17 2 0
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eyes, slow-waking, broach the young day's sun
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7232
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"...So very tired, yet we tried ... to ablate the tide..."
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8943
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his arm shakily slung round the chimney
as if holding onto a brick house wife...
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87510
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Author's Note: I will assuredly persist in this pretentious literary endeavor-my first admittance of honest intentions-unless I am taken violently ill, a disapproving rodent chews through these pages, or I forget.
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82800
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With porc’lain hand she writes thy thankless verse/ Like Proserpina, strapped to eb’ny throne,/ Eternally paying the six-month purse/ For hunger once soothed with but seeds alone.
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85711
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Oh Triple-Crownéd who evades my sight,/ Guide me down proper crossroads in this life/ As you have promised to grant me your might/ And make of me eternity's fair wife.
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