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My hero bares my side and sees his heart Tread, like a naked Venus, The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait; Stripping my loin of promise, He promises a secret heat. He holds the wire from the box of nerves Praising the mortal error Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves, And the hunger's emperor; He pulls the chain, the cistern moves.

Dylan Thomas I see the boys of summer I I see the boys of summer in their ruin Lay the gold tithings barren, Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils; There in their heat the winter floods Of frozen loves they fetch their girls, And drown the cargoed apples in their tides. These boys of light are curdlers in their folly, Sour the boiling honey; The jacks of frost they finger in the hives; There in the sun the frigid threads Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves; The signal moon is zero in their voids.

I see the summer children in their mothers Split up the brawned womb's weathers, Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs; There in the deep with quartered shades Of sun and moon they paint their dams As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads. I see that from these boys shall men of nothing Stature by seedy shifting, Or lame the air with leaping from its heats; There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse Of love and light bursts in their throats. O see the pulse of summer in the ice. II But seasons must be challenged or they totter Into a chiming quarter Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars; There, in his night, the black-tongued bells The sleepy man of winter pulls, Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows.

We are the dark derniers let us summon Death from a summer woman, A muscling life from lovers in their cramp From the fair dead who flush the sea The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp And from the planted womb the man of straw. We summer boys in this four-winded spinning, Green of the seaweeds' iron, Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds, Pick the world's ball of wave and froth To choke the deserts with her tides, And comb the county gardens for a wreath.

In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly, Heigh ho the blood and berry, And nail the merry squires to the trees; Here love's damp muscle dries and dies Here break a kiss in no love's quarry, O see the poles of promise in the boys. III I see you boys of summer in your ruin. Man in his maggot's barren. And boys are full and foreign to the pouch. I am the man your father was. We are the sons of flint and pitch.

O see the poles are kissing as they cross. Our eunuch dreams I Our eunuch dreams, all seedless in the light, Of light and love the tempers of the heart, Whack their boys' limbs, And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet, Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night Fold in their arms. The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds, When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm, The bones of men, the broken in their beds, By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.

II In this our age the gunman and his moll Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel, Strange to our solid eye, And speak their midnight nothings as they swell; When cameras shut they hurry to their hole down in the yard of day. They dance between their arclamps and our skull, Impose their shots, showing the nights away; We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie. III Which is the world?

Of our two sleepings, which Shall fall awake when cures and their itch Raise up this red-eyed earth?

Exeter Book Riddles | Anglo-Saxon Narrative Poetry Project | Rutgers University

Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch, The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich, Or drive the night-geared forth. The photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth; The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith That shrouded men might marrow as they fly. I'm not finding any redeeming quality in you either.

Evangeline : "From the way her fingers tighten, I can tell she wants nothing more than to wrap her hands around my throat. Their smiles are fake and cold, just like their eyes. For fuck sake. We will never see men doing that in books and that's what sickens and maddens me.

The Fall of Night

It spreads the message that we women are sly and hateful. Oh but wait! This is by far the most widespread stereotype about women.

Campaign Wrap-up - Talks Machina

Women authors, I'm not thanking you. Say the girl who didn't like Red Rising, though. Red as the dawn.

Darkest Desires : The Makani Trilogy

Never seen this before. B-bu-but nothing happens! The Queen can read minds but OMG she can't guess anything? That ending though.

CHARLES DICKENS

Too bad I don't care about any of the characters. Waste of my time. Oh and you people! I would so love to see that! Sep 25, Miranda Reads rated it did not like it Shelves: ya-series , mary-sue-i-will-kill-you , dumpster-fire , literally-painful-to-read , audiobook. You know that feeling when you read a particularly bad YA and you just have to set down the book and ask, why? Why in the world did someone give the ok to publish this mess? Why are the characters so effing dumb?

Why did I even pick this book up? This happens on average once per YA book for me This book had me questioning everything WHY is everything always Mare's fault? Her sister getting caught for stealing? Total You know that feeling when you read a particularly bad YA and you just have to set down the book and ask, why?

Totally Mare's fault. Rebel uprising? Totally on Mare's shoulders. Causing countless deaths on account of her misguided sense of justice? Wait, yeah, that one is actually on her There is a difference between taking responsibility for your actions and squeezing out every last ounce of sympathy for your main character.

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This is a case of the latter. WHY is everything repeated three times? Is there a word count limit Aveyard was building to? Did someone regift a thesaurus to her last Christmas? If so, why can't she find any synonyms for Red as the Dawn? That bloody crimson freaking dawn was the bane of my existence. WHY is there so much angst?? There's excusable teenage angst It's like, come on, they Mare's captors literally made Mare read one paragraph of propaganda in exchange for letting her marry the hot prince. WHY are first fridays even mentioned at all?? It's like Aveyard was like, "Let's throw in a bit of Hunger Games" but then her editors said, "Sorry, there's a whole series about that.

WHY did I pick up this book? Don't actually have a good reason other than a friend said they thought it was terrible and wanted my opinion.

Guess we figured out that Audiobook Comments The reader really embodied Mare, which made listening to this book really terrible. Every whine was emphasized, ever pout was pouted I ended up listening to this one on 1. View all 86 comments. Plus, it would be interesting to see how the author imagined her world-building, for I had trouble visualising it while reading. Basically, the author created her own world — which is admirable — melding Dystopia and High Fantasy as genres.

The result is pretty impressive, let me tell you. It was relatively easy to immerge into the storyline.

CONTENTS OF THE TENTH VOLUME.

Really, I stand by my claim that this will make a successful movie. Now we just have to wait and see. Mare — the heroine — is incontestably fearless, rather reckless, badass enough but… not a ruler born. She wants the best for her people and tries to free them with as much power as she can muster, but her taking rash important decisions draws affliction to her person and people around her.

A lot. If becoming a queen is her destiny, then she requires some character development. We could make a great team, heh, the two of us! You know what?

There is a love triangle — almost… square?