To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent; and the deep Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I. The bliss so long afar, at length so nigh, Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. First touched, the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow, Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow.
THIS WAS THE MOVIE OF THE PAINTERS FUCKING EACH OTHERS WOMEN RIGHT??? IF YOU FIND THIS READING ROMANTIC, YOU WOULD PROBABLY LOVE THE POETRY OF CHARLES MANSON MY DESPERATE FEMALES😣😣😣😣😣
This movie is a bordello with seedy living painters screwing each other's girls wives and anything moving, yawn, what great acting and depth are you speaking of?? I wouldn't pay to see these women being banged by these men, MYSOGYNY FOR A STROKE, WOULD BE A BETTER TITLE THESE IRISH AND BRIT ACTORS AND WRITERS ARE SUBHUMAN AND DO ANYTHING TO BE FAMOUS, THIS IS SEWAGE IMITATING ART, NOTHING MORE.
