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izzydane has 0 goodness points.

izzydane
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17
Pirate

My main doll is SIERRADANE

votes here, while appreciated more than likely will not be returned... mainly because I never check to see who voted for one of my alt dolls.

 

Main Doll:

One of my favorite poets is Sidney Lanier

 

 

Song of the Chattahoochee


Sidney Lanier -- 1842 to 1881


Out of the hills of Habersham,

Down the valleys of Hall,

 

I hurry amain to reach the plain,

Run the rapid and leap the fall,

Split at the rock and together again,

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,

And flee from folly on every side

With a lover's pain to attain the plain

 

Far from the hills of Habersham,

Far from the valleys of Hall.

 

All down the hills of Habersham,

All through the valleys of Hall,

 

The rushes cried Abide, abide,

The willful waterweeds held me thrall,

The laving laurel turned my tide,

The ferns and the fondling g r a s s said Stay,

The dewberry dipped for to work delay,

And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,

Here in the hills of Habersham,

Here in the valleys of Hall.

 

High o'er the hills of Habersham,

Veiling the valleys of Hall,

 

The hickory told me manifold

Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall

Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,

Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,

Said, P a s s not, so cold, these manifold

 

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,

These glades in the valleys of Hall.

 

 

And oft in the hills of Habersham,

And oft in the valleys of Hall,

 

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone

Did bar me of p a s s a g e with friendly brawl,

And many a luminous jewel lone --

Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet and amethyst --

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone

 

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,

In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

 

But oh, not the hills of Habersham,

And oh, not the valleys of Hall

 

Avail: I am fain to water the plain.

Downward the voices of Duty call --

Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main;

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,

And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,

And the lordly main beyond the plain

 

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,

Calls through the valleys of Hall.

 

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