Today's Stichomancy for Elle Macpherson

they would have been living beings to me; but here, where there were so many people about me, I wanted some one to belong to me. I was lonely. I wanted something that was flesh and blood. Once on this farm there came a stranger; I did not ask his name, but he sat among the karoo and talked with me. Now, wherever I have travelled I have looked for him--in hotels, in streets, in passenger wagons as they rushed in, through the open windows of houses I have looked for him, but I have not found him--never heard a voice like his. One day I went to the Botanic Gardens. It was a half- holiday, and the band was to play. I stood in the long raised avenue and looked down. There were many flowers, and ladies and children were walking about beautifully dressed. At last the music began. I had not heard such

bore a close resemblance to the so-called Neanderthal man of La Chapelle-aux-Saints. There was the same short, stocky trunk upon which rested an enormous head habitually bent forward into the same curvature as the back, the arms shorter than the legs, and the lower leg considerably shorter than that of modern man, the knees bent forward and never straightened. This creature and one or two others who appeared to be of a lower order than he, yet higher than that of the apes, carried heavy clubs; the others were armed only with giant muscles and fighting fangs--nature's weapons. All were males, and all were entirely naked; nor was there upon even the highest among them a sign of ornamentation.

The Land that Time Forgot

contemptible, driven into ill manners, despised, insulted, laughed at.

TONY. Here's another. We shall have old Bedlam broke loose presently.

MISS NEVILLE. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation.

MARLOW. What can I say to him, a mere boy, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection?

HASTINGS. A poor contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction.

MISS NEVILLE. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with all our embarrassments.

She Stoops to Conquer

To flourish in eternal vales: they why should Thel complain. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har, utter a sigh.

She ceasd & smild in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.

Thel answerd, O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired The breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells the milky garments He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face, Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs Revives the milked cow, & tames the fire-breathing steed.

Poems of William Blake