XXXVIII. III [Full Poems] [Temp. 0.910]

Here are a few poems from one of the generating files:

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XXXVIII.
III
For thence a prison, of prused?
Across the round and tears,
The wind of the gentle brook
-- the fowls permaiced to tread
Alonca she reviews,
The room is ringing:
The blood was filling through;
And be the door a chariot
in tiny treasures.

~~~~~~~~~~

B4 I spread.
"Not some child drop from my brother's by;
We drive him from the walls the floor
And bended when he saddle be
The thing for him that she more
Dreaming, wearing the minutes
And masks a bad king of there burst,
And persons, to reconnive lords.

A majesty
My poneval, my all pain,
Who learn that thou ourstreaked most more.
Unstallioned here, young sensible post creasing prey
Of the deselus' butterfly beholds us?

~~~~~~~~~~

A Base Nation

Never these words it showed,
Amid their continental chambers,
My friend, the rosin' of our heart,
These meggo climbs the dusky grandeur,
A lightning with a rock,
The slaughter'd fields move out with flight,
At stringer cup now red with graves
   A thousand lines resigned.
I lie away them in the fields,?--
A sculptor, near the sacred stair,
It is no longer late of every powerful power,
And sound amid wit, to the home in the sky.
And these feelings under whiskey branches
All other spears and dearer sea,
And the thinn's dazzled swimmer,
And the immortal flowers gone.
Thus dressed in reports they call their marble dust.
Then the ripe signs of higher straightables,
And trembling fishing homes with still and dart,
Dissolves, these griefs, and woods, whose faces understand,
The flag returned to low, these wild secret days,
In the politic stars the Warning, filling Sphill.
Now teach you throw my mortal check,
Lift to the lavour'd dry!

~~~~~~~~~~

The Spans

Feeling me, I have, scrap the roses!
And mercury through the trees alone,
And roll by, and a life flies and piled,
Even or thee, tremendous sod, as in the air wilds on squadrons on my brow.
Ox, silent mothers, O Lord, for Louisiana, Ode is Officer, O Manhattan!
Journey--one Consolitate's or these and World, you mightify that owners who
    urge you bound they will die for you,
For I know not why so much more and male exile?
Then climb and diaget vanish'd, seasons, claws--free moments--through the
    aband glade,
And many a sentent chamber of writers and days.
Not desperate from octopoun; some and true child, the varied, the waitress,
The performed and its ashes when long shapes are exactly who solitures known a bath,
The last of these full-fill'd catacks, thee twisting the flag of the Mr. Ferry and
    Miners, a Charrel Ruth, balloat, and rein
    those the waters reflecting and healing, all circumstances,
As, all speaking musicians who bestow them all over the poetry,
And the whole sound holding a future of all pervolum.
Come the ostening to prove you also,
And I myself and myself only, not a-gun-fled to the free,
Do you think shall make you be my challengy written,
And what a soldier is enough to me the death?
And if this nation I have loved inside the last word,
And you Company did yet ever call, thine own last one
A child's a-force for you we are not so sorrow,
And shall come into the music, that shall be blot.
The suds have blamed the sun and men
   The spirit of lying meaning,
For the dull hills burst at the heavenly rabbiagrap,
And below; poor watch the day, it flying the soul,
The Triumph of grass, and volumes of the rest.
It's the end of vacation, thou, expecting man,
For my brothers filled with tongue and land, thy store of a nation in thy
    self-officely the Beam who worshippers in their stars,
What kind may well into the night, but good she are retiring sick,
No saints in the midst of the Unknown.
     6
In all the Past these errands that surrelibe served from arch
    to hid for councils with men, and melodies,
Life intertwelve to it-due journey of women,
The trifle fill'd with secure and thirty, the soul
    of spears,
The future-on-heaved center of the morning bullet,
The haul beyond the pipe, the colors circle,
Other's voice fill'd on the earth to streets, from rivers,
What possessions of soul in dawn and enough,
One within thy own scarf'd and many a white flut,
Or brings them all and beautiful night to myself,
They too surrounding the continental ears, shall all the haply posts considering world
    comes! obeigning, inexpecting all,
Compassing only of these intentions?
Addresses the chaos of spells they fancied and alone to figure them by the way a little trim,
    all west I will show thee at and out.
  The midst of instructly assumed
Of a lawyer protect of Artless, strong and newly of no one no mark,
Sitting on the walls, and here long such flocks, the deep compact of decay into the thrash from
    the shadowy studded?
Or sit bear it on the shower's hand to the scenic Quanipate, Manhattan's leftinists, gray attitude, sentling away;
Death, cities, vast-modes, traveling round with scream,
And all the tubes of pain of harsh engravew, who
Even the delicate show may auch and influence all the vest with
    contrable yet equally, and fear continuing they told
Poured at his sleepers, then the huge human and sweet lips,
Wringing them and passed into it, to beat my face.
I am the harp of man's soul,
And what alarm and allering is over and freely only,
But really marriage of soldiers dissolvent with fugitive orbs, which with a
    president gable,
He who paids in its screwing youth, (the President on the unproboseance,)
Them all was hell's of beauty, and am not suspectable as the sport
    warble
And the soles as the lies in ceasing the streets of heroes and
    generations.
Solitary quiet, and the interminable world, women,
One soul--but as soon since born it, veiled from her dear,
Poor quiet the grave, in whom the forest of Pohyalanian has up!
How you hears and know the doctors hull hue like a world, without an irration,
For her for I see possession of life amid the same march.
Be His son to Truly, I shall work, he saw, thy blood, singing,
She breathed his words sufficient from the hand and vast land.
The City of Death, Diradnos,
Through me proud and uron horizon to the sand,
From the charles of the confusion of the hum of the sea,
(No evil seize, and too late to face or govern me,)
Better that met-morn and mortal careless sphere,
Wrapped with the shady or deaf although the men perceive the stones
Of war is riching daring grain and muffled wind!
Phoebacine, spreading tongue? of bitter appear,
In peace of every one else denials through the nest of supreme.
Where the Happiness are the Lord and Yankish death-sisters,
Give you impress--and perhaps and mine own partiality inside other level days,
But I guess it must be the master, a few leaves and towels and stuff
    and sing.
     16
Long I have done you there, far away we come forth,
I swear I will steal you for yourself.
I do not know what it is--but I shall take from them for,
I fear here is the first I graft and retrifty.
Somewhere O my word is to your mother's womb,
We blow naked breathing of the road, and all around the fields the
    iron crowded entrenchabact dreams
    the glory of the past,
It is the last I forbid the joints, or dows out of
    the pleasure, bold, his voice, the sun islands, and to fight,
The fourtries and those that mortal turrets holding sea, peering o'er
    the walls and the steadfast, speaking, and the most venerable part,
It from all dear friend, and to me service to a modern charious joint.
}

  The Chanting

Now the last sceptre left to be
A road in a pavement, in carpets beyond myself,
And what is this thing yet do they,
   I sing. O lovely fight,
So extremental inquisitiously,
And every mine's am I unold,
And swell the homely that depart,
And you too searched, if Nature's thing
Some new makes love for the bulous hero
In your stables, and from maddening days;
   Hurry me: and we all remain,
A servis charm's at X-twinkle own.
All others bear the service of my bolder nest
To this crown thru his mind.
There is all devouring that long,
The hunter's story, the valley's breast
Before the hunter stretched a block, --
The soul in animal,
And question.