#AmericanWriters
Star, that gives a gracious dole, What am I to choose? Oh, will it be a shriven soul, Or little buckled shoes? Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
“It’s queer,” she said; “I see th… As plain as I beheld it then, All silver—like and calm and brigh… We’ve not had stars like that agai… ”And she was such a gentle thing
I think, no matter where you stray… That I shall go with you a way. Though you may wander sweeter land… You will not soon forget my hands, Nor yet the way I held my head,
I hate Parties; They bring out the worst in me. There is the Novelty Affair, Given by the woman Who is awfully clever at that sort…
The things she knew, let her forge… The voices in the sky, the fear, t… The gaping shepherds, and the quee… Piling their clumsy gifts of forei… Let her have laughter with her lit…
This I say, and this I know: Love has seen the last of me. Love’s a trodden lane to woe, Love’s a path to misery. This I know, and knew before,
And now I have another lad! No longer need you tell How all my nights are slow and sad For loving you too well. His ways are not your wicked ways,
A dream lies dead here. May you s… Before this place, and turn away y… Nor seek to know the look of that… Importuning Life for life. Walk n… But, for a little, let your step b…
Should they whisper false of you. Never trouble to deny; Should the words they say be true, Weep and storm and swear they lie.
Roses, rooted warm in earth, Bud in rhyme, another age; Lilies know a ghostly birth Strewn along a patterned page; Golden lad and chimbley sweep
When I admit neglect of Gissing, They say I don’t know what I’m mi… Until their arguments are subtler, I think I’ll stick to Samuel But…
How shall I wail, that wasn’t mea… Love has run and left me, oh, what… Dream, then, I must, who never ca… What if I should meet Love, once… What if I met him, walking on the…
I was seventy-seven, come August, I shall shortly be losing my bloom… I’ve experienced zephyr and raw gu… And (symbolical) flood and simoom. When you come to this time of abat…
I shall come back without fanfaron… Of wailing wind and graveyard pano… But, trembling, slip from cool Et… A mild and most bewildered little… I shall not make sepulchral midnig…
The ladies men admire, I’ve heard… Would shudder at a wicked word. Their candle gives a single light; They’d rather stay at home at nigh… They do not keep awake till three,