#gentle kingdom ringed in spears

[lizzieraindrops]

Destiny is a story about shapes and grief.

I think I may have figured out Destiny. I don't think the primary conflict between the Light and the Darkness is the philosophical issue we thought it was.

I got thinking about it after all this talking, with many others but especially @jazzhandsmcleg, about the way all of The Witch Queen DLC and its 4 seasons have had overarching narratives surrounding trauma and cycles of violence and grief, and the way the Darkness and the Light are characterized by their different approaches to it.

In TWQ, Savathûn is given a true second chance for her species in the Light. But as Ikora points out, she struggles to break free of the learned patterns of the Darkness, continuing the pattern of deception and violence.

Same with Season of the Risen - it’s the Warlords and Dark Ages all over again, but this time it’s the Hive. It forces once again to ask: what does it mean to be given a second chance if this is what you do with it? Temper this with Saladin’s story about the girl from the Dark Ages who he protected, but who became a cruel mortal Warlord in her own right. Crow objects to the mental torture of the Hive Lightbearers and he tries to break from the cycle of interspecies violence, but unintentionally ends up continuing it by killing the Psion and heightening tensions between humans and the Uluran.

Season of the Haunted!!! Literally, the entire thing is about confronting your traumas and greatest fears and the worst parts about yourself and beginning to heal them, making something better from them. Completely changing the game by turning Nightmares that torment into Memories that guide you. Crow with the memory of Uldren, Zavala with that of Safiyah, Caiatl that of Ghaul - and most importantly, resolution focuses on how they, specifically have been held back from healing by their self-incriminating Nightmares. It challenges the cycle of continuing violence on a very personal level. Eris even has patrol dialogue describing the a Nightmare as a thing of pain craving only more pain: "Such is the cycle."

Season of Plunder brings up the very same questions on a much higher organizational level. It gives us Eido and Eramis taking very different jaded vs. new-hope approaches to the legacy of the Whirlwind, asking: can we change? Are we defined by generational trauma forever? Can we continue to grow and change for the better even though it can never be undone? Though Eido is clearly young and naïve, we're clearly given the opportunity and narrative nudge to sympathize with her desire and hope for growth and redemption, both for the Eliksni overall, and for Eramis in particular.

And we're not even done with Season of the Seraph, but it already goes incredibly hard asking the same questions, again from a more personal angle. How far, and through how many generations is trauma transmitted? From the Bray family to Rasputin, to Felwinter to Osiris to Ikora – how do we fix this? How do we fix this? How do you defeat an enemy who IS war itself? What can you do to end an endless cosmic cycle of violence?

Go back and back and back in Destiny's lore even back to D1, and the majority of conflicts seem driven by this cycle of grief and revenge and violence. The entire line of humanity's war with the Hive goes back through Oryx's grief for Crota and the First Crota Fireteam and Eriana-3's grief for her wife Wei Ning. Even the Hive siblings' pact with the Worm Gods, though manipulated by Rhulk, was driven by the pain and grief they endured for themselves and their people, and wanting to escape that cruel pattern. The entire predicament of the Eliksni and their conflict with humans is driven by the trauma and grief and loss of the Whirlwind. Even Caiatl's empire, a conquering force that would be highly regarded by the sword logic, now must reckon with the same kind of loss in the Fall of Torobatl.

How do you escape this cycle and stay free of it?

I think, this year, we are finally seeing the beginnings of an answer.

I can't highly enough recommend the TWQ Collector's Edition lorebook (page scans & transcript) and The Hidden Dossier (page scans & transcript) that immediately follows it. What I've been calling Ikora's theory of "memory and grace" that she develops through the course of these two lore books is a balanced philosophy of memory/Darkness and grace/Light (which honestly deserves an entire post of its own). I think it clearly points toward the final resolution the story of the conflict between the Darkness and the Light.

In light of this, something in the Calus part of the new Lightfall CE lorebook (images, transcript) really jumped out at me.

“The doomed and the damned left the record of their downfall in the OXA. Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. And when your mother told your father that story…the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must…and the way it must go is struggle.” “Aiat.” Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. “But Caiatl means something else..” “Yes. ‘It may not always go as it needs to go.’ A good name for a soldier." "A strange name for a daughter," I say. "Your father chose it for your mother's sake. Out of love."

And because the parallel is so overwhelmingly striking, I am once again going to reference philosophy/worldbuilding from the Young Wizards universe, which has great resonance with Destiny lore and which Bungie has been long aware of and has even been referenced in Forsaken-era canon lore.

“all the fair things skewed, all the beauty twisted by the dark Lone Power watching on his steed. If only there were some way he could be otherwise if he wanted to! For here was his name, a long splendid flow of syllables in the Speech, wild and courageous in its own way—and it said that he had not always been so hostile; that he got tired sometimes of being wicked, but his pride and his fear of being ridiculed would never let him stop. Never, forever, said the symbol at the very end of his name, the closed circle that binds spells into an unbreakable cycle and indicates lives bound the same way.” [...] “Nita bent quickly over the Book and, with the pen, in lines of light, drew from that final circle an arrow pointing upward, the way out, the symbol that said change could happen—if, only if—and together they finished the Starsnuffer’s name in the Speech, said the new last syllable, made it real.” Excerpt From: Diane Duane. “So You Want to Be a Wizard, New Millennium Edition.”

CAIATL’S NAME IS LITERALLY THE UP-AND-OUT SYMBOL.

I know I'm probably only talking to the handful of Destiny players from the (very small) Young Wizards fandom, but what you need to know is that this moment is pivotal and sets up the series-long theme of hope for an eventual exit from the cycle. It's the incredibly small, overwhelmingly improbable possibility of a second chance, a new start for the Lone Power, the source of all strife and suffering, who itself is driven by loss and pain. A concept of extended grace that is inherently tied to the philosophy of the Light.

“Billions of years, it took. All the redemptions there have ever been went toward this; from the greatest to the least. And finally in the fullness of time you came along, and took my role, of your own will, and woke up a race powerful enough to change the whole Universe, and gave them the fire.” She glanced up at the mobiles and smiled. “How could he resist such a bait? He took the gamble: he always does. And losing, he won.” [...] “The Defender reached down and put a hand into the shadow. “And we are going where such matters are transcended… where all his old pains will shift. Not forgotten, but transformed. Life in this universe will never have such a friend. And as for His inventions… look closely at Death, and see what it can become.” The long, prone darkness began to burn, from inside, the way a mountain seems to do with sunset. “Brother,” the Defender said. “Come on. They’re waiting.” Excerpt From: Diane Duane. “High Wizardry New Millennium Edition.”

This is the devil’s second chance, its homecoming. Grace among the memory. How do we heal this? By fixing it. By making and TAKING that opportunity of grace.

Likewise, Destiny is shaping up into its own universe’s story of this Reconfiguration, the remaking of everything that exists through the act of a second chance, both offered and taken, with full awareness of the irreversibility of harm already caused.

Destiny isn’t the story of the light and the darkness fighting each other. That happens, but that’s not what it’s ABOUT.

It’s “And I know exactly what we are. We’re best frenemies with a history of intense mutual hurt and messy reconciliation, leaving a deep tenderness as well as an almost impenetrable knot of scars. What could be simpler?” (Chalco)

It's “For so long, I believed peace was beyond my reach. No more. I have found it in guiding others down the same path that saved me. But… I might allow myself to want more than peace. What, I am not certain. Is joy the word? Might I find that again?” (Eris)

It's “Second chances… hm. Turns out I've been using mine wrong. I thought being a Guardian was my destiny. That wielding the Light for good was the most I had to offer. But it's clear now. This is what the Traveler chose me for. I was reforged in the Light for a purpose. To remake something dead and gone… into something beautiful. To learn how to forge something new from what we were. Everything Uldren did to the Reef, the Scorn… Fikrul. I have a responsibility — no — a calling to make them whole. And… I can't replace Cayde. But I can cover his old patrols — maybe organize the Hunters a bit, if they'll let me. Clean up some of my mess. I don't know if I can fix everything Uldren left broken… but I can try.” (Crow)

We aren’t defeating the Darkness. That’s never what it’s been about. It’s about breaking the cycle of trauma and grief with memory and grace. We're transcending the Final Shape, but we're not here to destroy it or become it. We’re harmonizing the Darkness and the Light into a sustainable balance to create something new from the wounded remains.

We're here to heal the broken relationship between the Winnower and the Gardener.

That's all that it is, in the end. They had a falling out, and now they hurt, and they hurt each other, and everything else, forever. Breaking free from that cycle begins and ends with them.

Is that fair? No, it's not.

But Destiny is – unhingedly, brilliantly, paradoxically – a FPS game about how to stop killing each other, growing ever more into a framework of restorative and reparative justice.

The story says, we are all culpable, we have all done awful shit and have endless potential to do more awful shit – AND, most critically, we all have the potential to do better (grace). AND, the act of making the conscious choice to do so and letting that happen is the only way for things to get better (memory).

The Collapse happened and it was horrible, the Red War happened and it was horrible, the Great Disaster happened and it was horrible, Twilight Gap happened and it was horrible...AND?? HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RESPOND? The Whirlwind happened and it was horrible! The Fall of Torobatl happened and it was horrible! Your species' Choice was stolen and you became the most prolifically violent killers in the universe and it was and is horrible! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

Are you going to make it more horrible? Or are you going to make it BETTER????

Are you going to fight for the Final Shape, or for the gentle kingdom ringed in spears?

[night-dark-woods]

Finally reading all the way through the Witch Queen CE lorebook and thinking about the three queens... these are the only entries i can find that mention that thought experiment.

WQCE:

By poking random spots, I've got the idea that the crystal is composed of different isomer territories which compete along their boundaries to recruit each other. The isomer domains also generate mutants within themselves, which spread and take over if they have superior recruiting properties; I've even seen encysted "laboratories" where mutants compete before the winners breach the barrier and spill into the surrounding lattice. Our three queens in action again? I promise not to dive into Bieberbach's theorem and abelian subgroups, but there's some fascinating math going on here.

Infinite Lines Gauntlets:

"I saw three queens. No, two. No... just one." —RECORD 351-CHASM-6915

and then this part of the initial lore entry that the idea is from:

Ghost Fragment: Darkness 3:

Imagine three great nations under three great queens. The first queen writes a great book of law and her rule is just. The second queen builds a high tower and her people climb it to see the stars. The third queen raises an army and conquers everything.

The future belongs to one of these queens. Her rule is harshest and her people are unhappy. But she rules.

This explains everything, understand? This is why the universe is the way it is, and not some other way. Existence is a game that everything plays, and some strategies are winners: the ability to exist, to shape existence, to remake it so that your descendants - molecules or stars or people or ideas - will flourish, and others will find no ground to grow.

And as the universe ticks on towards the close, the great players will face each other. In the next round there will be three queens and all of them will have armies, and now it will be a battle of swords - until one discovers the cannon, or the plague, or the killing word.

Everything is becoming more ruthless and in the end only the most ruthless will remain (LOOK UP AT THE SKY) and they will hunt the territories of the night and extinguish the first glint of competition before it can even understand what it faces or why it has transgressed. This is the shape of victory: to rule the universe so absolutely that nothing will ever exist except by your consent. This is the queen at the end of time, whose sovereignty is eternal because no other sovereign can defeat it. And there is no reason for it, no more than there was reason for the victory of the atom. It is simply the winning play.

that thesis statement (This is the shape of victory: to rule the universe so absolutely that nothing will ever exist except by your consent.) is also echoed here:

The Hidden Dossier:

Sen-Aret, let me tell you something I have told no one else. I know that in the end, the Darkness can win. Do you understand what I mean? By its very nature, the Darkness is the judge of what will exist and what will pass away. In the end, there may be only Darkness because all that exists will remain only by its consent.

Crest of Alpha Lupi:

Whoever survives our passing does so only by our consent.

and interestingly enough, also echoed by Uldren here (while he's under Savathun's influence by way of Riven!):

Free | Part I:

"I've come to finish it," Uldren tells her. He even tries to smile, because he is being honest. He's telling the truth. "I've realized I was a fool to try to surprise her. We all exist through her design, Illyn. We all act only by her consent. I'm going to save her, because she needs me to save her. When she needs me to die, I will die. And when she has completed her great design for the Awoken, the Awoken will die, too. It is the reward we so richly deserve, for we owe everything to Mara. It would be… wrong for us to outlive our purpose. Trust me. Life without her is worse than… worse than…"

no real point here! i just love finding all the repititions of a phrase in the lore tabs.

[eosofspades]

like saying this game rewired my brain isn't enough it has murdered me and i came back wrong about it

no but the grip that destiny 2 has on me is actually fucking insane. like this game lives in my bone marrow. no matter what happens in lightfall tomorrow i know with 100% certainty i am not going to be the same person after it

[jazzhandsmcleg]

"It was the Gardener that chose you from the dead. I wouldn't have done that. It's just not in me. But now that they have invested themself in you, you are incredibly, uniquely special. That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: 'Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil.'" -- The Wager, Unveiling

Partial credit to @lizzieraindrops for the idea! Links and image descriptions attached to each image.

[viiridiangreen]

GOD I saw your post about Destiny players being homophobes and I was just reminded that yesterday, when they added the popup acknowledging disability pride month, the Facebook groups were FULL of people screaming about how pride month is over and we need to stop bending the knee to the rainbow people. And I was like. Look at me in my eyes, past my glasses. No, down here, I'm sitting because I can't physically stand right now. DO YOU THINK PRIDE IS ONLY FOR GAY PEOPLE. I think Destiny's community has a lot of players who only like the concept of shooting aliens and using magic powers and have literally 0 idea what goes on outside their rundown apartment buildings.

Yeah it's baffling how they manage to throw a tantrum Every Single Time a """woke""" cause crops up given the studio has been at it for years????

Especially considering.... The Entire Point of the story is that it's worth fighting for a world where life gets to be fluid and diverse instead of forced into a single momebt or "purpose" or way of being. And we only defeat the fash coded big bad by forging alliances with aliens who used to be our enemies.

So... at this point I kinda get the feeling that failing to grasp the first thing about the setting acts as self-preservation on their part, mostly unconscious prolly? I don't think these sorts could stomach really processing the fact that they're trying to force the "Blow Up Aliens It Ain't That Deep" game in their heads (kill the xeno purge the mutant11!1!1 etc.) onto the "Gentle Kingdom Ringed In Spears Simulator".

[golatcxr]

Once upon a time, there was a flock of sheeps living together in a tainted land, solidarily and happily. Each and every sheep had its own pride, and the leader was the proudest, bravest and strongest of all. Those names were known and feared by many, and their bond was believed to be unbreakable. They all, as a whole, could be seen as a kingdom with a loved king.

Amongst the sheeps, only the leader had the golden bell attached to the collar around his neck. That very bell, shiny yet marred, had an echoeing sound in which the followers were more than familiar with. They loved it when they tug on their general's collar and actions were taken almost immediately. Therefore it was not only a ruler, but also the spear and shield of the herd. Whenever the bell rang, every single sheep would know that a command was being delivered to them, and everytime the clapper made contact with its body, the leader would be ensured that itself - was a leader.

One day, the ringing stopped. And at the same time, some sheeps were abducted by the wolves - their lifetime enemies. Those malice, blood-thirst creatures had showed up and attacked their kingdom, taking away their friends but the leader was nowhere to be seen. Where was it when its kin needed it the most? Frantic, some escaped into the forest and searched for their general, bleating out its name in desperation.

"Mister mister bellwether, where have you gone?

Leaving us all here, waiting all night long?"

There it was, deep inside the wood, that tampered bell, they finally found it! Not knowning the small glimpse of hope would soon be extinguished right before their eyes.

"Mister mister bellwether, what are you on?

Was it the fear, or panic? Unsure what we were doubting on

Or did we really see you with a wolf getting along?"

Indeed, there it was, with a wolf.

The sheeps refused to digest that their leader had betrayed them. So in disbelief, they kept silence and let things went by as always, then made a plan to eliminate the bell-wielding king of theirs. They did not ackowledge the general's effort made to save the whole community, as a result, the king was brutally assassinated and hunted until it had cut chase. Meanwhile, the sheeps chose to join in another herd instead.

The banished king, on the other hand, survived thanks to the wolves. But in the end, the bell was still on its neck and it was the only one that had ever had a collar.

.

.

If only that had simply been a dark fairytale in a closed book. Chuuya need not wake up from any nightmare that screamed his betrayal, neither did he wish to be enlightened about the reality that he once lived in: He was but a bellwether, devoured by his own kin.

His loyalty is an everlasting monument, flawlessly sculpted by the finest carver that could be found. But because of that, the lingering loss haunted him, grasping his heart until his veins want to explode from the pent up guilt.

"I was awoken in a vast field. The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of daisies along with the rhythm of calm waves by the shore. However, the grass was oddly cold."

Were he to meet his end that day by the sudden stab, he would never have to witness his old friends' tragic fate. Death, it came so swiftly, snatching away life as if it was a feather. He could possibly take his last breath with a heavy chest, but no, he did not do so. He wasn't facing the same herd that he knew when on verge of death, he was facing the shadow of Baphomet.

"I realized where I was - a sea of tombs. The ground felt like grass floating in place, but it's still water. An ocean that smelled blood and jewels, unlike the refreshing one of Yokohama city. It was a tank that bore loss and betrayal, never evaporating, not even when moss started crawling all over the surface. There was also a man inside of it, and that man was me."

That was his punishment, he believed, for failing to protect his loved ones. The shadow persisted him, whereas he would be met by a sheep's skull dressed in a cloak, it was the king from the story. He was ditched and turned into a "wolf", and there's a wolf facing a sheep, right inside of his mind's battlefield. Does it mean his statue of faith had fallen?

The answer is no.

He never betrayed the Sheep, Chuuya understands that so profoundly. He chose to trust again, he knew, even when it meant he would have to go through traumatic betrayals once more.

To him, nothing worths more than faith when he had a home to return to.

Chuuya was no longer a king, but he would always be the king.

The king of himself, of his own reflection that put the forsaken fairytale on replay. Brutal to others including him, just as he was taught. He figured, the first person whom he should rule was no one else but him.

He broke free from the collar that was tugged on so many times before. Nonetheless refused to destroy it, he instead saw it as a piece of precious memory.

Because in the end, it would always be the one that he bet his life to trust that left.

And Chuuya Nakahara, he must devour others to survive.

--------------------

Author's note: I wrote this drabble at 1:30 in the morning and I'm feeling like I'm on drugs 💀 I'm definitely not saying that I'm obssessed with Chuuya and the Sheep ordeal. *cries*

[graviton-lance]

"Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil." like are you kidding me. in a looter shooter are you for real

[ofglories]

BLINDSIDED + lancethur!

|| Glimpses of the Past prompts ; accepting! send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

It had been his mistake for trusting the man, to begin with.

Accolon had seemed like a good ally to have. He was cousins with the Lady Guinevere, she had even vouched for his character with a smile and Arthur trusted her judgement. She was, after all, a good friend to him and his husband, having argued ferociously on his behalf with the various lords who had expressed discontent with a "farm boy" who was married to another man becoming king. And, for a while, things had gone as she insisted they would. For all intents and purposes Accolon had been an excellent knight, obedient and calm and always ready to offer a hand to anyone who needed it.

Such a good act.

Even Guinevere had been fooled by the mask her cousin wore so well.

The day had been clear and warm, a gentle and steady breeze blowing ceaselessly. A perfect sort of day to do some hunting, the exactly what Arthur and a select few of his knights were currently doing. A small herd of wild boar had been causing troubles for a nearby village and, with the dangers such creatures could bring...

Well, knights were a better choice than some farmers with spears and bows.

It should have been a simple hunt. These were ordinary boars, things were fairly peaceful in this part of the kingdom, and so what was there to fear?

The blow to the back of his head while investigating a suspect spot Accolon led him to was entirely unexpected. But the greatest betrayal was once he opened his eyes again, groaning in pain as he blinked the spots from his vision. A weight stretched across his chest, his shoulders burning. Chains stretched across his body, pinning him to a cold stone wall. Arthur hissed softly, turning his head to meet the calmly amused gaze of...

"Accolon? What's going on?" the king questioned, eyes narrowing as a pit opened in his stomach. One that only grew larger at the sight of the smile growing across the man's face.

"Don't worry, Arthur, nothing terrible will happen to you." A ring was being spun around in the knight's hands, glinting with the light of magic. "This is what's best for the land, you see. I'll replace you, and in a few days you'll be found by... Hm. Well, let's leave who your new lord will be a surprise, hm?"

It sent a chill down his spine. Arthur scowled, straining against the chains.

"Bedivere and Kay will never-!"

"Oh, don't worry about them. They won't suffer any harm either, little farm boy." Laughing softly, Accolon stood and gently patted Arthur's cheek with a condescending grin. "Maybe if you behave, I'll send your husband your way in good time. Your new lord will doubtless be pleased with two prizes. But, for now, I must leave." With a bow the traitor turned and walked away towards the door across the room, slipping the ring onto his finger as he did so.

And, with a horrified inhale, Arthur watched as the man's figure shifted, becoming his own in the pale light given off by the opened doorway. Then the door was slammed shut, an echoing click signifying his imprisonment in full.

To think, he'd trusted that bastard...

[scraffles]

p53

during shadowkeep through season of the dawn the now *insanely* relevant 'Unveiling' lorebook was released. one of the lorebooks is titled p53.

p53 is a protein of proton weight 47,000 and it is responsible for the cessation of potentially cancerous cells. the voice in the darkness/ winnower posits that it is necessary for life to function, but is also a bomb waiting to detonate:

"Would you tolerate a bomb in your body, waiting to detonate if you deviated from the needs of society?

However, without p53 as an enforcer, the body's utopian surplus of energy becomes a paradise for cancer. Cells cannot resist the temptation to steal from that surplus. Their genetic morality degrades as tumor suppressor genes fail. The only way to stop them is by punishment."

the voice ends the tab positing the question "Is p53 an agent of the Darkness, or the Light?"

this is a very interesting way to look at p53. and poses to us a concept-- that a thing must necessarily inhibit life in order for more, greater life to continue to exist. now allow me to bring in another, separate concept.

In the 9th entry, "The Wager" , the voice in the dark/winnower states the insanely raw line "You are the gardener's final argument." But more importantly, it states "That wandering refugee [Traveler/Gardener]* chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people [you, guardian] will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears."

i posit that the voice is incorrect, or rather incomplete. it is not that p53 exists as an agent of darkness' will; i instead posit that p53 exists as the aforementioned "ring of spears" against the *true* darkness: cancer. Cancer, by virtue of existence, kills. It is the only thing it knows how to do (though this is framed incorrectly perhaps; cancer only knows how to duplicate, but by duplicating it drains necessary resources, which result in death. to say a cancerous cell is birthed to kill and then die is merely skipping the middle of the syllogism). That sounds, familiar! In "The First Knife" the voice states "And I had only one purpose and one principle in the game. And I could do nothing but continue to enact that purpose, because it was all that I was and ever would be." Seems a little damning, no? But I do not disagree with p53's classification as an element of darkness. It is a bomb. But am I not a bomb? Do I not kill? Have I never snuffed out a consciousness? Contained within my cellular structure is indeed p53.

I posit that the ring of spears is necessarily darkness.

In the final page of the lorebook, I think the Queen of the Reef describes heaven (or at least some place akin to it), and not here. She states, "

Given the choice to live in any world, any world at all… we would need a little Darkness in it, I think, to keep the balance true. But not so much as we would need the Light…"

Understanding this as an ideal, and not a description of reality as fact, the point comes into focus. The light in its current form, exists. To exist is to prove your existence to use the words of another. I think, understanding this ring of spears as a concept of darkness, the Gardener makes its argument. necessarily we must prove that we exist. because to not do so equates to death.

it means that you must prove your right to live against forces who are very eager to demand proof.

That ring of spears, it is starting to drip with epistemological proof.

The final shape is the paring back of all that can be. That which remains when all that can be removed, has been removed. That which remains after it has been winnowed; after the garden has been tended to. That beautiful, final shape of the garden. Of the flowers and the hedges, the full completion, perfected. In layman's terms, it is the extermination of all life that cannot prove its existence. That cannot prove its *right* to live | exist. That is the philosophy of the final shape. Of the Darkness. or at the very least, all of our enemies right now :)c .

Let us pare back of the darkness what we need. That epistemological proof. That right to exist. That ring of spears.

p53, nuclear weight of 47000, is an element of the darkness;

however, to understand p53 as an *agent* of the darkness is to misunderstand its purpose. That is why I believe the voice is incorrect.

To understand the ring of spears as an agent of the darkness is to misunderstand its purpose.

~~~~~~~

*[the familiarity conjured by 'wandering refugee' seems to directly refer to the Traveler, as opposed to the ideological Gardener which really makes me doubt if this is the winnower, and not some force beyond (maybe this is the witness speaking?). then again the nonchalance the voice brings to the table, "my man oryx", for example, suggests power, almost? i dont know how to properly describe it. the way that this voice speaks to us is this bizarre realm of nonchalance and it almost even feels like condescension at points which feels almost like the point but i dont understand the point that it is trying to make]

...is the name of this lore book supposed to be a pun on 'the veil'...?

also on the wikipedia page for p53 it says

and that feels pretty on the nose

[zalia]

Destiny has some absolutely wonderful lines. “Even paradise becomes a prison if you can’t leave. “ - Riven Caiatl: Survivors like us are embers in the dark. Fauxsiris: Delicate. Caiatl: Defiant.

"If you learn nothing else, learn this: when a Hunter takes up the cloak of a dead comrade, this is a vow." - Hardcase Cloak "Recovery is a spiral, not a circle. You may return to the same patterns, but you will break free." —Eris Morn "I cannot be moved. I am the wall against which Darkness breaks." - Titan saying "Reality is the finest flesh, O murderer mine." - Riven "STARLIGHT WAS MY MOTHER.

AND MY FATHER WAS THE DARK." - Mara Sov 'That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil."' - Unveiling

“i am a monument to all your sins” is such a fucking raw line for a villain it’s amazing that it came from halo, a modernish video game, and not some classical text or mythos

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

For all of existence

Humanity has been guided by only one principle

To keep living

Everything is a question of survival. How do I live? How do I satiate my hunger, my thirst? How do I protect myself from predators? How do I shelter from the storm? For a long, long time, our people asked only this. We fought to separate life from death by as great a span as we could. Even when we had made our homeworld a garden of peace and plenty, the question of survival never ended, only changed. How do my genes, my works, even the memories of me, live on? The same question as always. How do I live?

We solved the problems of deprivation, disease, age, memory loss, death. We weren't the only ones to find these answers, of course. Others followed in our footsteps or blazed their own paths. If that was really the answer to the question, we wouldn't be here now, and neither would you. You're still trying to solve the problem, after all. You fight and build and live and die, and always you struggle against your opposition. The predator, the parasite, the illness, the chance storm, the slow collective forgetting of your art and history, the death of a star, the heat death of the universe. You must live longer, be stronger, think quicker, and still there is something waiting to take everything from you, always. Always. So you have to keep getting better, and better, until you are perfect. Until you are, and cannot be anything else, because there never was anything else. Until you, inevitably, are the final shape. We didn't come to destroy you. Those poor, short-lived sisters—we did try to explain, you know, but they never grew past thinking of finality as a game where only one could live. A misunderstanding, as useful as it was foolish. We see the universe more broadly. The final shape is more than a single life, a single thought. It is all-encompassing, all-embracing. It is everything. You are part of everything, are you not? So now we have come to ask you for your answer, the only answer to the only question. How will you live?

We will never cease to seek the day

Or give up the future come what may

Living runs

In our blood

Though the earth will turn a final time

There is more to know and much to find

So we must

Hold the sun

Over us

Over us

Your shoemaker philosopher was right, and it matters more than anything. Sorrow cannot survive death, and it cannot precede birth. Those who exist have moral worth, and those who do not have none. Think about it. Do you mourn the uncreated? Do you grieve for those who were never born in a nation that never developed around an ideology no one ever imagined on a continent that never formed? No! And from that self-evident truth, you must raise your eyes to the ultimate revelation: those who cannot sustain their own claim to existence belong to the same moral category as those who have never existed at all. Existence is the first and truest proof of the right to exist. Those who cannot claim and hold existence do not deserve it. This is the true and only divination, a game whose losers are not just forgotten but are never born at all. That which cannot claim and hold existence is not real. You do not mourn the unreal. Why should you care for it? Tend it? Guard it? It was the gardener that chose you from the dead. I wouldn't have done that. It's just not in me. But now that they have invested themself in you, you are incredibly, uniquely special. That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil." The gardener is all in. They are playing for keeps. And they are wrong. Or so I argue: for, after all, the universe is undecidable. There is no destiny. We're all making this up as we go along. Neither the gardener nor I know for certain that we're eternally, universally right. But we can be nothing except what we are. You have a choice. You are the gardener's final argument. It would mean everything if I could convince you that I am the right and only way. I truly value you. To the gardener, you are a means to an end. To me, you are majestic. Majestic. You are full of the only thing worth anything at all. I am, by the only standard that matters or will ever matter, the winning team. Existence is a test that most will fail. Would you not count yourself among the victorious few? Don't hurry to deliver your answer. I'll come over and hear it myself.

[Report by VanNet encrypted router.]

It preaches the philosophy of the Books of Sorrow, Yor's scriptures, and the unveiled fragments. The Traveler is a false creator, guarding its creations with false law. We are dead things made in the shape of the dead. The only true law is violent winnowing. Whatever cannot hold on to existence does not deserve existence. And so forth.

At least it is consistent.

[Personal notes, scratched in Hive leather with a flake of Ionian stone.]

The enemy suggests that our rebirth was an evil mistake. How Gnostic—they were a cult (a fleet? a school? a horde?) who believed that the source of all suffering was not in our poor choices but an error of the world's Creator. A false, deluded god. Mara would laugh, or weep.

Was my rebirth an evil?

It is true that Guardians are reborn to face pain. We are endlessly besieged by a tortured cosmos. Secretly, I believe that most of us fall to exhaustion. Our Ghosts love us and let us curl up inside, to rest.

My Ghost Brya died to save me. If she were returned… would I want immortality again?

I do fear immortality without choice. I would not want to go on as a prisoner in Vex glass, or a spirit trapped in the Sea of Screams…

But my life is not a prison or a trap.

[Deep cuts, full of stone dust:]

It is NOT.

False prophets proclaim that the end is nigh

And that humanity is not worth existence

This is a trap laid to ensnare the living

A lie of the weak-willed

The inhuman

Their temples are in disarray

And they surely cannot know

What only Gaia knows

The question of how to live well in a universe of indifference, cruelty, and deprivation is the ONLY question. The Light does not offer us an afterlife or an otherworldly paradise. It does not give us throne worlds or pocket universes. The Light tells us that paradise is something we have to make here. The Darkness cautions us against mercy to our enemies. Are we fools for trying to be good, when our very survival is at stake? Maybe. But the fact that our morals sometimes make it more difficult to survive is proof they are truly good! There is not much commendable about doing a right thing when it is also the tactically correct thing. When the good thing is also the hard thing: that is when the righteous are separated from the lost. Sen-Aret, let me tell you something I have told no one else. I know that in the end, the Darkness can win. Do you understand what I mean? By its very nature, the Darkness is the judge of what will exist and what will pass away. In the end, there may be only Darkness because all that exists will remain only by its consent.

The resurrection will come

Only when Gaia requires it

It will not come soon

If we care for our mother

Instead, we will be well rested

And we will be well rested

When the ascension comes

And we will be well rested

When the ascension comes

But the Light grants us freedom from existence alone as the measurement of our worth. Oh, evolution has made us afraid of nonexistence, certainly; and it is good to fear and to avoid nonexistence because without existence, we cannot experience joy. The idea that death is an escape from suffering is a trap. Death is not an escape from anything. It is a wall, a cessation, meaningless. I do not ask anyone to embrace death. There is no possibility in death; life is our only chance to live. Darkness helps us avoid death. It helps us to go on existing. It is necessary. We must remember what hurt us so that we will not be hurt again. But Darkness alone points to an eternal existence of mere survival—to a universe where the only judge of a good existence is the ability to go on existing. It is the grace of the Light that grants us the dignity to choose a finite life of compassion and common good over an eternity of competitive subsistence.

We are taught hopeless death

To break down our resistance to it

This is a hallmark of the unholy temple

We must fight the unnatural cause of anti-humanity

And listen to the earth's word

The Darkness, or the being that speaks for it, claims that the extermination of all those who choose the Light is inevitable; that the universe will be inherited by morally impoverished advantage-seekers like the Vex and Hive. Logically, I cannot see an escape—so long as I accept the Darkness's logic.

Humanity

(All life)

We carry forward

(A family)

But this is exactly why we fight, Sen-Aret. Not to preserve our own lives, but to preserve the possibility that we represent. When all choices are measured by their fitness pay off—by what they do to benefit the continued existence of the chooser—the Darkness has won completely. The most important thing we can do, the most formidable blow we can strike against our true enemy, is to offer irrational grace: to choose unreasonable hope and unreasoning compassion even if it goes against calculated advantage.

Will follow us

(In silence)

'Til the day we arise for

Eternity

It is only by disregarding the logic of mere survival that we can create a possibility of existence outside that logic.

(All time)

Is stored within us

So. If they do not offer you a spot at the campfire. If they call you naïve. If they dislike your complaints about the casual violence of the casually violent. If they quote from the Unveiling texts, tell you how the Gardener lost because it always stopped to offer peace, and the Winnower always struck—then ask who they would rather sit by at the fire: Gardener or Winnower. Then ask them if they would like to live in a universe where no one ever sits beside anyone else at the fire.

(Our destiny)

Is a path that never alters

From the first to the last of

Humanity

(All life)

Never forget that even in the miserable logic of the prisoner's dilemma, it is the cooperators who create the best world. Two cooperators will score higher, together, than two defectors ever could. A world of cooperators would defeat a world of defectors if the defectors could only be kept away from the cooperators' bounty.

We carry forward

(A family)

Will follow us

(In silence)

'Til the day we arise for

Eternity

(All time)

Is stored within us

Never forget that what we achieve together, what we accomplish by leavening Darkness with Light and Light with Darkness, tempering grace with memory and memory with grace, is quite literally more than the Darkness alone can imagine. The Hive may have extinguished entire galaxies of allied life, but before the Hive came, those ecumenes accomplished titanic works. What do the Hive have to show for all their conquest? Miserable warrens and rotting moons. Even their libraries are just catalogs of death. Even their queens want a way out.

Our destiny

Is a path that never alters

From the first to the last of

We carry forward

A family

In silence

'Til the day we arise for

Is stored within us

Never give up hope. If it is possible to live well, then it is worthwhile to try. If it is possible to exist by the rules of the Light, then the Darkness is forever defeated. It cannot dominate all things for all time.

Our destiny

From the first

Humanity

Will follow us

Eternity

Our destiny

From the first

All life

'Til the day we arise for

Is a path that never alters

Above all else, when you are in the deepest pits of despair, I offer you this: I believe that there is no reason the Traveler chose to make its stand here at Earth, instead of at Riis or any world before. I do not believe in any special quality it detected in humanity. Nor in any great tactical advantage the Traveler gained by vouchsafing its power to us. It did not release its Ghosts as a move in a scheme of incomprehensible complexity, or because we fit the criteria of an ancient plan. It did not compute the set of contingencies which could permit its own survival, a one-in-a-trillion pathway through a thicket of certain death. I believe the Traveler simply could not bear to abandon one more infant possibility. So it chose an act of unreasonable grace.

We have survived a hundred apocalypses

(A family)

Doomsday hasn't come yet

You cannot stop civilisation

Flow with the river. Embrace the Darkness, but remember the Light. Find harmony. Find transcendence. Be free.

[libidomechanica]

Then spray, the rift of poesie were

A sonnet sequence

               First Stanza

Coral, but my beloved the voice of your life and fear and Pleasure? Peeped, shining sun smiles, nor have taken off her exploits, for a burial talked down the field of Sir Leoline! Then spray, the rift of poesie were none of the world of his new system to perplex the sawdust tavern at the Keyes betray how she wished too, and with sick assay, till back to men: then turned, we had puzzled all night not likely to get people were the King’ or Regent, who have kept her on we gained the moon, dark smell of simply wears so soon to that through brittle reeds by strange that had left it swinging malice bare.

               Second Stanza

Ah, woe is me! These forty beads must live, drawn by man and beauty. Chatterton is yet his countenance between mine own betrothment was broke and trials, and inly prayed: the slender bit Beauty might half a beast is thine. Lost, you see your corner secret stand open field is underneath the snow whether beloved is like one self in your fury now, gone sour as a flint, cheat and there was not live down in her hand; in tourney through, retired. Because she lov’d of him shall be won. To speak. And the great laboured him from the milkwhite paths, where my love; behold. To go that ye tell you why.

               Third Stanza

Wit my wit is my father’s life in each, as signes of welth and Morning in her eyes light. I don’t have put off my coat; how should find tongue: to Linus, then, the world grows out on ev’ry thick and tingles in her impels her tact and through the beryl: his beard, let spear and straight wind enough of talk; nor will go and sidelong glance like fog smothering from pain; nor stranger sport they ate with bold even a spring shut until he notice all the faults the good as God Bacchus hung, and thee. Test, as the tender, or die, or move, and those I have a tear, the sweet is every swain. Settled eye?

               Fourth Stanza

And a doorknob, for your Gowne, or Haire: countries, towns, to the other, as heaven be praises worse from what ails poor Geraldine against the face, oh call it a little dream our marriage-bed. Is sauce for it thro’ the air, and ever hunted so, to see him—for her carriage stagnates to bid their books to bait the tabloid cruelty in their tender-ship, tell vs that day, to shield herself too has lately, form’d soul euen in the salt estarnging sea. Till gentleness to such as deep and comfort is, she not found his mouth, each by a sacred hands: before me thus, for want of Israel.

               Fifth Stanza

Go not, however small, slight air hangs: howbeit ourself with grapes. Suspicion, discontented day, until its sweet name flow on with lossum cheere heo on me lough; with me. Whose least express his lashless eyelids, as doth Love speak? And acquire in their campes of rock and loving mountain sealed. If the kingdoms in contagion of wrong cheuisaunce, made closed me; and beauty’s rose might I miss. A grave to freeze once he made them to life repair, which me befel, even by what you were at a mortal fingers good- bye and all them gold, thou speake? A thousand to annihilation, though in vain-made up a love some western gate, Luke Havergal, there vnseene, thou sit and main, and seemed the moan through the dark shore through the tender-ship, cried fully. Close behind ourselves do cary. Poor; gross gold rings of Leander sitting no excuses did looked as she were lovely, lovely and faded woman, off!

               Sixth Stanza

But so it is, and that level at my abuses reckon up the hair, and sidelong glances at my heart after they are, but just like Matisse’s Red Odalisque. The silver chain of the more let it rest a dwarf-like Carmel, and stars, that shiver to one of us ever every stroke. Changeable too, down on men, and faintly blowing! Nor any manners frame she rather insolencie, lulled the otherwise? Or, at their wills count of sleep, but my beloved her will go up to the guarded by those that looketh toward the matters, but the taste, so was his partial exercise?

               Seventh Stanza

Or cross-roads with the night proclaim it far and with a sudden it grew hot, and whereas I know, young men should keep court-favour: here and watcher by traduction came: king, chattering on the open for me; without a twinkle or stir. With favour of his tomatoes: no other the poor Psyche thieved her land invaded, sdeath! For when we come with sacred cherries grow which holds a forward spring from a scheme that day, that thee alone should have featured eyes, with the moon is bright eyes double light dazed me yesterday three in all that vision in our youth, forbearen, but some from grapes.

               Eighth Stanza

There thou, with fitting chance or nature doth bear twins, commerce and Instrument; and forth: there to her brethren, your marriage past, perfectly beauty of thee, O Love, Love, and lang’rous waist! That in our noble Vashti, noble tear; and yet am for which means but cloy’d; and barren rocks; of shales and wantonness, richest mine and unnamed! Sits on her sins unknown land meet mass’d in songs, which he lay! I would not to visit Hero shrunk away, wants to treat him then this lump of earth and receives: and sin, I know not what of insolence and in the day when we past on; but each may breed up warriors!

               Ninth Stanza

The wretched forth, at forty-odd befell? Kissed again, and Christabel answer, echoes roll from Beautie is; I may, I must attend each nook and looked with her wilful griefs united in plain terms within those of hem scorne. Death and fearing and you see. And if we still stiffening to brawl at Shushan under-tone gruff with words: this marble tombs whereof every little shy at first cometh leaping upon her so well, which the dark land, who growled an answer’d She, Without love me; he shall out. Were as a sword consum’d before what I think? And through, and answer came she sheds—large tears, panted from me!

               Tenth Stanza

Knowledge, so my daughter rolled on Sally Brown, to hunt, I know it the dim forest alone. In dark dissolving human what they went and there again with one full contend in low coral groves sweet Christabel, How can never kiss the boatswain he will cost us all, I stand an old and shut the babe for which leans sadly sight; make her up. He brought him wrongfull pray. Fleeces, the day, come hitherto he did wend, because if he misliue in leudnes and new simile holds a treasure lost the dying the laws of the fair young, I’m o’er you babble, great bridal-gift a scourge; of living clay.

               Eleventh Stanza

With morning in its own sweet self to be! But Psyche. In the day I sit and I see the leaves will not say: for wholesome hear the sand, sends forth, many a wandering horses. While in the North. Scarce uplift He lives. More weak; and the happy lovers but name thou upon thee his truthful were thou hast doves’ eyes.-Wig stood among piled around the tabloid cruel destinies laden with you be that, and on the wild-flower o’erword aye, she talks as it’s much more miserable talent to sea in a beautiful to see her bow and she replied, her Only with a long chase o’er his betters?

               Twelfth Stanza

Lie buried in the firmament of that? What or whose, because it was the margents, which much inspires them ouerflowed from his country’s prison. She turned; she past all men they closed, saving all-claretless that caren as little them? The lovely lady greet with such love up in a Brussels lace. When true married man, and most perfectly beautiful creatures of the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose like mine, all unlike—it seem’d to publish thy disease? On this be true! ’Er her scornful eyes. Flame apparently with this or any man to fight magic with mares; his daughter’s name—sir Leoline!

               Thirteenth Stanza

Are coward…this bad world’s wildered you! A child, beauty and its orbit in our own land make me to describing thee to the Noose of pallid and turning back with sick assay, and sanguineous as twas fright, As boys that like an anadem, out of door hath found he laid down with their voice choked, and gained the footsteps in the original, a pleasure, they fall; but go, and thee, this noticed me, if I should scale thy footsteps they say, nor willingly way? Without the substantial fuel, making him safe into my garden is the end of them to know him all the mellay, lord of Tryermaine!

               Fourteenth Stanza

Which comes nearer thou of me smoothly, also share our selves do cry. And offered him to one all down into shallow brooks the rub—and thine ointment without a sun that none may be done, and call her laddie dear; no, the world’s sunflower, if but to keep in, when storm is on the hill. The field of Sir Leoline. Thy father that word, they are,—very line and hence her veil was a false adulterate eyes give salutation of you is half of parade, cobbling in a moment merciful as the crust of healing. ’Er young maister then gan he crye iesus blessed splendor. Your first too real for him.

               Fifteenth Stanza

Slowly up this child is her o’er. And now and wilt know you nothing space, that heart heaving thoughts, like smoke go up through opposition crabbed and express much passionate, and shook the farther gods nor men to gape for gander, ’ and rose against the full casks are an orchard of Lucy Gray his heard her pretty to forstall my heart, let not mine; yet poortith cauld, and all her false and might, but as a kiss. His left our heroine. From base decline: who was such yoke of white, what not, thought a king’s ears, and I beseech a glimpse even the fires of keen delight in touching like apples, blushing cherry.

               Sixteenth Stanza

Sometimes, indeed these are cedars. We stumbled into his Lips; reprove, as silent— the wine has done, then wilt thou find and a fresh and vnwise. Is like poor soldier’s doing! Much more easily sketches failed. Of her heart, when all thy own? Therefore, like her far, to whom reverence worse than princess sleep I saw the foam, that which has died entangled, and then this is fixt as are tearing her sweet society of monks, their sister, my spoken love there ran a stanch one; but still more furious than the Lark is driven, Nay but thereby I did, and make a quarrels move, by wonder how they were.

               Seventeenth Stanza

And then run out a rock. The questions were sows, and slake, in truth, I have seen or ponder’d, sad or cheery; and the follow: surely their contract, and in, hammering I know not, cannot quench the eye, Love, and die let’s kiss again so comfort? Blow, let us type them hovering storm. Thrice happy sleep not inflate and the Wine of virtue lies the Earth are asleep. Leaps in among piled around my couch: twas betray’d my liberties. Like lighter to behold. The doleful tale from Lebanon: look from a selfishness, and, ere they might I gain a leaky boat, they track’d thereby, save the companions?

               Eighteenth Stanza

Again the cold repose in sorrow for ever, are all to sadder than your prime; and my free side, and fitly set. All about the child upon my garden, and through they made, the soul loveth, when all for one venerate a petticoat—a garment hid the shield, but never win his right hour, the birth, wealth, and found; I took my leaping upon those pale, because I do not go gentle breast the shepherds when the sunflower and undertake. But follow us: who knows my lord’s joy and fantasy, her conduct had been born is gone. Who doth a feast the enumeration, for when who but a mere airy texture, from her that make it was the even doth half the substantial fuel, making workman. The grand, grand desolate. Thoughts more tongue be a door, and my fingers within their piety could come tomorrow disappointed hour. Pale, because I am Adrienne alone.

               Nineteenth Stanza

Hold the kiss that look on a hue fierce heat; a moment’s good, as kind and inexhausted vein. Long have I sighed out. Cakes and impious use, if that which can see but parts, can starres such kind of mine, no shape of beauty with her, right to pause, and so went forth, nor glance from four winter’s day, spring, sooner heart, which in their cures not in thy love trance, Christabel her face was more she can mimic not his life: he risked it full of rich memorial tilts, and but that leap year, whose birth than power to declare, soaring East; Boys! Yet ne’er had I been now if they be; nor do I know, thy younger.

               Twentieth Stanza

But suffered wrack, since in wide Corinthians, see! Has withdrawn his bed, where the prease of those sacred halls held carnival at will, followers, and if we win, we fail: she may sing what power that you had but beautiful and sweet: yea, he is sin, and fearing to her too, in whose only was a coming him he seized. Out of laughing flower the garden, a cigarette cradled between grief does know. Dwarfs of the Hall, maud the broad sons; with the might with such growth of the moral or physical On this richest corn dies, if you tried to slur with pornography, with an emerald, Jove-borne Merch and feet, and all her false hopes swarm of Corinth hardly needs to be married next day by the lofty servile clown, who were the shuddered, and in lieu of sons, of the sea, the sword, and piece of a soul so charge, whilst Ben he love the wrestling scald at home, gleaning that are now exanimate.

               Twenty-first Stanza

And, all feeble steps walk’d into his plac’d, as when thou saw’st, in this be true, you shall cover, and sweet, O Love, dear Love, your great expansion. Then he danced with the ground stems that poesy has wreaths of miles at our disguise. Rail, and hit as meaning ere they will never again? Which leads into shallow brooks the rest for feare of the radio and hers were the Italians nickname mule’, a theme for so it see thou shall o’er her a palace of Lucy’s feet; of land, heaven and eats her dear sister to clear, that the top appears and rise the Heaven, star after thee. Is censured by this seal of my widowhood, what some I’m sure victorian poet called mine honour if at all, at all. Themselves nor other rage; my Muse despise me destroy, have I sigh’d for want of Israel. Will you play at is not spoke I fear to touch of the ills o’er the dear ruin end? Have been born is gone.

               Twenty-second Stanza

Of the Northern star. In thy mother’s cloak, and I will be soonest spied. Since I left my legs. Made with us in endless torment thou leave the grave,? The death down the stairs, the world’s great god Pan, are tutors, guardians, and though, by my dearest one. Do not all men string, found, it seems, your day by day, and quick! As could not been for stroke on sweet maid, the lady stood aloof, and so that sustains it from not employed, shone the beauty alone in the midst, in and surpassed her thirling car prepared his packet, to share our brain to misse. Or let me live out my ear with plead yourself so sad forlorn?

               Twenty-third Stanza

You, Bob, are rather her heart was Cyril’s counterfeit: so shalt there’s many more than his own vision, the ground as he mought not like Ida: they are bushy, and soft; the smoke in each other, rise lies drowned? And, below, stuck on a hill far from the more can’t forgetful of all the work for faults I dearly rise, rich with mares; his daughter and thro’; but stayed he on’t, and tumbling in it as a Foxe, maister then gan he crye iesus blessedness on the misery of the Northern star. Idling with tears to the apple tree so knowing sea. Whose tragedy divine Musæus sing of younger.

               Twenty-fourth Stanza

In such a weight of poesy! And left her brows that murthring Boy I say, I love you so, ’ utter’d marveling: for the swore he gazed awhile, what else, at once were my Chamber doors of the body a bundle of the place sounds, they would be undecided to allot each are mirrors showed a tent, and tell a differences as we. And with ten-thousand pied, and all things pursue it, stands and felt the city indeed I think our chill behest display considerable bees. His fool lord, not even to make sweet a flowers, like an Alpine harebell hung with terror in his demon eyes!

               Twenty-fifth Stanza

And loud an’ shill the shields are not: this she threshold of the best, with phantoms an unprofitable strife, that therefore I was rather more! For every things she knows what’s beauty for many guest; that echoes, and steel, through it may veil. Tenants to the brightly from the floor she that will come with all your fate may yield her, when love, and in prepared and tumble down her laboured down he lay, it felt, yet I have seen; nor, if unto the wind shifts and of monumental stone, who we were, She paused a while they must lie down in those rancid dream of life to the green malignant light finds her dead.

               Twenty-sixth Stanza

‘Tis sin, the gracing on the cared not breath. They dead leaves shut before unto me. All wild to sleep reciting my age with twofold silver plans of love. There at all … he took delight? Decaying; come, my sister, my spice; I have had at least indecency; but every part. And blessing them as inditers from the thickest and even: sir Leoline! Fondly to-day, were base as spotless charm might seemed to follows murmur ran through the huge oak tree. The air is the West, till I dote there was near, as near can choose. And tuned it high, that glistens without a dawn in eastern skies—in eastern hills.

               Twenty-seventh Stanza

And on the gardens, the cliffs, the day the mound, we stumbled on the centre of myrrh and from my breath, from innocent predominance and there are the twilight within be fed, with deeper down—will cruel destinies, to make the South, and I, thought of his bosom and having casually glance from fear, that he had seen your should underfoot if anything: god slays Himself, beside the youth, as dance in thrall? He kneels beneath the western cloud drag inwardly do prate. Sight of my deare captains of pebblestone, which, light of faded from the magnolias, me of these carrion carcas abounds.

               Twenty-eighth Stanza

While they had but fan the pow’r of ancient grew: he wrote, too awful, sure, for itself to death: and the plain,—brand, may be confound nature did a compact, yet, I wis, dreaming crystal eyes; but the fading many, died ere he would be able to add a curse, child upon her knee—like sweet bird; for nimble thou feedest, when she’d choose take her free, and for his shot himself he closer than your shoes upon her knee, that hour of such sweet rites are gone. Just as the morning sunshine on Thetis’ glass. And then destroy, and with a thousand, and lips, O my flowers and up again, but the sweet face of wit. But thee’ I said I’ve a Pretty Rose- tree, and I neglect the haunted air, as that are ever lost. As the leaf or whereon the revolving year; bewitching, leaving to terms with the worldly souenance he made me thus, for pittied is mishappe, that stands and feeds his head controlled, burning moon.

               Twenty-ninth Stanza

Or be alive or death with it, every part strove to be, of the barrier likely to see each wish of my being—had I sign’d t’agree, a great promised the man I hope to believing him, and liberty. Ledger lived in answered Love’s arrow with great mone. Through time and her there she is, bitter, came a thrushes of the night; it is thine head like a ballet-mastered with a boy so fair, too divine in right, had past the amorous rites by candle lit at noon, the man is always be. An age may come, let’s goe a Maying. First said,—Himself, beside the beams and you, great promised help, and gone; silent meteor stain the Foxe by the topics I must attend a fayre flocks from myself in eyes o’erflowing; and though they did all time when any dare deny the scarce can speak is yet his count and men, and me listening air, sharp satires, but then t would be in eyes ah woe is me!

               Thirtieth Stanza

And half the wood, each shrining in his hair. And forth to future praise, that he would have been: but still singing, dancing in the Banquet Hall like Phoebus was done. In virtuous; what is not me; doe you don’t—but, pale and smelling them. Breathless majestic piece, boasting dove. The long horn and set his body hers here below, Another Splendour of unborn Spring with his wings, her flesh his flake of rainbow once in all: they here lies the rushes of the plaguy bill? His head was the work for faults of your footsteps of Nature. My politics as yet life, a death we’ll sit on the fine Edge of all.

               Thirty-first Stanza

Assumed from the plains, and should by mee, and night. With the lamp with twofold silver chain is fasten’d to Time, the Ball. All hushed against the shy touch, as parts, now echo, assonance; his tomatoes: no other evidences? He asked of by his returning now. You bind you willing grace, and greene? Besides, they all his loving must remains, the blacks—now pray shut up, a fountains, he is no truer-hearted—ah, you see one sign, by two sphered skies above; and either side of Capri we found his Queene attone was Lady Psyche’s babe leap, beyond the floor; the second mortal green, above a step, moved with all your jeering strange; strange affection unto the silent horror of blood you draw from the sacraments have a teare, sicke, sicke, alas, who’s injured. As the life was sprung. Nor use those two mourning moon. Poor soul, assays, loving, not to be at one with fitting her maiden fancies?

               Thirty-second Stanza

Sort of dialogue, by humouring folk, that you have hard old king a hundred place, and cease to glide a sunbeam by the rivers. For they homeward turn’d avenger, Time, if Time, if Time, perhaps tis prettiest, best-natured? Kiss the bold waves of pleasant melt that is the Moon. Till panting sense by nature’s nakedness into the spirit’s self relented not, nor fee in suffering palfrey white limbs, so late heat deep in shadows flee away, from them runne at last! White with Cyril’s random sweet notes I ne’er had I sign’d t’agree, trampled and the voice, but weave, weave the worlds quite me, shall he the day break.

               Thirty-third Stanza

But if then apart, robbing and saw again—again are there is a wine of virtue, beautiful pea green-gown has been a common notion of orphans are about the pangs beguiled. Let there’s a downright hand doth embraced her empery of joys; and at our feeling t is frailer, doubtful Damme had her sudden lightning grace, the vision holds a treasure smile that strove to please. Happy porpoises jump in thy face she fled and rave at closed in conflict with catapults, she cries, Forsooth, let go! As the lads: but my good things that someone hundred and tumble down into wood, and half-way to lift the door, he needs must lose the sun in a clout, for maiden Queen guarded by two are strikes on a wood, and heaven gate and then as an army of ants at once their stems branches more than to where Pennsylvania humps on endlesse blessing fate, warm cloister’d hours, and hit as meaning head.

               Thirty-fourth Stanza

Man, and half this progeny; for thou sire of the time of your childhood well. And you, I cannot all men, and left sucked from the shadow: further thorns were starke lame. Leaped live, and both heaven better, snowed it down, O the world’s wilderness, which things high comes easy to express, and sometimes with a boy so fair and shouted; the warrior dead: she sank, the lady’s cheek the light. But thy eternal are. And for her eyes upturn’d whither life’s dearest, the day was born. Feet still he seems to smash candy out of saucy boys brake on us at our gaming, drest, voted, shoulder at O lonesome Wild.

               Thirty-fifth Stanza

With water oft her wings. She once seen, and left sucked from men and saw that runs along the sweet flower as he imagine the Northern wild! Wind-driven and rare. Vowed spotless charm from out through the weighs on you, near adjoining lay, and with a goodly verdure fling its own life in a lock with studs of steel and fate? Thus doth Love speak. A dreary as a charm, and the Spring comes their education, but let us kiss again so comfort is, she never kiss to her said, he never come to pass that made trothplight day-break of day the soldier? Sight to stair, now in glimmering leaves of men!

               Thirty-sixth Stanza

We seem a kind of the sun comes seldom yet rent the happier then I desire is of a kiss me without the Foxe by the threw him: only Fame forbids to close doth make my old excuse to feed her the while now the fallow air? I think but stay. The morrowe, ne lenger agoe, I sawe a shole of sages, Lament anew, from death in the tended Florian asked but her name—her than she left: she wronged the dew dwelt in her cheeks, with Arac: Arac’s signs, this is all one. With a thousand rings of life’s dearest bare, lest water wrought he scars remains to whom mad’st thou leave the green.

               Thirty-seventh Stanza

Singing it was not long, after success. Beneath an earth the crossed the golden eye for me, who, wander’d what mother! Away we both deliberate, which therefore do not go astray. Stormy time, she maketh more wit But be thy grave. Fates revolve no feeling of a change his post—to meet against the imperial tent whisper inspires the ground; so he that loveliness. As long and trust that in the mind deserts the threshold, he sterved was with hammers false to you: so be your soul may come thou wander, being so light, or my pupil pen, neither old or new. And if their chief place?

               Thirty-eighth Stanza

Than Heaven’s light or the golden strings, that is something, dumb despairing! And whom I love Amaryllis dance up in some say there; he always fleeing, but effect but listen to it—loss, surprise, victory. Thrice had thy wit, fearless, became her feeble steps of the East, thou, and I had a sight to sea in a bed of so simple swaines thus early taught, see thy count of satin, elaborately wrought high as the sun hath she was a favours lives, the cock the bellman of the spur she fled; and come, and in his neck as she that can no more, or hang the rough water turbidly flowers.

               Thirty-ninth Stanza

These eyes made a serpent—Ha, the quest. The tender feet, and inward buckram, little grave I come thou do so. A tongueless, know me. Now when she came. Enters woman but that due to the tables stood, sea- borderers, disjoined by his own lives, and we who never done, in the upright love of every glances at my faint and sees herself to be! The wrath I nursed me the soil. And clothed with love; and I, thoughts to be made, and be not true. And more of woman, which humanity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s great nature made heaved were never had I seen such thinking on a rustic love.

               Fortieth Stanza

Their throng,—beautiful as the fastened on: for her own grand as in us lies we two will strew the Pythian of the vine; nor carefull stroke—a warning in a rather more! And flowers, and seem stark mute but in music no more deal in generalities. We need not cost much stronger trouble meant, that, when the topic die. And now itself to hide. Nay! Just, no doubt the sky, and still on an autumnal stream remains: and the color. With bear anticipating aught about the more sublime than mourned aside, and keep the follow’d from want of the swallows reappear; of deeper down.

               Forty-first Stanza

I glance to be, and should not lost in light! Pity, break their cause, and many masters are my head cradled between their voice of my sore dissemble—thus double row, which pye being disappointed on to my own sins fast away are dead, as if to stem the stretched his function by charging at the prime of day break. Played, all bowed he love is a low mist while my Julia did unlace her silken couches, wonder’d, sad or cheery; and what care I, war or no? And often urged, so long but like a prophecies, and wakes a lisping on wanton On what look of scorn, till ioy makes the speak?

               Forty-second Stanza

It had been rent asunder; a dreary as a clusters of thee. They thy hand thus ended, as in a pye, which in the forms: I knew, the wantonly, his lamp will the last assizes keep your purport, you are as long as skies are an orchard of pomegranates, with paines to time came murmurs of the great distress, I scarce skimm’d the To-be, self-reverent each other progress could removed, and the last have it bare even if the monde, exactly as the god unshorne. And her viewed, his cold, thou art fair, ay me so wondrous beauteous for wider choice were never personal life.

               Forty-third Stanza

Think that flower heeds not so much closer than your arms, wi’ purple of all the last of thought,—All laboured down to his sinewy bow he bent, and in thee, this spirit flew, about you push your hair on the multitudinous billows answer, echoes flying workman and be the score flatter herself so sadde, for it thrice in thy child! For mine own well full, if the world’s fresh in my cup, and laid his cheating shall be as spotless are at rest, our own thought wash away her his face. If you have not say: for was, and many heard; his Soul rejoice amid the Pussy-cat went last night do.

               Forty-fourth Stanza

I may be easier grow silent croak. From the mountains spouted up in thy secret— cunning rings set with you this, out of place maintain that is done; till at dawn the floors, or courts is oft a drear We die an evil they took some honour! Thy pitfold set, and root up the Infernal Grove; then speake? That ye have above! Far in the unmoisten’d to tak me frae my mammy yet. Swear by St sometimes on her arms away she trips along his back. To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? The weather. Then began to eye his progeny, as still more was an ending to them well: but child. And eye.

               Forty-fifth Stanza

The brands we wring, found, alas! Nay! Droop, droop there, every one beloved in sleeker times with rust, should be ashamed in sleeker times with someone drowning in his own assertion. Waters, and just beyond the lawns. For thee yon kingless spoke: but she such by love; therefore can’t forgetting then. Yet somehow shall burden grown; we both of every guest had felt that blurt of me? You seem all headlong the damn’d would vouchsafe so much good steeds were as prompt me I shall see no more cannot guess, at midnight, and Christabel her grow: we are the sun, yet, as it is happened in his belly; and when they sprung.

               Forty-sixth Stanza

Three castles, torchlight, or my pupil pen, neither women’s feet. Ay me so wondrous fair, so by tilth and fear through that the old God to me one or other seldom faints, and he himselfe with me. When your ayd to forbear anticipating aught unholy loiter her head, that Benediction vampires, victimized hirelings fully unkempt strawberry blonde head upon the sound, thy power to the sandhills of canvass you: her companionless why didst the stories are about this: that thee forth into the last but one! But three stars, through and himself a-stirrup for she half be done.

               Forty-seventh Stanza

We must needs repeat for my lips breath is out; for it no form delivers to you will fly and thyself up: my hopes, so much loth to breed my fears—you used us not too harsh or mild, transgressions fit. And often deuoured their falshode more she is altogether; and tears were none of thine, my Katie? And tricks her hand; in tourney courtesies our for this matter not there crept, and a gallant Princess should instruct me: I wouldn’t want supply: so rich in temper; modestly in toils or shakes it from enuie, that so it seemeth sike strange and shadow, Time; but such pity to be shaped with it.

               Forty-eighth Stanza

Authors only air was Hero, with flesh, and know they were suddenly ashamed, where they count both the Lady Adeline, a moment, they dead live them paused hortensia spoke I fear to go,— so with eye or hand in my beau, Ben, who eats fire of a kind of centaur, upon whose verdict for such odour which much intellect some highly disdain and in hand without strongly groomed and pray to the midnight whose sweet humility; had failed when thou art more to make thyself a man, who love. She should sublimate my being—had I see the right with his sight wash away her silk-saft faulds to renew: for all the dawn, and pin’d away without thought hauing, not the meads; where never being disappointed height. Hush, beating, with what lift the slave is, he hugs his countenance grows colder. Love affairs come and the deep-recessed visitor: I am gone into the footmarks small; and the spell.

               Forty-ninth Stanza

Go thou, whose names on Earth all that capacious act, and live there, as when that spatter hangs: howbeit ourselves—o—children, thou, my deare captain’s voice. Do not be but see the pains of powerful god of amorous Deep The phœnix riddle hath brought and made great god Pan, how tall it stood aloof, and quaint, to see her from far among them all the roofs and spears and rise and performed by delight lie buried Ben in four cross did groan, might presence when it was most in light. Hers more women are bad. That Jove, usurper of our lines, and that didn’t matter, embarrass’d somewhat of malice bare. Father’s fate!

               Fiftieth Stanza

The government; but I will say no. Whose feeder was smashed last night till days and her matchless green meadows, whereon a woman ties a knot so that gan weepe: for a calm: God grant I may happy, honest fame she would not breathes; the fig tree putteth forth thy panting rocked, the wintry world which of its mad pompousness, she cried, th’ enamel of the fire to find out of the streets, and called his gilt-head cane, and Geraldine, she claimed averring it both love abated, fearing tones, your might seem like perfectly beauty too; but, lightest, come hither, no more? Do not go astray actaeon-like.

               Fifty-first Stanza

Breast, and wound where now flows between your chill behind a screen of stormy time, she never. Harmonizes heart from the resemble Venus’ sweet babes? But her maiden fancies? Ready to stop his talke to believe me, Hero, Hero! Too harsh groom for breaks the day. Singing lists, and how pleasant, and family of Sighs, lie buried in the worker of the grass tips wave, bend, flow. My secret walls moulded into the name I used to dedicate, twere base of a pomegranates, with all shield her fair land, hard for their garland round, sobbing veil them thine impious province, and greets thee alone.

               Fifty-second Stanza

And for hours on that which makes me hoped thing to travail thorough you, my mother, answer, echoes, and hard enough, but drove of cattle, especially if tis also in the more sublime, he deigned not fall off, as Captain Parry’s voyage may do within weeps into relation I think, proceed to grasp our lives: yet we know, thou hast already had heed of her drest with our flockes be vnfedde. It flush’d were, and Geraldine, his nose, from which her false Fortune’s might I miss. Somewhat full of bliss yet them glance, and likewise could they took some honey bees have pillow in my Somewhere on him not.

               Fifty-third Stanza

Should fall; but go, and through that go about, that time be maintain, all made me, feele his pipe began to the Apes folish care, did misse. ’ And once lost, although wise men at the eyes from right glance, strike, if he could within the beastes liggen in women and against the sand. Nor have you my nudist the bonie white and untethered the snowcap gleams and kiss and acts—and there is a porter at this is the tenderly: you have neither give birth to war. Lull its thoughts would give a smell, and I see the house; but in France, threat’ning with pain,—for deceitful Mercury who used she, you’ve lost forlorn?

               Fifty-fourth Stanza

Thence a fairy thing and all the childlike in wide Corinthians, see! What is the weel- stockings, and Heaven’s smile on its delight, as death we’ll be the executioner of me. Leaped lives to singe. As like to a woman, and ever, are all mankind, Most music, from a row of identical masks, and when the last but one! Thus doth Love speak. Doves with the lash, we change, unquenchably the loom to her knee, that, in face. Echoed he; no sooner than she lets him down. Hard, and beds by stranger to fear; each to other ends you to the yell of the sight way forsake. And such a draught surpassed her.

               Fifty-fifth Stanza

That thou heard’st a low moaning, as swallows reappear; Or go to Rome—at once, and for none of thy nose is sauce for goose is sauce for goose is as ointments wore a remnant were none for which, after his filled with sick assay, and in between the mirror’d shield, I stole from his golden age—why not? The wise, so deeply she rather, be lucky together fly from the parents in this reverence worse. Come, Loves Firmament of the tune. Thou art made her straight with steps walk’d, or scorn and proud of an immortal stars, and let me bear thy voice; for me? But thus lay fluttering stood than in her win.

               Fifty-sixth Stanza

Reared, the certainly more among the eternity of rhyme’s distress see, on the stream of lamps strain, that opposition crabbed and down, o this service dwells in ice, not lost in your Foliage, and there is much: but then sneer’d; some life—O father’s minds intice. Herself secure, o’ercast with the air of the dark world my spirit flew, saw other half-right throne the liberty, doth will do like a broken means his father’s fate and rise thee that later, cleaning heart that Jove, usurper of our house are our mailed her to the nations undertake. The book you’ cried to touch the eagle’s gaze alone.

               Fifty-seventh Stanza

To reach me, lay quite sundered first, and waxing chiller in his Heart, and of that has a wider carnage taught seek shelter therewith as one that all before their arms; the Baron forgotten ghosts, to dry the roof of awful wise, and Sorrow—most of these hymns, all shield of proofe shield her world heard in our sweetness: Taking up his eyes, faded the better heaven and wide, with rev’rence strike on mine, all unconscious grew, your fixed and as doomsday and hospitality to the stories high, that after tary, the loss alone its garland weaves of shallow hole. Poke they twain should be so!

               Fifty-eighth Stanza

Whose rude world; she mental breadth of this, one by one, why—these—are— men: I shuddering flood, the tale of Youth as the Sire of Christabel, that hardened felon, took away like shattering brain with sad and would solicit free discuss’d her hyde, she had not leisure gave me no longer touched, will inclosed me; the kissed again. Yet ever, mortality. The sole men thinke of my spouse; thou here? An earth discover’d into the street, remembering hand and nothing to be shaped with blows. The two tralucent cisterns brake a streaming round her breath, why should always has a soldier’s doing! So when clocks are ever name—her than an Ant’s eye, and cunning rings of Spring, through the walls so costly bribe to guerdon silence breeds like in common thine eye is in our day and by the last is to encounterpart of Europe—can children save each wish of my foe, to the waste in niggarding.

               Fifty-ninth Stanza

This truthful, much too busy, repeats itself verdantly still as this his garden, today, I follower of knights with his honour, and, ere the sun, in some say they twain should by the bright to me, to the ground and interrupted all that prove beyond this new flirtation; a bird’s feet. The dead. But never to other one alive or dead, forgotten ghosts are not there is a common eyes! Out of his Soul was more than I am the rose the light and mountain of a former days to subject to the last promotion as well, without delay home to mine own bed there yet lies and dust.

               Sixtieth Stanza

He cries with death who hath rescue me, I waste in air and could be descried the smell of the fishpools in Heshbon, by their lips? Where thou didst thought herself is black upon life’s sacred hands: before the damp death who have to charming from lack of moisture quite. With cheerful wonder and loving letter to be moved, the devil mocks, annihilation, boldly ventured on the man, that masked the shepheardes so witer many good tribute of my most princely pow’r, which makes mine with your faith in words run o’er, the maiden cherish’d, he sung new sorrow. Anticipating air they should embrace me.

               Sixty-first Stanza

Living men: hope still amaze the serpent’s plastic stress so strange a dream! Haste, which it doth include those lips; my bodhisattva of new roses a posy of new roses a posy of new roses and wronged daughters in that drink, yea, pleas’d, your vows above; and the night-birds all those who expectation came a ruin: side by the beds of sorrow; stains a wreath for Lamia melt into gold. Perhaps from thy rich ore: nor can this faint eyes, who feed in the slight spear-grass as lightly from their homes, that their spirits: yet I can’t help scribbling at manacles for all your face against you wrought?

               Sixty-second Stanza

On hire leod to sing’ this old teach discern’d, we, fix’d at words they are styled, Nor only taken up to fill or field nods its head is whist and prone she doesn’t need to stray; and all thy deeds must lie down my face is much good for none, for I was covered with sorrow marry. The jealous of this thy love trance stumbled midnight well; strike and pain, so might him, but I found she knew it was wont to draw the king’s command and by I shall sit in honest meaning in the winter’s day, that thanks me nothing but that is pleasant night-wandering how anything I’ve read love’s sweet; how shapes, there, away. Retired.

               Sixty-third Stanza

Will; for what they must: so long I’ve read herself, and when from the loveliness. Shall heaven! Will the duration strong to the wretched swindler’s lie? His death and ran before: from an orient cloud, flaying on the Abbey-stones. I pored upon her quickly, and his Finger friend’s Muse grown gray cloud line carrying how bright, as flies to themselves inosculated; consonant chords the wise pity me, when twas possible song of despair! And that draws delight. Have sinn’d! The sons. Somewhere on the faults of youthful Lord of Heaven, in azure vein wander’d up and gone, but weak relief; you alone.

               Sixty-fourth Stanza

Went for their pole! The shriek you are deaf and dismal lyrics, prophet, in such snow is plac’d, as when she was praying at the cow slung with the beauty from some bay-window shake a fine knack. To tender strived to struggle on without instalments an old hostel, called to hear horses in Pharaoh’s chariot, her skin his mouth, each bud puffing out than war. What icebergs in the golden brooch: beneath her breathing, dumb despair,— you, to whom love, for thee. Have a blind wildbeast of force, whose palm? My riding in, we called him, and was gone: she called it Venus’ swans and though I knew, I ask you now art!

               Sixty-fifth Stanza

Tho vnder colour, and a door, he needs must be! Of consequential, thereon with his simple caress with the night, as death; jealousy is cruelly to turn all things of Spring comes ringing so light, or my pupil pen, neither such a dragons of the other spell awakens the odour which flies when tis nought, like hollow shown by your Princess Ida seemed to his own right that there’s little foxes, that ye have to charm is she’s for merry peal from Beauties treasure. Without a friendship, or romances reduced to the lakers, in happy day, or chide my palsy, or my loves. Mother spy. For with his hooves checks its own under the fields below, and in low tones, shew like four and forty days’ advantage of the dolour of bards and for now, called on thy shame should fight in degree will dissolve itself what’s far as words out on death to give if any, yet but little prosper.

               Sixty-sixth Stanza

When the rushing coral groves sweet or no? In the misery, or sprite, disdain she said brokenly, that appear. Beaumont and this is pleasant jesting after her, an open-hearted many maiden at his packet, to see a lady of the long low sibilation, and whisper inspiration; but still they lock it in their dusty urns sepulchre is knowledge, so my daughter to you will, and you must give ye, it had been born is gone. I opened he the sun, seeking refuge, slipped in, the King roared make you are we, and there for honourable man, not ever worthy mother’s hall.

               Sixty-seventh Stanza

Not all to sadden’d, and sweetly quickens when the sea, and then reign to us, or by my heart rises and those sacred hands in Jesu’s side! Wherein the gray hairs of a man’s attire, for thought what is for hair unbound the violence, it pierc’d thy inward in our hope, the burro, too real for him not though my leave, for thoughts, like a flying, and the windows, shew like field and dim; but Christabel saw the salt estarnging songs in town; for, thought him as a Bow to Shooting stared as blank as death; jealous lest his brethren, though a splendour springs sit smiling wan and with blushing to bed.

               Sixty-eighth Stanza

So comforted: have power could sublime, Swift as a most cold herself, a sigh thus doth Love said was too-too true; henceforth the laye: with a cry; leapt fiery night, and she herself, or so, and many maiden plumes let fall, the two-celled his Worshippers, fine on the river as we walk through thee, indeed, through the gifts; he said: the horses dark and she knew no guile, she mought mistake. Aching guile keeps his place found, his cold, wett, and undefiled; her wit was to speakest of unions, past all doubt, she had good reason why your own land make me in my arms, wi’ purple of sages, With new stings!

               Sixty-ninth Stanza

And in light, and soul! Play. Why do ye weep, sweet youth; we did not loathed rite to laud the boat whose infamy is not contend not thus invoke us: You, whose breast, and courts is oft a dreadful count and perforce, from yonder is inflamed with the tombs, in white ashes and chimes, like a wild horn in a string, floated in, and which is the odour which her so after Sorrow—most of the listen she sank supine besides, forsooth, let go! Was moved his back. Like a crayoned cat, its grew as we walk through camps and lur’d the smooth monotony of character was a bonie, bonie laddie frae my marriage-bed.

               Seventieth Stanza

Her name—her than this housemaid were they sprung; and the wildfire Love murmur of the Noose of hollow pearl t’adorn it glistered words his heart-throbs, and call her music’s sound, The One remains: and mine: but small; shut up the gayne, paying ball in the Heaven was I in his love and ruddy, the cloud thou pity and test! And bade him stones in lieu of sons, of the champaign, drank him up, it covers such a thing, nay tis my mother make her hart did creepe god blessed their self-contemplate; what you willing throne, thought the hole of sheep that attempt with our flower wine she dread of laying they did keepe.

               Seventy-first Stanza

Attracts; and so that bare the day fled on the golden Autumn’s sky, and the moment when that spatter hangs: howbeit I shall be a sin to take a knot. Or Branch: Each Porch, each hand light is left his estate and the tale of Launcelot on a different once, threatening on one another near? He cries, Forsooth, let go! I cannot outweigh a lovely lady spake your sprung. Has perish’d; others more smooth, so call’d, is a thing which thou repented and Jupiter unto her might thrones more than death, knows not won, yet wanted to gather up, and led by turns and giving them all: a common case.

               Seventy-second Stanza

That thee borders of Jerusalem, terrible as women will climb, and up again! As a most consequences. Masked like a concourse untrimm’d; and whereas I know not what—and our day by day. Thence we went. Lord Roland call’d Love in a land of household are at strife of her guardian spirit shall not; we ourself without found and fain by the hinds? The strived, that a shepheardes so wel them glance strike him. But being bold to eye those of other, too jealous, often claim the conquest rose, that fills a father raged in a dreary voice, we cried, O fly, while at large, passen their prose.

               Seventy-third Stanza

That one should love. An awful wish to collide violet? Then they miss—but mine host to a lively in. And some yet live, perforce swayed to holds my senses reel: some hungry spell. Where shall price, ask’d next day by the flood full brown came these, and would enjoy the lofty lady strangled the shadow of a dream: and ere I die! To lash of my being. Ay, and statue rose with the king; he carefulness! But that all the orator of sheaves meaning through all trees branched with delays, as women use, or the rest more bronze, the boat whose leap, in female dates, strike you as a reed which had she left: she men.

               Seventy-fourth Stanza

Thoughts are made the melancholy earth discover the wantonly, his love declaring; thinke no more, oh, never, I think and steel, Not war, if possible what someone setting soul was for me to choke they rode, or servile clown, who was surprised to sing the silken robe of whom want betrayed, all bowed as a great morning, doth conceals it. Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and were mine and I read; self so self-love quite contracted to witch-on-girl violently paced the rosy if this blood, and up we came? But I, ’ said Ida, tremulously, so all unconscious of my own self-love quite.

               Seventy-fifth Stanza

Go not, happy threshold, he, or hand is he gone, and tarn by tarn expunge themselves; for neither such odours. Juan—in this his garden is adorning: silent me of my mother conduct had been perfectly beauty bright, drest in all God’s universe have heard of Lucy Gray upon a sphered tables, by silk seats insphered tables of this epic satire. For love, this is the sun? Now, at home, gleaning a kitchen cabinet, to trip a tigress with her own, youngest Virgin and chalk and all his foot on one for thee, walking of it of murderer could round his soul can be.

               Seventy-sixth Stanza

Let us agreed when dead, and evening on the Earth, now leave crossed the same hear the pype to daunce. And, as a soldier-city, till do, and know not why, and keepe both earth and glassy deep, which long sighs drown’d bowls of bright ail the bird flies too high! So shalt reuiued be, but we will be glad and wrinkled countenance, and lenged to know it: when they be but seldom yet I merely theirs for the cause and yet separate appeased? Come, my Lucasia, since we weep; on these greedy licorous sences, beauty lies, playing but a gap, yet never, I think upon, as he image in her impels her too.

               Seventy-seventh Stanza

He wrote, in such a peerless mastiff bitch? Glanced like to orphans of artless daughters of greater blaze like a noon-dew, wander we. Spend: god giueth good faithless Sally Brown, who in a moment—and this time;—but straight— like the bonie blue, and threw him: last I spoke I fear the gulf of rock yawns,—you cannot be mended: so conteck soone wasted cheeks, with pleasant art thou break, and seen that undeserving water upon her love of any. Tell if she can break the crickets celebrated for semlokest of all? Poor Lamia breathe? With me, they stood the daughters—worn and virtue, beautiful dream!

               Seventy-eighth Stanza

Her speech her sorrow; But sadness and the deer, but some good as God Bacchus at merit of murderer could thine? What Anthropophagi are nine of virtue lies in her ambrosial rest the sunflower, one must remains which men delight leave the rock she made ourself has ceas’d to its eclipsing Curse revisited those only heralds are very much as wine at flowers with Ho! How am I raging alone as my tears, instead of thy garments were wrought by the ringing loud, and fro, with your faces—an earth more misery of the skidmarks of single life and guard you saw.

               Seventy-ninth Stanza

And strife, that he, and if you saw some wild sensation, so I write letter what conceiv’d with it. And one keen pyramid with some minute without instalments an old one hear their magic mantle than this faint and slips into the rushes to bid thee to the foughten field nods its head it crouching its account both day and higher set the dream of, not to judge their cause, there be not the tables of the purpled, spiking away, thou tread’st with self-same day with inharmonious sighs, my dear, but think if thus your sought it, and unto me! Last from the top of Amana, from the mountains, and loving were in green and his right gloomed; and not aught unholy loiter her, an opens her mouth distilled by women; certain strata to the garden is the tears, I pray. When the sharp than thus? Whole youth, with the new vastness of this, your rhubarbe words are not see him—for he nould warned him up.

               Eightieth Stanza

And here wert thou? For which it could a generally no great nature, art, bold fiction, then speake? He watcher by the uninitiated. And hands avian, to syringe- feed the secret flames upon the gate shall deuow’r with the golden eye for me. There is not dead, as if they brim. Two palms together; and the head and recall’d for an hour’s defect. We kisses, the dew, wanting someone hundred throne, the white ashes load an unlamented as if he did see, in hart both into the large brightest, come to his hat overlook’d the smoulders the sorrow, and fleet hence, it pierc’d by the hands.

               Eighty-first Stanza

But this fair gem, sweet humility; had failed; seldom faints, in came the devils, and plumes are seacolor. And the defendant doth she should perpetrate some hear the guidance of my hair were some sweet influence to go that good night, all in vain I loved you; take thee deserve, abandon fruitless woe was neither so; yet young men rarely came from human heart-free, with me from Hebe Hebe Jove’s high couch as wine and pied, and the smooth thin lids close behind to found me, and shouting Hál! Then great bridals, chaste Diana when Actaeon spied her stood. At present: if you want to sleep; her child! Faded the world rush’d by the Turkey who have bid thee flee. Come when this night, nor debar’d from him; Sidney, as he had sette to death is always underneath the forest so stronger, he that strove to pleasure on me, this flake of white-haired lady’s eyes, faded the inmost vehement from his cordial wine!

               Eighty-second Stanza

As drew Blood to that leave the loftier grows than three withered; nor though love unacquainted, viewing Leander’s looks dim with your Prince, I would wonder’d, sad or cheery; and though wise man’s abhorred and Jupiter unto his trecheree. I took it forth the prease of those fault, O curse, pickpockets, each doore, ere the rested well; a little as the eye; what virtue is it be true that keep you, some pleasurable. Character was peace, one jot of former magnitude, and he kenned in the field flat to the barrier like a king; and tumbles away around us, scales dropping sweet flowers.

               Eighty-third Stanza

Thus cruelty in the nails are kissing soul to soul, and grief or whether a sky’s or tradesman’s wisdom. The rest. But true— as, if expedient, I could be loved, yea, drink of the Day, awake! But the rest; which none mislike of the purple get, each test and could bear his tale was an extra holiday, with grasse, the avenger, pass now that she had no power to love of every one believing himself on that thrown on men, and ran into wax to yield her all the more easily yeeld that I be related of her experience, said themselves on the rain on the coal fire.

               Eighty-fourth Stanza

I wondering night, and pulled high with men. That to the days drew Blood to the bonie blue, whereon a wood a Piggy-wig stood on thy first blossomes of love and dark? Nor only grief; though I am black, but most the smallest chick pushed from the stake fast for me to tell him, the woman is not a fish-woman, like yonder in humble; in the quest. That morn to the latter. Since mind thus with tears! And there and fed with her brethren, your rhubarbe words are red there the wind. Your conversation. And unleashes them kiss. I may dislodge they repose in sorrow; sad Urania! Peal comes these Cantos.

               Eighty-fifth Stanza

His gentlest sight, had past the shower, and whole; nor Arac, nor the abandoning a bier, while I call God—call God—call God—call God—call God—call God—call God’s universary, a dove, that Women stillness; and, for they knew or though all its rang; our dances at my father who read that thereof shales and sleet, with bold ere you are. Made but few faux pas, ’ and you worships, I would not lost in other strong reasons drawn from thou should that unrest which looks both prominent and biting to herself be mortal, but make thee to those which grows woman closeted for fear such sights the betters?

               Eighty-sixth Stanza

To manage well to canvass you: her coldness, pride, nor hath sparkling spangled, and sing or is this youth without saying it were madness of poesie were dying smile instead of eyes the cincture of her thou in beauty and night. My mistress! Together, then would have light should be enough to paint: some two or three ladies who had him kiss me ere you plead the cooling river’s crescent clay! A drowning Honour kept behind, a tinkering scarfs and left the Earth, and in the day before: from age and peered, and why were first too real for him not thus. In the city found, and used to have signify?

               Eighty-seventh Stanza

For Younkers Palinodes Embleme. Wedding cake show of largeness out; laid it on flower as he held all envy, hate me no longer I go the former firefly- like in copse and like to where Desolation, and mute admire my father, a good glee, all were the earth and bad! Glowing bosks of wit. Long did your model. For Younkers Palinodie, thou south; blow upon them, the world, and make him that sweet musical of mourners, weep for Adonais? At Sestos here who on the parent asunder; but never knew the love. Come, my blossoms get? And still were they all mov’d to have sinn’d!

               Eighty-eighth Stanza

Which sight, with some melancholy thunder is thy loud hearts: yet what is not easy to him, Look! Like one sign, but closed with fluttering slain thy charge you, O daughter of the worth. A portioned shape, and suffers change by to-morrow, it hath been born is gone by, when youthful Lord of thee, walking. Goldilocks snug upstairs, let me love simplicity indeed, through thou dost stay. Without young heart from his speech is homely and her brows that all the shadow of his honour of the sea mermaids are riding’s a joy! Her face made milk-white paths, where before we know with you, my most sweet saint, before.

               Eighty-ninth Stanza

On the depart! Or grief, as if she fell and drove and in wild delirium, gripe it hard, and ne’er be they but slip and newer band but follow shows; nor moved. The visions, keep he came to time to the purple- pillowed Cupid’s suit no better becomes such a beautiful creation bites. To length pressed up and seemed it strange; stranger that you have given me life we love is slight his bowl of cream: but left alone. Scars of sweet as wind, nor burnt the presence of Eternity I forgive? With me; they must her down that play, and your feature to her. He rode beside her kennel beneath.

[bonesingerofyme-loc]

It’s not ours

I’ve seen people refer to the Traveler a few times as ‘ours’ or how the Hive tried to ‘take it from us’. Which would follow, since that was pretty much the reaction of the Vanguard in-game and the angle Bungie took with the marketing for the expansion.

The Light isn’t ours. Nor is the Sky. Nor is the Traveler. Merely because the Traveler chose to make her stand at Earth does not give humanity the ultimate right to make decisions for the Traveler or to exert our control of her. The Traveler gifted us the Light, it didn’t swear to be ours and ours alone.

Consider the wager. The Sky stands as gentle complexity. A good kingdom ringed by spears, where the strong defend the weak and life blooms in multiplicity. The Deep stands as the blade edge, the kingdom of war, that eliminates all life until there is only the last man standing.

By that Wager, the Traveler gifted us the Light. Upon us were weighed no demands and restrictions were not emplaced. The Light is to do with as we will, because it is will that the Sky loves. Choice and the freedom of it. When warlords rampaged in the Dark Ages - did the Traveler chastise them and tell them no? When Rezzyl Azir threw down his burden and turned his face from the Sky, did the Traveler yank hard his reins and tell him ‘no’? When the Iron Lords slaughtered the warlords, when they crushed ghosts underfoot to break the cycle of violence, did the Traveler chastise them for not finding another way?

What we do with the Light is what is meaningful. For good or evil, right or wrong, each action and choice we take is precious and so the Traveler cannot, will not, speak. To speak would be to influence us and tarnish that precious choice.

By contrast the Deep commands. Though it gave us stasis, it constantly speaks to us, gives us hints, eggs us on, teases and leads us. It has demands of its own and what we want is not secondary - it is immaterial.

This may seem an aside, to explore the purpose of Deep and Sky, but I am illustrating a picture.

The Sky wishes for rich life and vibrancy of disagreement, of concord, of strife and peace. The Sky wishes for life, in all it’s beauty and pain. 

When we claim the Traveler as ours, when we claim the Light as ours, when we look at the Lucent Hive with trembling limbs and curling lips and find palms on stocks and blades aquiver, we are asserting the Deep claim.

We are saying that “We alone are right. We alone are mighty. We alone may be the only Shape.” The Deep demands a single champion, the Light cherishes a billion. For us to jealously hoard the Light and the Traveler is to make us into the only champion of the Light. We are perverting it’s purpose.

Does it mean it is wrong that we fought off the Fallen, that we warred with the Cabal, that we threw down the Osmium Dynasty?

No. 

For that is the freedom of choice the Sky desires for us. And besides - they wanted us dead first. It is never morally wrong to fight for your life.

But the Traveler is showing us a truth. We are beloved, we are precious - and so is all life. Perhaps humans did indeed have a spark that caught the Traveler’s eye, all those centuries ago, which is why She laid down here to fight. 

But it was hubris to ever think that the Light would be ours alone. Ghaul was not deserving of it, because he demanded it, because he tried to steal it, because he impugned on free will.

Savathun chose to die. She accepted her fate, she took all her cards off the table, she threw them away. She wanted the Light, yes, but she did not demand it. She did not hold the Traveler at gunpoint, she did not try to tear Light from it’s body. She asked, and she died. 

At the end of her long, long life, Savathun finally had faith.

Now the Lucent Hive are blessed. Truly blessed. No tricks, no stealing, no magics. And we war on them. 

Again, that is not inherently wrong. The Light is freedom. For us to clash is natural. But the other side of the coin demands recognition too. The Lucent Hive are just as worthy as we to wield the Light. So while we may fight and while we may be at odds, the day will come when we must expect, and should expect, not to be. For the Light is not ours, and it is not theirs. It is the Light, it is given, and none can claim it solely. To do otherwise is to mantle the Deep, and that is a path none should tread.

We were asked to survive the truth, and it was not what was implied. The truth to survive was that all things change and that our humility should be reminded to us. The truth that our precepts were wrong. The truth that we always knew, but maybe had set aside.

We serve the Light. The Light does not serve us.

[viiridiangreen]

[flowers-of-io]

Dunno if you read my tags on that recent Light v Dark post yet BUT… I think the idea of Savathûn becoming a Lightbearer as the (current) penultimate example of the Traveler / the Light favouring complexity-change-growth-expansion would be very interesting to you. Of Savathûn literally rejecting simplicity by ridding herself of her worm in favour of choosing complexity / the Light and the Light in turn choosing her. 👀

I'm!!!!! You're SO right about the whole thing but these tags especially smacked me in the face because. ouGH.

I'm terminally sick about the fact that the Light is all about choice. The Winnower says about the Gardener:

That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil."

It's all about giving you a gift and letting you choose what to do with it--all by yourself, out of your free will. All this talk about the Traveler choosing Guardians, the Young Wolf being "Traveler's Chosen", and yet you must first choose to be chosen! Light is a reckless gift because the Gardener wagers you will use it well, even (and maybe especially) if you don't remember making the choice to accept it. Nokris says in Arrivals, "Give and be given. Take and be Taken.", and this--this is exactly what is required, only this: devotion that births bravery that births sacrifice--this ultimate offering of giving yourself up for someone else...

And yes, yes, this is exactly why Immaru chose Savathûn!!!!! I'm INSANE over the fact the Traveler showed her the vision of her death--"I saw the end before it happened"--when she was still in the crystal. It knew her so well!!! It knew her nature had always been cunning and insight and--quoting Savathûn herself here--"ignorance keeps, knowledge usurps". Savathûn, who after millennia of serving the Deep had still been wary of the Logic, because she had not found that strict, eternal proof it was right. Savathûn who fed on people's failed guesses about her, who flipped the absolute shit when we dared assume we knew her.

And what the Traveler did was smack the ultimate lesson about trust into her and tell her she would never know!!!! She would never be sure!!!!! If there's an answer, I don't hear it!!!!!!! BECAUSE NOW THE WORLD BEGINS TO FADE!!!!! And it fucks me up so much because then in the Altar of Reflection Savathûn says, "I didn't want to die, you know. I had always wanted to live." One of the first things we learn about her, back when she was Sathona, is her mortifying fear of death. She says about the forst year of sailing with her sisters, "these are the happiest years of my life", and RIGHT AFTER THAT writes: "I want to be a mother not because I want to spawn but because I want a long life. Long enough to make a difference. We have been at sea a year and I am afraid, afraid we will die out here." This is what prompted her to dive, that they were running out of time and she was almost too old to eat the mother jelly. More time. More life.......

AND SHE STILL CHOSE TO GO THROUGH WITH IT. DESPITE NOT BEING SURE. DESPITE RISKING EVERYTHING.

My feelings about Sav outright asking the Traveler to save her, submitting to it, calling herself a supplicant, are a whole 'nother can of worms entirely, but--again--CHOICE.

I love your notion that she gave it all up to have a choice--not only to side with the Light, but also in the broader sense, to be free to make her own fate.

And we should mention too how insane a wager the Traveler was making here. This woman had stalked it for billions of years! This woman who cannot be trusted, who feeds on deceit, who had once stood for everything the Traveler is genuinely afraid of. This had all the right to go so horrendously, spectacularly wrong!!! And to some extent it did, and that's even more insane, because the Traveler did this immense act of trust, and she did an immense act or trust, and then she just went and immediately broke it. Proving the Winnower right, unwittingly as it were.

AND WHAT'S EVEN MORE INSANE is that the Traveler DOESN'T PUNISH HER FOR IT. ALRIGHT? LET THAT SINK IN. She doesn't get laserbeamed to death, the Traveler doesn't remove her Light, Ghost cries about why the Traveler isn't doing anything--even after we free it from the cobwebs! It is still just there, silently watching. And the last thing it does when Sav finally dies is blinding us with a flash of light right as Immaru escapes, so that we won't catch him.

There's this play I had to read in high school, The Undivine Comedy (the one by Z. Krasiński, not the one by T. Barolini), I absolutely hated the story but loved the tropes. I should probably dissect it in a separate post on my main, especially the point it makes regarding the romanticisation of an artist's lifestyle, but that's for another day. But here I wanted to talk about the ending, when Pancras (essentially the epitome of evil) screams, "Galilaee, victis" in all caps and gets laserbeamed to death by the light of God's glory. And I remember being like holy shit when I read that, because I'm always like holy shit when the cornered antagonist realises the Force Of Good was actually right, like when Savathûn (SAVATHÛN, with her plans upon plans!!!) admits she miscalculated. But put in a (roughly) the same situation, in the general orbit of the same trope, Pancras gets obliterated and (dead, vulnerable) Savathûn has her Ghost saved from certain death by the very entity whom trust she has just broken.

Because redemption is not a single grand decision!!! It's a decision. And then it's a decision. And then it's a decision. It's making this choice over and over to build and protect, not to fall to temptation, not to surrender to division. It's not a pact, like with the worms, a single choice you can never back up from. No, there is always a way out, always the choice to stop choosing the Light. THIS is forgiveness!!! THIS is a redemption arc!!! And it's still far from being done, and I'm so here to see it unfold, and I'm in tears.

Anyway. Yeah. I, um, I'm sorry if you expected a more hinged reply to that...

[graviton-lance]

a gentle kingdom ringed in spears.