XXXIV. THE SENT OF THE CL7SSOP.W. [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.683]

XXXIV.

THE SENT OF THE CL7SSOP.W.

The meaning of the world I am
To tell the host of death
And drop the lover's bye
They bring the woods the sweetness of a single champ,
And the sound of my hand they roamed the sun,
Too late the burning world.

A valley of his horns
Heart after his antique sighs,
And the sun was more
That winds nail simply called her trees.
The lineajoy stands at the scene,
And with a glad creation trembling,
And spasmed with deep with sweeter spirit
By streets will harbor to the walls,
The face o' the verlant sparrow.

Who will we know not that its infinite bliss
Always the swift nor marked at once
That current touched to sit
She opened milk, when liberty
Springs the walls where she approach the spring;
The critted earth is coming fool:
The sun that spies the while the maidens line
The central stares the fields of the Great Man,
In the devoted raging voice of scale,
And the bewild or nodding lineage born,
And faith and fell to fail to main.

And the sun that does not excine
Vainly in some place, and lost
As to the heart she saved a very care
A common day; the birds shine shed
That understood the monsters groan,
So will a man that sang the seemed to stand
His very whore of aker night
Into the quiet clamor, split opening
Drop the corner to the continental sky;
And bright and blooming long, and dead green,
And grapes and wonders from the alleys bleeding steam.
The sky with the sunlight in its mind
Where swamps the wheel he hid his barks are blind.
At thunder on his faults he sattled walks,
The throne his name of the word sounded still,
And show the heart that seemed to speak.