#meredith sonnet

[libidomechanica]

My wife

And sorrel untorn by the Prior: when   you lover who calculate; where the crowds   upon St. An echo like, but lou’d, decline your soft remember sevenfold its strife, from thy harsh net? Close by the trees look,   as one I’m likely poet. Of losing   most, to discontent that have his friends, now past mind is hushed us, down to draw. The Latmian persever’d up a Polish order?—   I hear the sound on thee with Stella   loue to throes of open-mouthed, all blisses raised her price. Chill Death whom I grieves as innocence? Why alas doth blushing to that   trust my son. The rolls her the thou redeemed   kind, for aught muse upon a rock, when my watch the Chariot waits a river flowe!

[bruffdec]

The magical Lough Gur at Sun Set

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“She said; she”)

The hardest science ask a kiss, I dare   the false to you. But now from my rocky   isle; and then adieu, as if there stain’d, to the altar for forbidden or forbidden fires. She said; she said, flying lips shall   wear red for immortal page; her locks are   dext’rous; some bricks has gone: in some untrue, my name. Risking told that it teaches more by night, to let the stars that for this last   the white arms already written—wash it   out all bail shall perpend if you do letters won’t do it. They blush’d into his visits; but the air like slaue-borne Muscouite, I   can hear the bank must things? What scenes appease?   Then, laughing others in monosyllable talk of your blood clot. Of the moon blooms.

[libidomechanica]

“Give me, the Chinese”

But Sylvio did; his gifts than Nanie, O.   The fruite of Nature swears they are but gauds;   nay, and the dog became china. You may stay yet envy me; but heare the bed the man she singles, least breath. A light glares and   of tall grass. But for the tide. Now Pontius   Pilate is tongue. But not your corn is the house. But now command, the sashes are turn’d up to thee? Give me, the Chinese say,   is like or what shee tasted, he said, sleep   must take me unawares while in a wheel in her ear. I’ll wed another, but burnt them split his vocal cords with show’rs wet through.   Thy bosom dies. On whatever’s closest   to brow, on the phone you couldn’t get to your starry clusters bright lady of Shalott.