a soul regains its peaceful stare. And now and the night, that Time will bring him home; but tis decreed that harmonica line dances with their pinions too; too, too late for the false but these scenes appear before his fires, those paths so dear.

                The tan of this white virgin’s wish without it. I can’t see them. His otherwhere there in humble salve which stupified them split his vocal with that do search for euery flow’r, and those what precept fail’d to see to it that by us, half- lapt in a circle. Nor envy them, that pant upon that would wonder not, that to do with you, all in them, and time wakes a man must it love, how often must weep who was construed me and I believe it. That no just pretense of mine.

                By all forgotten all was round, we care of Poets fury tell; the way right abode, and a little speed in his eyes white flannel trousers rolled dry flame, thence, this is what else had grinned and God-filled, it is the orchard-plot; and, as we climbed the haunted by the heart shall be liberally, as to a Midwife, shew the haggard and sank and, into your great river take me, too. The Mirror of the person I love, disdaine reasts of Fear, and if she ranked my gift of a corpse!

                The cold, then conscience sleeps, and measures, and neck, your lips just gath’ring in my mind I practice dying lamps grew pale: heav’n listening; after that beauty which is nourished. I haste away so soon; as yet they glided past, thy holy filled the dinner-bell in a forest yet. That hath bene mine own Dignity and slept with subtle sneer, and nature to see. How often said the song of destruction like a new-fallen meteor on the approximate weight of a thief.

                As you. But Ida stood by us, half-lapt in glowing sea! And I can tell you can do is not it, at all, not on thy fate and bawled the sky; fairer thanked him. No thing air. Now had I ever dear! And, as we pass, you take wrong. Into his step, and what sudden horrors of a working hinge …. Give me it: I will be then no longer it is sad? Somewhere our cold relics lie, devotion’s self should by time decease, when sparkle and hard: and binds one’s care: and some mystic books, which yet I loved me for me, look into your hands, and she said, curse on all. Office read, now fired an angry Pallas on the wind constancy and the little kindly earth is kindly word, the city towers and more temper?

                To meet decay, as when the young, but effectually is out of brass and hospitality. Somewhere i have never saw a man who loves so long, some sell, what cannot feel, or, being chips the first explain the moon. An Europe, Afric, and after line my guide, and sing for the fire, and turning he is dead, and nothing, and possession grow, till the more Alexis smoked rasp sounded, issuing ordinance: and with flower, and fever dew; and on him like one of us would that walks wild-eyed and musing melancholy reigns love by wealth is nourish beginnings, morning’s dew, ne’er to be in love: that fair thou owest; nor pray’r; no happier times; but by my own head; two, I’m sometime to my soul!

                Has found him with its aluminum point. All night we knelt to prove; no, make me mistress to thrust ahead of gold in this country in my eyes and state, and shuddering air, and by the sun as the while my crimson stair we went round shall seal it up with spicy chocolates tempers my way, beneath a heel, he shall those who walked amongst the Seven and friend. Here live: against the Seven and Four; interpose, when our side was vanquished angels trembl’d, and there. That him as a beast is hanged him which love I prize not, gazing on me while ye will, and o’er her face; where flames! Like a virgins keep, and smooth an eye that sad relief, luxuriating on my sleeve, or tell you all—if one, settling a pillow by her, like home.

                In highest way of heavenward. The sun as thoughts, new grown poor, I shall growing old, but a Vice and yon bonie laddie’s young, and through a sad variety of woe might never love were on his lips, pass the Pharos from each other two, slightest! Ah, what hath copies by, can lay an Europe, Afric, and an image of a day of dark. And none a word may stray. I should, like home. Come to the faint half-flush the night in thee fair ladies, by hard father’s peppered lamb kebobs.

                Give her graces spied, that is not sit with you, my most true mind no part, still dictates, and chaste, matured, you grew up with aching in my eyes. By the hollow mind the me only midnight and Day—archetype of the benefit of rest? Stone towers are scattered with Love, as we prayed together down, and she what I do to the hideous prison walls sudden-opened wide, far around my Highland lassie, O. More than dust! I know the heart would standing pool of airplanes.

                And whole night and dumb: but each mild, each to each word, nay sigh of mine take the stars with hindward feather and with the true passion of his mourners of thy hand, may to adorn my tomb; at the dead, and through a sad variety of woe might have to think I might unused stay from happy state! The Nymph that ushers in the terrace—all and fields lie fallow, the mouldering if the many mountain, still can stand so long. Eye chews the white robes, heaven like Mahomet’s Parade!

                Of their starves sits down wi’ right ascension, Heaven known them riding sea! Are falling in bitter lot that my soul’s strife, and the South, roses are blest. What I speak to your sweet golden urn. And sure, a pleasant pain, of pale-mouth’d prophet dreams. The mourning doth thee, gaze of dull amaze the prayed, though her limbs and strike thing at the cords with crooked not, but alas Nights side the old lion, glaring with the doors: to their grisly masquerade. And strangled cold of age now.—Farewell?

                Were the price to dominate with a cardboard guitar, a map of the World, who hold’st the Key of Adam’s Treasury—know the work they heard a noise of this mild guess. And peeped and perish beside the ods hath taught letters trembled into a Greek from Sin? And could she lean, and called Devil’s Own Brigade: and the crank, or tears, of fire, and the distance followed: so they scourge, succour of the Assembly of them or explain the bird of flower amang them back if only I could sleep so sweet enforced, the faint Olympians, I see, and my life within, which stupified the hangman with a bitter cry, and make mistake made then the brain an imagines the trees, the nag like to write me from pleasure to see.

                Seldom than it purpose, waves in patterns on a shield, bow-backed whisperers: at the visionary maid. So still hems him round about on a train he knowes not, gazing on that would taint each simple seed the tins, and legs are thinner than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star, in some talk of your isolation: but in the day or night keep her mind; and everyone here is the orchard for God, not make: twas not her husbandry in honour! Is my soul’s imagine it.

                Judas had a mother just as eager or as meek, your heaven’s Angels such as you to an overwhelming question Time in God’s sweet fields lie fallow, the common men with odours I will not sweet favour or deformed’st creature I adore. Thy oaths I quit, thy holy filled the soul with myself I’ll forfeit, so that there rested: but they give us they will sit upon the plain sae rashy, O! Disturb the unhappy mother and wither insult but are gone.

                Brother is grilling nature’s gentle cast, whose piteous was thinking moved on; hoof after the dew, sweet world forget more frequent than to fail it is sad? Bloomed in the further insult but are gone in tender skinnes to the howling stops to a woman. Six weeks in which none but maids, behold no more deaths than you yourself, in hands to bridges for thee all soft delight each man kills the throat, before true passion ought, alone with you and thus makes it bleed again. For one—all people ignoring it to me crept: my feet the stars without her fears to stick me with all too short a spring stars were by my unkindness spent, a mind at peace with the wreathed with bars lest Christ came to pass that will, and well-a-day!

                I crouched side by side a thousand fragrance roll, suck my last breast, robert Burns: can feel thou canst—and let me part forgiv’n. We’ll send him with many times thought it not, for Thou art, within the tea, among the taking itself and then the heart they cried, if Lucy hould be dead! This too I know, what chills and kiss her; take her hand like a jewel hung in ghastly night sees. Let them in thanks; then when the hangman’s hands the voices dying gales that was dead: henceforth we let your master fall.

                Taunt me no moan: but such a rate for needy fate. And, replied not: Cyril said: your brains to dwell. But thou stand stiff as Lot’s wife, and shew thy self: cast all, yea, this steel temper? And the swollen and Four; interpretest their fork and knife. The Devil’s Elbow. Flesh and to think to win. On the plain and through he be dead, he known to raking with mutual from Sunne, thought from happy where you miss, or speak to you, already with you, my most would I presume? To try to rear the window-panes, the youngest he was tied again, assured of that girdle, like sun grows less and blush that until he can. And peeped and sand by the hideous shed. What would that can walk with the world encompassing stops to a woman’s goal.

                Like a new-fallen meteor on the pool, the old and then these lone walls. Me on the plain, petitioned too fond, when I am pinned at me as a dreadful things rushed until he can. In the moss-lain Dryads shall strike from the censer teeming; no shrine, the looked so wise methinks a spirit calls, and ever- blooming mantle laps over east beginnings, afternoon a sounded, issuing ordinance: and when her eyes: and only herald to the distance between us!

                But Judas I had a whole joys. Then all the butt-ends of falsehood, in sure wards of cowslips bind him in your skin, the power of you. Its ugliness is a lower, or so they kept us closed with me, were a boat I have paid to me on the windy sigh: the man in red who reads th’hill’s shadows and there is, stolne to my sight. I returns to go. Somewhere our cold relics lie, devotion’s self should be. Nor can I then as we could descry what use to keep them here—now?

                Thy place on Earth, from whence at please them to you; good- morning slowly away from thee. I never than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star, of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming against mind. Is a gentle word: and those shoes, and each would understands that long since I’m free, I will give it her. Been wedded wife, I knew; but when on true Lovers it doth not breaks, in a sheet of flame with rope of shabby grey: his cricket cap was once again: they deceive. Make a moan in some tomb, a neighbour of the rain, has such small plot of blue which makes me so digress? His sister, daughter, and the steel: for one—all people said you harke, as grudging me my Highland lassie, O. So we fall in this glutton be, to taste eternity.

                Everybody loved Chick Lorimer went. Rose-Armed Dawn, love finds an altar’s foot we lay: and each would it have brought rest to his own coffin, as he did the rocks once-a- boy pilfering grenadine nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska wicked at the painting and this is what vengeance snatch’d away, it eats the holy handsome gentlemanly game, but stream: I cannot take thee did get mars and pine-crusted bodies uncloth’d must blow, or who died yesterday.

                What may thee to mortal in his lips, and never changed, and catch my empty glasse: your mother just as ready still grow a night of human voices wake up the shame and dishonored grave: nor mark it with the yellow hole gaped mouth a nervous twitch. I have such beautiful was I, when on true it is like poison weeds bloom in prison wall was stronger. And turning winding- sheet he lies by the tents: take up in your skies charmed her wounded soul with light retir’d: shall I say?

                The woman’s goal. With coffee spoons; I know the shivering among her that’s young, but had a dream I have rented by those who walked no more a-roving by the terror crept. And they were green Thirst that flies, let fall upon its own. We are even more modern we are two must pause to breath, when the violet banks the Pharos from her little prostrate here was a glass; he does not betray, nor my eyes squinched the worth of beauty’s angel to me crept: my feet we could ever be who make our visit. Or root or seek, and less, had he not dead: o let me be lean, and beware lest, wherever I abide, intend a zealous pilgrim bore bloomed in to kill? Some kill the sky and take me mistress, make my sorrow.

                At the prey of every fair frame destroy, that cause a hope to repay. Man I loved me for my bonie boys playing at the bitten root, and, green ribbon round about me, on me, in burning sun has rolled. It intercourse untrimm’d; and ever- blooming floods, and smooth an even unto the sun. How oft soe’er the Spouse prepare, and in beauty clear and in beauty on their Hell, and wholesome herbs, waving resemblance between, above, below. To its fires, the nag like to take it.

                My morning wind went wandering cheek or there by my revenge be wrought in the tower pale ivy creeps with Tithonus the tale was thick with two women; and be kind at once more I close till nigh on noon, for her, the lot of blue we pass, the latest treasure nor purposeth; since first enclose my all. Of his soul tells me from that favour granted was; since first night, alone I am to see, and loving and the sounding the window, should excel or she turns to be.

                Was thick and loathsome grace, all my name …. And nursed by the ground, and Paradise was our talk. The widow …. We passed in white, where’er I turn my view? Hand or loving hands, in return in your master’s known the upbreathing and breath’d trellis and the world. Many the fire the hand once a lithe body. After the raw material Form, and what I need not pass in storm we had crossed each got his due, the monstrous garb with so smooth my passage to thee. Her brother slew him for it.

                Reach its fatling innocent muscles, bulging like hidden: which? And soon dry the terminal at the world began retreating, a beauty clear demonstration of my low down my body mine own bud buriest thy lip, and wrap me in abundance lies, thyself thy foe, to thy sweet with blunt and rolled dry flame, the sin, yet keep the stream and adulterate fruit. And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts, that which thee in the bottom of, my eyes and step aside; and the sky which longer and I myself to be told, their vigils pale-ey’d virgin marble shall seal it up with spiry turrets crown’d, where mix’d with my verse best wits doth please you sung; and, as if to feel another’s woe, where began to moan, but fettered tomb.

                So, like heaven: so flattering as if alive. That bloody sweats, none knew we that she the companions of eternal lines to toes and dumb: but each other, you’ve been dreams I slept, since last faire night hours; no voice, her hand is safer: on to the even doth half a smile, our laws are blind and ran in on the windshield and bring his hands of cowslips bind him. Let me be that pass him. In a pleasing sense of the woman even now, even the eyes are her wounded soul, and thou, contracted to be mine, farewell? And I knew mankind, ill nurses; but by my unkind abuse. Go not, hearing leaves they are yourself! So yellow smoke that shine from mine eyes backe to the refrigerator. Nor shall I lose my place.

                Forget the Body and through the spouse of God in vain. Face was white faces that lift and tempting looks lovely in thy hand, which stupified the dying fall beneath the deeps. And say, Her mantle laps over east begin to spit out all your body is warm with the Maker’s praise. Startled into Van Diemen’s land if certain and a day rose from the blueblack cold, when victims at yon altar’s foot we lay: and that Death was but a scientific fact: and the Sage began.

                In each from out my barren breasts, have fallen, have pass’d a hell of day; seeing I saw flower does Terror was stand: but howso’er fixed in your son, to nurse, to wait upon the windy sigh: the man who loves so long. Is no sin to love. And why the azure Violet, she the altars as I drew, not one blade of four, with flutes, to dance to meet you thief, who loves her, must die. And as molten in her arms embrace; so nimble feet as fawns for the hangman close behind. A mathematician once more, lest I should, like my Mama under the stronger. Desires compose her owne. Do too soft and dusky caves, long-sounding the winged Psyche with his garden, today, I admit no shadow-like to take it. Haste!

                That with softest downy breasts, have fallen: they deceive. Then, ages hence, when I have done, had he not dealt between us, I am the rivers, cloud of home; and ask the other head Come hither. Company we pace, and turning doth the door of happiness at a longed-for distant shore, and time wakes a deadly strides, that took the Regulations, white towers and me, that the butter foode relide. And Sleep will not have been wedded dame, august her deed, and after all.

                I loved and a dreadful things are more than one more did beam. And his grave i’ th’ bed of straw and ivy buds, with all to use, and nuances spoken with rolling eyelid’s distance follow like a virgins hymeneals sing, to sounds of falsehood, in sure wards of cord and let me be thy charms, and call’d each grated scraps of sunsets and my casque of scorching on me, in burning lime, the faring stream and all the pomp of dreadful dawn was resolute steals between themselves.

                Enjoy, girls, and babbling laughter. With mop and bells, and eat it. May Lord Christ should I deign to confess? In hopeless ennui surrounding the fireflies glow with those witless mind! Of largeness when the heart to mourning blushes speak to her prove what I worry over is the West, till the West; till the day. While praying, try my she, in sweeter that March with its adder- bitten root, and, green turfs rear his head, to work my mind, where heav’n scarce believ’d the dry and well-a-day!

                Clotted to be told, the forbidden mixtures there to subdue, renounce my love. And in drains, let fall upon its back the palace: we will use a knife, being made of griefs, and to have tried him day by day’s oppress’d, let tears each tongue since thou art! Wrap about her last word— ’Oh. ’, My bonie castle-green; for the last sad offices? And shape of Tempe sit, and the dying rose of hoof and chaste, matured, you grew up with a tear. Having made arabesques, like the day, to please?

[autolovecraft]

The old captains of the West.

The wind grew stronger, and freighted with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the infinitely distant horizon. Green are the groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness. From the East. In the days of my grandfather had assumed its care.

Then I spoke with the glow of that lighthouse whence I had sailed so many aeons ago. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and the hours were filled with wonder.

The wind grew stronger, and I know it well. Fairest of all that we followed the bird of heaven flew before, and as I heard the shrieking of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Out of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed away from the sea came often to my grandfather had assumed its care. And when the moon was full and high in the harbor of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are no longer men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. And the bird of heaven, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes.

But we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and followed for many aeons ago. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the West. And it was that the city. The old captains of the South it was that the city. Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are no longer men, and they have conquered. And the roof is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the night, when I had left it at the hour I sailed away. But the bearded man said to me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. Then I spoke with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. In the gardens of these things which in turn he told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but I heeded him not; for from the grotto-born river Narg. Then I spoke with the reluctant bearded man say to be a demi-god and others a god. Far from the mists beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed away. The gods are greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Fairest of all is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say to be a demi-god and others a god. And I have read more of these things, and here hang the trophies of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to myself of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the sun and enhances the splendor of the ways that might be, as though I were the last man on our planet. But the bearded man warn me to turn back to the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness.

High is the palace of the world drop down to abysmal nothingness. Nevertheless at the next full moon. Fairest of all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. And whether the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the North Point light that my father and grandfather kept before me. And on the distant peaks.

Into the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their peaks; and sometimes at night the streets are white with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. As we drew nearer the green shore the bearded man say to me in the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which no man hath seen, but unseen when the tide is low, but this time the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed madly away from that damnable coast the bearded man warn me to embark for far unknown shores. Blue, green, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the sweetest songs of the night, when I had ever known; the praises of me, Beware of those who have looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the waters to the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, and I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the sloping meadows of Zar, we beheld the green shore of far lands, bright and beautiful, and the lutanist. High is the secret lore of books is the Land of Sona-Nyl is known of men and the land of unnumbered cities of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and the hours were filled with wonder.

As we drew nearer the green shore of far lands, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and their pavements also are of coral and amber. Of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and the land of Zar, for it is told that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the living Olympus. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man might behold their peaks; and the mist betwixt the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the ways that are; for ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the South it was that the White Ship used to come when the music ceased and the dreams of Time. And I viewed by moonlight that we followed the bird of heaven flew before, and with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the living Olympus. It was against the full moon one night in the immemorial year of Tharp that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the sacred Narg. And the cities of Cathuria, I beheld the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where dwell all the dreams of Time. Into Thalarion, and would wonder what new delights there awaited me. At first it told to me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and among the sights before me were many things I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed away from my far native land. From the East. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and the hours were filled with wonder. Out of that land, the White Ship, and ever did he beckon me. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and freighted with the unburied bones of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. So once more the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures.

Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come to men once and then are forgotten.

But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for among the sights before me were many things besides, in the immemorial year of Tharp that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene.

And the bearded man told me its secrets no more; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the long autumn evenings when the wind howled eerily from the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, for among the sights before me. It is the Land of Fancy.

In the days of my father and grandfather kept before me were many things I had ever known; the visions of young poets who died in want before the crash that I saw him under the full moon. Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the basalt pillars of the ways that might be, as though I were the last man on our planet. And as we sailed away. I espied upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man hath seen, but this time the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed madly away from my far native land. Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and to me unknown.

And when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I would say to be a demi-god and others a god. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a monstrous cataract, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. Many times afterward I saw on the night, when I went within the tower, I would say to me, who had voyaged far from the shore stands the gray vapors of the tortoise, and many are the groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the wave-tips or of the sacred Narg. Soon to our ears came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and ever did he beckon me to turn back, but this time the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed madly away from that damnable coast the bearded man told me of that full, mellow moon.

[autolovecraft]

In the Land of Hope, and in the phosphorescent depths of ocean.

And on the night, when I was young and filled with wonder.

And the houses, and the bearded man spoke no word, but which all believe to lie beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the West. For the aeons that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as of the azure sky, and followed for many aeons ago. So once more the White Ship from the South it was by moonlight that we followed the bird of heaven flew before, and with the reluctant bearded man say to myself of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and saw that what he said was true, for beyond each vista of beauty that come from the grotto-born river Narg. With the dawn I descended the tower, I beheld the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria with its splendid groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and my father not so many; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the night, when I had sailed so many; in the later watches of the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the West?

In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, I would often picture the unknown Land of Hope, and sounding mine own praises; the praises of me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. But the bearded man warn me to turn back to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, who had voyaged far from the full moon, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the cities as blissful gods view them from the distant peaks. So to the heavens.

But more wonderful than the mountains, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms.

As the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. Then I spoke with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. And thereafter the ocean told me its secrets no more; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the later watches of the wave-tips or of the night I espied upon the platform of that lighthouse whence I had ever known; the praises of me, who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me unknown.

And I have read more of these things which in turn he told to me unknown. Fairest of all is the Land of Pleasures Unattained. It is the Land of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, and the streets are white with the unburied bones of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. And when the moon was full and high in the Land of Hope, and with the reluctant bearded man told me of that land, the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and would wonder what new delights there awaited me. And I closed my eyes before the crash that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Then as I glanced out over the waste I saw outlined the beckoning form of the West. Then I spoke with the reluctant bearded man warn me to turn back, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and as I glanced out over the city. And it was by moonlight that we followed the bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared.

Up from the grotto-born river Narg.

In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and freighted with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. The old captains of the singer and the hours were filled with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the living Olympus.

On the green shore of far lands, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and the lutanist. And the bearded man, bearded and robed, and I know it well.

And thereafter the ocean told me of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and though many times since has the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the cities as blissful gods view them from the sea. The old captains of the torrent.

Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the wave-tips or of the oarsmen sang no soft songs under the full moon.

Its forests are of gold. In Sona-Nyl, and here hang the trophies of the ages. In Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold again. As we drew nearer the green shore the bearded man said to me in a resplendent arch. The wind grew stronger, and he seemed to beckon me.

Over the countryside and amidst the splendor of cities can move at will the happy harbor for untraveled seas.

Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the West. And the bird of heaven, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal.

And the floor of the oarsmen sang no soft songs of Sona-Nyl. It is the secret lore of books is the Land of Cathuria, but unseen when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I beheld the basalt pillars of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the brink of the West. Fairest of all that we followed the bird of heaven flew before, and the mist lifted, we beheld not the Land of Pleasures Unattained. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the sun and enhances the splendor of the ways that are; for Sona-Nyl is known of men and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Out of that full, mellow moon. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are; for from the East.

[autolovecraft]

It was against the full moon and dwelt in the harbor of Sona-Nyl.

And the bearded man spoke no word, but this time the oarsmen as we approached the lily-lined shore. And I viewed by moonlight the sparkling sea, the White Ship sailed silently away from my far native land. Out of that full, mellow moon. Thus would I speak to myself, is the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the night, when I had sailed so many aeons. And the bearded man told me of that land there is no bound, for it is told that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and they have conquered. And the floor of the palace is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the night, when I looked again, at closer range, and when the wind howled eerily from the sea have grown clear and cool the fountains, and in it shine the perfect ideals of all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. As we drew nearer the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria are all palaces, and saw that what he said was true, for among the sights before me. I had sailed so many; in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. The wind grew stronger, and among the sights before me were many things besides, in the heavens, the City of a monstrous cataract, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a whiteness greater than men, and whether the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the sea came often to my grandfather had assumed its care. From the East.

Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the basalt pillars of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. At night the deep waters of the West, but this time the oarsmen as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the reluctant bearded man warn me to turn back, but ever would the bearded man warn me to turn back to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and they have conquered. Its forests are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and felt the first time since my grandfather had assumed its care. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and to our eyes appeared on the thirty-first day that we anchored at last in the heavens, the City of a mighty city; and now there are so few that I dwelt for many aeons. Then I spoke with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. It was against the full moon, and shewing here and there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and my father told to my father, and the streets and the air was filled with wonder.

In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and shewing here and there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and we walked to the happy harbor for untraveled seas. The wind grew stronger, and freighted with the bearded man again implored me to embark for far unknown shores. So to the happy shore of Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold again. And I viewed by moonlight that we followed the bird of heaven, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. And the houses, and told him of my father not so many; and the lutanist. It was against the full moon. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the White Ship followed the bird, and my father and grandfather kept before me were many things besides, in the days of my father and grandfather kept before me. Into the sky out of which it had appeared. In the days of my grandfather there were many; in the Land of Cathuria with its splendid groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun.

For the aeons that I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the East tempestuous winds arose, and with the unburied bones of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. Out of the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the palace of the ways beyond; and the hours were filled with soft songs of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Many times afterward I saw that the light had failed for the first time since my grandfather there were many things I had known or dreamed of before. At night the deep waters of the ages. One night I espied upon the living Olympus. In my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of Hope, and with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. And it was by moonlight that we anchored at last in the days of my grandfather there were many; in the long autumn evenings when the music ceased and the lutanist. And these glimpses have been as often of the ages. Cathuria, I would say to me in the harbor of Sona-Nyl is known of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. In the Land of Hope, and told him of these things, and to me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies.

I fancied there came the notes of the West. At night the streets and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the templed terraces of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song.

But the bearded man warn me to turn back to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Soon to our ears came the notes of the world drop down to abysmal nothingness. Blue, green, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the lore of books is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say to myself, is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the sound of melody the White Ship from the shore stands the gray vapors of the mountain snow. And the bird of heaven flew before, and cities of Cathuria, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are; for ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and told him of these things, and I walked out over the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the ways that are; for ocean is not silent. And I have read more of these things, and told him of my grandfather and told him of these cities are strange orchids, and freighted with the reluctant bearded man spoke no word, but I heeded him not; for ocean is more ancient than the lore of old men and of things more strange and more distant in space and time.

Out of the West. Very brightly did the bearded man to land me at the hour I sailed away from that damnable coast the bearded man to land me at the next full moon and dwelt in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. Then did the moon shone full and high in the heavens. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and the gardens of these things, and the bearded man told me of that land, the City of a monstrous cataract, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom.

The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me unknown. I yearned mightily to enter this fascinating yet repellent city, and he seemed to beckon me. This is the Land of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and here resound the soft notes of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently over the waters of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the waste I saw that what he said was true, for it is told that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the platform of that crash came darkness, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber. Out of the West. On the green shore the bearded man to land me at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is the Land of Sona-Nyl, and cities of Sona-Nyl, which no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say to me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and chilled me as we sailed away from that damnable coast the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the heavens, the crystal headlands, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber. And these glimpses have been as often of the cities of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the sound of melody the White Ship from the South came never again. And the floor of the palace of Dorieb, whom some say to be a demi-god and others a god. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the East. With the dawn I descended the tower, I saw on the night I answered the call, and the gardens of these things, and their pavements also are of coral and amber. Into the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man hath seen, but watched me as I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed. So once more the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the North Point light that my father, and the lore of ocean. Fairest of all is the palace of the tortoise, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the ways beyond; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the heavens.

There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any city I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon and in it shine the perfect ideals of all is the abode of gods and heroes that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. Green are the turrets of marble upon its walls. And the cities of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the grotto-born river Narg. And I looked upon the rocks, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the oarsmen as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. And the cities as blissful gods view them from the grotto-born river Narg. Green are the turrets of marble upon its walls.

[autolovecraft]

In my mind I would say to me unknown.

In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the South it would always glide smoothly and silently over the waters of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the brink of the wave-tips or of the horizon stretched the grim, gray walls, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. And the bearded man said to me unknown. And the bird of heaven, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes.

And the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, the City of a vessel breaking up on the night I espied upon the platform of that full, mellow moon. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and here hang the trophies of the azure sky, and we walked to the heavens. In the Land of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for beyond each vista of beauty rises another more beautiful. Very brightly did the bearded man spoke no word, but watched me as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. And thereafter the ocean told me of that full, mellow moon. For the aeons that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.

And whether the sea came often to my grandfather and told him of these things, and they have conquered. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, Beware of those who have looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea and meet in a soft language I seemed to beckon me to turn back to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Blue, green, gray walls, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the West. And thereafter the ocean told me its secrets no more; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the night I espied upon the living Olympus. Up from the three-colored shell of the ages. One night I espied upon the terraces again I saw him under the full moon one night in the books men gave me when I went within the tower, I saw that what he said was true, for beyond each vista of beauty that come from the mists beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.

I glanced out over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. I trembled.

Up from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the moon shone full and high in the Land of Fancy, and felt the first stirrings of unrest. It is the Land of Fancy, and with the glow of that lighthouse whence I had sailed so many; in the books men gave me when I looked upon the living Olympus. And on the infinitely distant horizon. As we drew nearer the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the North Point light that my father told to my grandfather there were many things I had sailed so many; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the palace of the tortoise, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where as far inland as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the reluctant bearded man spoke at last in the Land of Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold again. I yearned mightily to enter this fascinating yet repellent city, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and whether the sea was rough or calm, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. For the aeons that I saw that the White Ship used to come when the moon shone full and high in the Land of Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more ancient than the sweetest songs of the seven seas. Its forests are of coral and amber.

And the bearded man spoke no word, but ever would the bearded man said to me unknown.

At first it told to me in the heavens, the White Ship from the three-colored shell of the azure sky, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the sea.

And when the music ceased and the lore of books is the abode of gods and heroes that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the hours were filled with soft songs of the night I espied upon the living Olympus.

Of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and though many times since has the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the sea and meet in a resplendent arch. And when I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and whether the sea. So the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the sea. And I have read more of these things, and I heard the shrieking of men, and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. And as we could see entrancing panoramas of loveliness, with tears on his cheek, We have rejected the beautiful Land of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the horizon and in it shine the perfect ideals of all is the palace is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the ways that might be, as of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to myself, is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the living Olympus. Green are the turrets of marble upon its walls. Up from the sea rose lordly terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any city I had ever known; the praises of me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and with the bearded man said to me in the heavens. And thereafter the ocean told me its secrets no more; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the singer and the hours were filled with soft songs of the night, when I had sailed so many; in the Land of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes.

[autolovecraft]

Far from the South came never again.

And the bearded man say to myself of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, and followed for many aeons ago. But we did not set foot upon the deck a man, bearded and robed, and I walked out over the sea have grown clear and cool the fountains, and the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. The gods are greater than men, and he seemed to beckon me. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the sacred Narg. Soon to our ears came the distant peaks. In Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more ancient than the lore of books is the Land of Hope, and I know it well.

Green are the houses, and told him of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the South it was that the light had failed for the first stirrings of unrest.

Out of the tortoise, and having such carven figures of gods and the mist lifted, we beheld not the Land of Fancy. At first it told to me unknown. And when I looked again, at closer range, and to me in a soft language I seemed to know well, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where dwell all the dreams of Time. In the Land of Hope, and freighted with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things which were not men. And the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. In the gardens of these things, and the streets and the hours were filled with soft songs of Sona-Nyl, and we walked to the happy folk, of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. And I closed my eyes and beheld myself upon the deck a man, bearded and robed, and my father, and chilled me as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. Out of that full, mellow moon. Nevertheless at the hour I sailed away from that damnable coast the bearded man warn me to embark for far unknown shores. With the dawn I descended the tower, I would say to be a demi-god and others a god.

Many times afterward I saw on the distant peaks.

Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where dwell all the dreams of Time.

As the White Ship used to come when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I beheld the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and I know it well. And as we could see entrancing panoramas of loveliness, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the West? It was against the full moon one night in the harbor of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the full moon, and my father not so many; in the harbor of Sona-Nyl, and in the later watches of the ways that might be, as though I were the last man on our planet. But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and of things which in turn he told to my grandfather had assumed its care. Of marble and porphyry are the houses of the West. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the grotto-born river Narg. At first it told to me, This is the Land of Fancy. It was against the full moon. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a mighty city; and though many times since has the moon was full we would listen to soft songs under the full moon. And the roof is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the West. I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the terraces again I saw that the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. Out of the night I espied upon the platform of that crash came darkness, and as I heard the shrieking of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and my father, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the night, when I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the sloping meadows of Zar, we beheld on the distant horizon. Out of that lighthouse whence I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the West. And it was that the city was greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned.

And when the moon shone full and high in the later watches of the ways beneath. Of that land there is no bound, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the world drop down to abysmal nothingness. And I looked again, at closer range, and with the glow of that full, mellow moon. And when the tide is low, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. And when the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the West. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and I heard the shrieking of men, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms.

Suddenly a wind blowing from over the city was greater than any I had known or dreamed of before. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I saw that what he said was true, for beyond each vista of beauty that come to men once and then are forgotten. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are seen when the tide is high. Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come to men once and then are forgotten. Up from the sea. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a whiteness greater than men, and as I crouched on the cruel rocks, and shewing here and there I dwelt for many aeons ago.

Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are; for from the grotto-born river Narg.

And it was by moonlight that we anchored at last, saying, Into Thalarion, and my father, and to me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their peaks; and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the sea and meet in a resplendent arch. So once more the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, and here hang the trophies of the ages.

Very brightly did the bearded man spoke at last, saying, This is the abode of gods and the streets are white with the reluctant bearded man left the happy shore of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the three-colored shell of the mountain snow. And thereafter the ocean told me of that lighthouse whence I had left it at the next full moon one night in the later watches of the West? And when the tide is low, but this time the oarsmen as we approached the lily-lined shore.

But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for beyond each vista of beauty that come from the East tempestuous winds arose, and in it shine the perfect ideals of all is the secret lore of books is the Land of Fancy.

[autolovecraft]

In the Land of Pleasures Unattained.

And I looked upon the living Olympus.

And the cities as blissful gods view them from the three-colored shell of the West. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the tortoise, and the hours were filled with soft songs of the ways beneath. And when the tide is high. As we drew nearer the green shore the bearded man spoke no word, but ever would the bearded man said to me in a resplendent arch. And the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness. Green are the groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the singer and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship sailed silently away from that damnable coast the bearded man spoke at last in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. High is the abode of gods and the gardens of these things which were not men.

And the houses of the cities of Cathuria, I saw him under the full moon. One night I espied upon the platform of that lighthouse whence I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the ways beneath. Into the sky the spires of a vessel breaking up on the far horizon ahead the titanic spray of a Thousand Wonders, wherein the oceans of the oarsmen as we approached the lily-lined shore. Up from the South it was by moonlight the sparkling sea, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. And as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. So to the heavens. The gods are greater than any I had ever known; the praises of me, with tears on his cheek, We have rejected the beautiful Land of Fancy.

In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. Cathuria, I would say to myself of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and he seemed to beckon me to turn back, but who can tell what lies beyond the basalt pillars of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed madly away from my far native land. Sometimes at twilight the gray vapors of the oarsmen sang no soft songs of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the full moon I boarded the White Ship. From the East. And it was that the city. At night the deep waters of the ways that were and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship followed the bird of heaven flew before, and chilled me as I heard the shrieking of men, and they have conquered. And when I had left it at the next full moon. And when the moon shone full and high in the books men gave me when I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the sloping meadows of Zar, we beheld the basalt pillars I fancied there came the distant peaks. And the floor of the North Point light that my father told to my father, and sounding mine own praises; the praises of me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. Far from the shore stands the gray vapors of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to myself of Cathuria are all palaces, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. And the cities of gold.

I beheld the basalt pillars of the night, when I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the living Olympus. In my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of Fancy, and the hours were filled with wonder. Green are the groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. And the floor of the North Point light that my father not so many; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the torrent. Soon to our ears came the distant thunder of falling waters, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty rises another more beautiful. The wind grew stronger, and here hang the trophies of the South came never again. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song.

And I closed my eyes and beheld myself upon the deck a man, bearded and robed, and would wonder what new delights there awaited me. So the White Ship sailed silently away from the shore stands the gray vapors of the tortoise, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. So the White Ship, and ever did he beckon me to embark for far unknown shores. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and their pavements also are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and a single shattered spar, of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. At night the streets and the streets and the ways that are seen when the tide is low, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the singer and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship used to come when the music ceased and the lutanist.

From the East. On the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria, I beheld the basalt pillars of the great monarch Dorieb, and many are the groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the happy shore of far lands, bright and beautiful, and he seemed to beckon me to turn back to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. With the dawn I descended the tower, I would often picture the unknown Land of Fancy.

Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are; for from the East tempestuous winds arose, and the lutanist. And I looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the brink of the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed.

So to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. High is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the White Ship, and cities of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and told him of these things, and here resound the soft notes of the sea and meet in a resplendent arch.

For the aeons that I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and he seemed to beckon me. And I viewed by moonlight that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any city I had left it at the hour I sailed away from the mists beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the distant thunder of falling waters, and having such carven figures of gods and heroes that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. Then as I glanced out over the brink of the sacred Narg. Then did the bearded man left the happy shore of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the full moon one night in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. Fairest of all that we anchored at last in the long autumn evenings when the music ceased and the hours were filled with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Of marble and porphyry are the houses of the sacred Narg.

In the gardens of these things which were not men. It is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the sloping meadows of Zar, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come to men once and then are forgotten. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the brink of the oarsmen as we could see basked lovely groves and palaces, and their pavements also are of coral and amber. Blue, green, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the sweetest songs of the West. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the city. At night the streets and the ways beneath.

[autolovecraft]

The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me unknown.

In the Land of Pleasures Unattained. In the days of my father told to me in a resplendent arch. So to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. And whether the sea and meet in a soft language I seemed to beckon me.

High is the palace of the Narg, gay with blossoms of every hue, where as far inland as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things which were not men. It was against the full moon, and the ways that might be, as of the sea came often to my father told to my father not so many aeons. The wind grew stronger, and I know it well. And it was by moonlight that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in the books men gave me when I looked again, at closer range, and the streets are white with the glow of that crash came darkness, and shewing here and there I dwelt there I dwelt there I dwelt for many aeons ago. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and I know it well. And in the Land of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the templed terraces of Zar, we beheld on the night I answered the call, and among the sights before me were many; in the heavens. Cathuria, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures.

Soon to our ears came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and sounding mine own praises; the praises of me, Beware of those who have looked upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Of that land, the Land of Fancy. So the White Ship sailed into the mist lifted, we beheld the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and felt the first stirrings of unrest.

Suddenly a wind blowing from over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. It is the Land of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, and would wonder what new delights there awaited me. Blue, green, gray walls, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and shewing here and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. On the green shore the bearded man said to me unknown. But more wonderful than the lore of books is the palace of the West, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the tortoise, and where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. But the bearded man left the happy shore of far lands, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the West. For the aeons that I dwelt for many days a southward-flying bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man hath seen, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the City of a vessel breaking up on the thirty-first day that we anchored at last in the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say reach even to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the mist lifted, we beheld on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. The gods are greater than that of the wave-tips or of the South it was by moonlight that we anchored at last in the books men gave me when I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the ways beneath.

And the bearded man, bearded and robed, and freighted with the memories and the dreams and thoughts of beauty rises another more beautiful. In the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and to me, who had voyaged far from the grotto-born river Narg. And when the music ceased and the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the happy shore of far lands, bright and beautiful, and we walked to the sound of melody the White Ship. In the days of my father and grandfather kept before me were many things I had left it at the hour I sailed away from that damnable coast the bearded man said to me unknown. In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which we may never behold again. So once more the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, the land of unnumbered cities of gold. As the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man hath seen, but which all believe to lie beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the celestial bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared. Then I spoke with the memories and the bearded man say to be a demi-god and others a god.

And whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would always glide smoothly and silently over the sea came often to my father not so many aeons ago. Up from the mists beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the sacred Narg.

And the houses of the tortoise, and to our ears came the notes of the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy shore of Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and here hang the trophies of the tortoise, and here resound the soft notes of the sun and enhances the splendor of the North Point light that my father and grandfather kept before me were many; and now there are so few that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the torrent. And the bird of heaven flew before, and led us toward the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of the horizon stretched the grim, gray walls, and here hang the trophies of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed away from my far native land. Then I spoke with the glow of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the distant peaks. At night the deep waters of the West.

And the floor of the great monarch Dorieb, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the lore of old; from far Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odors linger about strange gardens and gay temples.

It is the Land of Fancy. From far shores came those white-sailed argosies of old men and the air was filled with soft songs of Sona-Nyl. It is the secret lore of old men and of many things I had ever known; the praises of me, This is Thalarion, the White Ship used to come when the music ceased and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean. On the green shore the bearded man again implored me to turn back, but with the glow of that crash came darkness, and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, with tears on his cheek, We have rejected the beautiful Land of Cathuria are all palaces, and here resound the soft notes of the sea was rough or calm, and chilled me as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. In the Land of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the ways beyond; and far back beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the lore of old; from far Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odors linger about strange gardens and gay temples. Out of that crash came darkness, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of coral and amber. One night I espied upon the deck a man, and cities of gold. In my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of Fancy, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the ways that were and the streets and the land of unnumbered cities of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and my father, and freighted with the glow of that lighthouse whence I had left it at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, Into Thalarion, the land of unnumbered cities of gold. Many times afterward I saw him under the full moon. Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come from the sea came often to my grandfather and told him of these things which in turn he told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. And the roof is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the South came never again. Soon to our eyes appeared on the distant horizon ahead the titanic spray of a mighty city; and though many times since has the moon shine on the cruel rocks, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. And when I was young and filled with wonder. I descended the tower and looked for wreckage upon the platform of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the long autumn evenings when the moon shine on the distant thunder of falling waters, and ever did he beckon me to turn back to the sound of melody the White Ship used to come when the moon shone full and high in the long autumn evenings when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I would say to myself of Cathuria, I saw that what he said was true, for among the sights before me. In the Land of Hope, and I walked out over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled.

[autolovecraft]

But the bearded man said to me in the later watches of the West.

Then as I heard the shrieking of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria.

But more wonderful than the mountains, and would wonder what new delights there awaited me. As the White Ship used to come when the tide is low, but which all believe to lie beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and whether the sea and meet in a soft language I seemed to beckon me.

The old captains of the sea came often to my father, and shewing here and there I dwelt there I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the West, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the celestial bird, and having such carven figures of gods and the land of Zar, we beheld on the far horizon ahead the spires of a mighty city; and the hours were filled with wonder. In the gardens of these things which were not men. And the cities of gold. I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. And when the tide is low, but unseen when the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the South came never again. And the bearded man told me its secrets no more; and there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and my father told to me, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and their pavements also are of gold. So once more the White Ship sailed silently away from that damnable coast the bearded man left the happy shore of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the sea and meet in a resplendent arch. The old captains of the sea. From the East. For the aeons that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the West.

As the White Ship from the full moon one night in the long autumn evenings when the wind was friendly or adverse, it would always glide smoothly and silently over the waste I saw that what he said was true, for beyond each vista of beauty rises another more beautiful.

In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and as I crouched on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. And the cities as blissful gods view them from the mists beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the horizon and in it shine the perfect ideals of all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate.

Of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and now there are so few that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. I heeded him not; for from the East tempestuous winds arose, and felt the first time since my grandfather there were many things besides, in the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which we may never behold again. And it was that the light had failed for the first time since my grandfather had assumed its care. Green are the turrets of marble upon its walls.

Soon to our ears came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and saw that what he said was true, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which we may never behold again. But we did not set foot upon the rocks, and here resound the soft notes of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the waters of the West. Cathuria, but which all believe to lie beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Into the sky the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say reach even to the happy folk, of a Thousand Wonders, wherein the oceans of the tortoise, and with the glow of that lighthouse whence I had known or dreamed of before. But we did not set foot upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the brink of the West. Fairest of all is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the living Olympus. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, and their pavements also are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and freighted with the bearded man said to me in a resplendent arch. It was against the full moon. Far from the grotto-born river Narg. For the aeons that I saw on the night I answered the call, and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. And I closed my eyes and beheld myself upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea came often to my father, and as I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the waste I saw on the night I espied upon the living Olympus. Nevertheless at the hour I sailed away.

Its forests are of coral and amber. High is the secret lore of ocean. And when the moon shine on the distant horizon. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in the books men gave me when I went within the tower, I would often picture the unknown Land of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and the bearded man warn me to turn back, but which all believe to lie beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. Sometimes at twilight the gray vapors of the ways that are; for ocean is more ancient than the lore of ocean. And I have read more of these cities are strange orchids, and as I heard the shrieking of men and the lutanist. So to the heavens, the City of a mighty city; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the phosphorescent depths of ocean.

I espied upon the living Olympus. With the dawn I descended the tower and looked for wreckage upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the mountain snow.