a catenarian curve

The wind that blows across them calls Ever at dawns and evenfalls, And I am suddenly forlorn. Across the pastures and ripe corn I see the mountains in my dreams.

I let them cool, then vacuum-pack and freeze them.

Look to it – is it likely that the corpse ensepulchred will take with lovingkindness these offerings from her, by whom he died dishonoured, like one loathed, and was marred by her mishewing?