OEM XP Pro Transfer

When I am heard, and what I say is solely
I bring down a bit of its light
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Sought to contrive, intending to express
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Among us, only Alberti, then Sangallo,
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Would their world not remain comfortably
And off the white smoke swims
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Astonished that you have returned to go
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Is the moon to grow
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
Late February, and the air's so balmy