If I will discover that,
there is a company of such,
rumour that there,
would desire to settle,
in this gentle passing wind's mill things,
those heaps of gossip air's heart,
a shadow of chagrin,
hither hood nuisance spot,
consist of if mower powers,
that is murmuring on a sort of gloom,
whatever it makes echoes, noise,
and sing songs of yet unknown,
what an itch night mare cluster,
of dream?.