From: cujo@petitmorte.net   
      
   nancygene.andjayme@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (NancyGene) wrote in   
   news:s3OdneM6ialifP_0nZ2dnZfqnPidnZ2d@giganews.com:   
      
   >> Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:   
   >> nancygene.andjayme@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (NancyGene) wrote in   
   >> news:cC-dnbxBsNZ8K__0nZ2dnZfqnPidnZ2d@giganews.com:   
   >>   
   >>   
   >>> NancyGene wrote:   
   >>>   
   >>> NancyGene wrote:   
   >>> JANUARY.   
   >>> by William Morris   
   >>>   
   >>> FROM this dull rainy undersky and low,   
   >>> This murky ending of a leaden day,   
   >>> That never knew the sun, this half-thawed snow,   
   >>> These tossing black boughs faint against the grey   
   >>> Of gathering night, thou turnest, dear, away   
   >>> Silent, but with thy scarce-seen kindly smile   
   >>> Sent through the dusk my longing to beguile.   
   >>>   
   >>> There, the lights gleam, and all is dark without!   
   >>> And in the sudden change our eyes meet dazed"   
   >>> O look, love, look again! the veil of doubt   
   >>> Just for one flash, past counting, then was raised!   
   >>> O eyes of heaven, as clear thy sweet soul blazed   
   >>> On mine a moment! O come back again   
   >>> Strange rest and dear amid the long dull pain!   
   >>>   
   >>> Nay, nay, gone by! though there she sitteth still,   
   >>> With wide grey eyes so frank and fathomless"   
   >>> Be patient, heart, thy days they yet shall fill   
   >>> With utter rest"Yea, now thy pain they bless,   
   >>> And feed thy last hope of the world's redress"   
   >>> O unseen hurrying rack! O wailing wind!   
   >>> What rest and where go ye this night to find?   
   >>>   
   >>> THE year has changed its name since that last tale;   
   >>> Yet nought the prisoned spring doth that avail.   
   >>> Deep buried under snow the country lies;   
   >>> Made dim by whirling flakes the rook still flies   
   >>> South-west before the wind; noon is as still   
   >>> As midnight on the southward-looking hill,   
   >>> Whose slopes have heard so many words and loud   
   >>> Since on the vine the woolly buds first showed.   
   >>> The raven hanging o’er the farmstead gate,   
   >>> While for another death his eye doth wait,   
   >>> Hears but the muffled sound of crowded byre   
   >>> And winds’ moan round the wall. Up in the spire   
   >>> The watcher set high o’er the half-hid town   
   >>> Hearkens the sound of chiming bells fall down   
   >>> Below him; and so dull and dead they seem   
   >>> That he might well-nigh be amidst a dream   
   >>> Wherein folk hear and hear not.   
   >>> Such a tide,   
   >>> With all work gone from the hushed world outside,   
   >>> Still finds our old folk living, and they sit   
   >>> Watching the snow-flakes by the window flit   
   >>> Midmost the time ’twixt noon and dusk; till now   
   >>> One of the elders clears his knitted brow,   
   >>> And says:   
   >>> "Well, hearken of a man who first   
   >>> In every place seemed doomed to be accursed;   
   >>> To tell about his ill hap lies on me;   
   >>> Before the winter is quite o’er, maybe   
   >>> Some other mouth of his good hap may tell;   
   >>> But no third tale there is, of what befell   
   >>> His fated life, when he had won his place;   
   >>> And that perchance is not so ill a case   
   >>> For him and us; for we may rise up, glad   
   >>> At all the rest and triumph that he had   
   >>> Before he died; while he, forgetting clean   
   >>> The sorrow and the joy his eyes had seen,   
   >>> Lies quiet and well famed"and serves to-day   
   >>> To wear a space of winter-tide away."   
   >>> -----   
   >>>   
   >>> From "The Earthly Paradise   
   >>> December-February"   
   >>> by William Morris   
   >>> [1870]   
   >>>   
   >>>   
   >>>   
   >>> We see that George Dunce has again tried to steal our poem.  Does he   
   >>> have no shame?   
   >>>   
   >>>   
   >>>   
   >>> We will answer that question:  No, he does not.  George Dunce does   
   >>> not have any sense of what is ethical.  He has Moose Jaw.   
   >>>   
   >>   
   >>   
   >> Moose Jaw doesn't want him.   
   >>   
   >> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moose_Jaw   
   >>   
   >   
   > What about the rest of the Moose?   
      
   I think it's kind of a package deal. But who does want George in the   
   first place other than a Douchebag?   
      
   --   
   "The fact that it doesn't apply to the poem is of little consequence to   
   you, because your poems don't have a literary basis, because you're   
   functionally illiterate and haven't got a clue as to what a poem is." -   
   Little Willie Douchebag gets another asskicking from Pendragon   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)