when he could be warm and dry, inside.
too is too . Silence and succensity you kno must be like to live in a country or t puts its cold garlands on trees so prettily blossoming. ( an aptly fragile simile, s Botticellian nuance. I congratulated myself.) No. today is as cold as tually ries; todays atrocious candour is t of te freckles t are tigmata of frostbite.
My sensibility, te sensibility of a minor poet, tingled and crisped at t of so muceness.
I ain t soon Id come to a village trally in an ever-t and still t me in te for ted croos.
to a pair of anding open on a drive. t be some mansion or ot t to be, to live in sucyle, tainly kno be ricry side I flattened a brace of ps on my o Oxford? Encouraged, I turned in bete-posts, on wing circumcision caps of snow.
trees ly lice of old cros. I could tell t nobody slots and ts of birds marked surfaces already crisping . took me uprouser bottoms t gre tress a tentative sed do ears, alt of t of crying.
I uous style of Engliss . I imagined myself describing it to Melissa- quot;a vista like visible Debussyquot;. Encing. But, ts streamed out in every direction, all except for ty trees. Lig; in ter sky above me, stars . Especially for my cultured patroness, I made an elision of tars in ts of t , ternoon, on lovely o promise me in such abundance.
Yet, since t, t door at top of tine staircase left open as for expected guests, races of arrivals or departures in tprints extended backo to be glimpsed t all?
t empty ed by an immense ced pendants of s of ippled ing, prismatic se stucco. timidated me, like too grand a butler but, all tugged it. Somes reverberations set tinkle but even wtled down again, nobody came.
I ill no reply, but a sudden around me into t. Beside, taste of snoorm to begin again. Not but to step bravely over t tamp my feet on t to announce my arrival to tire ground floor.
It magnificent all outside, , perfume everyo drinks before