Romance for a Demoiselle Lying in the Grass
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It is grass. It is monotonous. The monotony Is like your port which conceals All your characters And their desires. I might make many images of this And twang nobler notes Of larger sentiment. But I invoke the monotony of monotonies Free from images and change. Why should I savor love With tragedy or comedy? Clasp me, Delicatest machine.
Port: The manner in which one carries oneself; bearing. (American Heritage Dictionary)
