bespake the sorrowing soul
Speak, take the city I who thund’ring
Stuns the years and the ford may of their profit
Of the sky again. Then looking round
Are dead, I will at hearing of pity.
Abide in chains invisible the
Deep slumber seiz’d me thus bespake the
Sorrowing soul. In height or as they envy
Not yet with eyes grief stung with an animal.
For his fierce soul, as her worthiest sons,
Gaunt and whelm’d underneath the visages
Of the fever of the’ horrible, soon
As I stand, then, and well was gather’d I.
Dec 19, 2011, unsupervised bigram generation. Generator: Unnamed Work In Progress. Corpus: The Vision of Hell, by Dante Alighieri (trans. H.F. Cary)