The Progress of Poezie T. Gray, Appendera Poe. This could also be called the Progress of Poetry. There is a beautiful progression in the development of music and also verse. From birth until death there are stories that have been told and repeated with the help of music and the poetic music. We are given the picture of a child or example Shakespeare being placed in the arms of the news. Who helps him become the great author that he is? The power of the pen and the music can take us below the grid, but also far above the grade. The Progress of Poezie. A wake gave all the man, wire, a wreath and gave to the doctor all thy trembling strings. From hella constromonia springs, a fountain drills their lazy progress tape. The laughing flowers that round and blow in drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along deep logistics lead and strong. Through a fervent bill so sereness golden ring, now rolling down the steeper me, her blonde and petruisee at colour, the rocks and nodding roads re-build to the roller. Old sovereign of the willing soul, parent of sweet and solemn greeting ears, will chanting shell the selling cares and frantic passions hear thy soft control. On thrice he adhills the lord of war, has curved the fury of his car. And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command, pitching on the scepter hand of joy, the magic loaves of petered peen, thruffled prunes and frayed in, crunching dark clouds of slumber-lye, petered her up his beak and light knees of his eye. To eat the foezie, the dance of bay, temperature that warble play, or idaleous velvet green, the rosy crown of love, thirsty on ciferous bay. With antique sports and blue light clutches, fristing lightens relic measures, now pursuing, now retrieving, now inserting tricks they need. To press notes and cadence beating, glance their many twinkly feet. Slow, melting strings, their cranes approach the clitor, where air she turns the graces on which crane, the palms sublime, that float upon the air, inclining state she wins her easy way, or her warm jeep and rising booth and move, the bloom of even desire, and purple light of love. Now's people race what else await, labor and painary, the racks of peen, diseased and sorrows we can train, and death, said refuge from the storms of faith, the font compend my song is through, and justify the laws of joe. Say, has he given in vain my heavenly news, night and all her sickly doves, her specters' wings, and birds of boating cry, he gives to range the joe's sky, till down the eastern flips the far, appear in the smudge they sky, and glittering shafts of war. In climbs beyond the slower road where shaky forms or ice don't mount in stone, the mutes has broke the twilight bloom to cheer the shivering wind of scullable and often beneath the odour shade of chiles bow the spores blame, she gains to hear the savage you tree-tree in loose numbers wildly sweet, their feathers sink through cheap syguesky lums. Her track where air the goddess roles glory pursue in generation, the incomparable mind and freedom's holy flame. What's that wave or delpice deep isles that crown the agi- and deep, fields that cool elicit slabs or wear meanders amber waves in lingering labyrinths creep. Who do your true full echoes languish mute to the voice of anguish, where each old poetic mountain inspiration greeted round, every shade and hallowed fountain murmured deep a soul and sound. Till the sad nodding in Greece's evil hour left their paren, asus for the lat-tium plains, a light they scorn the ponk of pirate power, and cowardice that revels in her chains, when lat-tium had her lock-a-spirit lost, they sought o' elbure, next that you see in circled coast. Far from the sun and summer gale in migraine lap was nature's darling wave, what time were lucid avans straight to him the mighty mother didn't know her awful face, the thundest child stretched forth his little arms and smiled. This pencil page, she said, whose colors clear, richly paint the vernal ear, by two these golden keys, the mortal boy, this can unlock the gates of joy, a horror that enthril en fears, or hope the sacred source of syphilipeteerice. Nor if second-lead, that roads up wide upon the seraph wings of ecstasy, the secrets of the abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounts of place and time, the living throne, the sapphire glades, were angels trample while they gaze. He saw but lasted with excess of light, close to his eyes and endless night, behold her driving's less presumptuous ear wide or the fields of glory bear, two coarsers of ethereal race with necks and thunder cold and long-hawned sounding place. Heart, his hands, the lyre, explore, broad eyed stancey hovering horror, scatters from her pictured earring thoughts that breathe and words that burn, but all, because heard no more, one lyre divine, but daring spirit wakes thee now, though he inherit nor the pride nor ample pain, that the they been equal bear, stailing with supreme dominion through the azure deep oveo, yet oft before his infant eyes would burn such forms as glitter in the news's ray, with orientuse unbroad of the sun, yet shelf-y mount and keep his distant way beyond the limits of a vulgar faith. He need the good how far, but far above the great.