#AmericanWriters
This level reach of blue is not my… Here are sweet waters, pretty in t… Whose quiet ripples meet obedientl… A marked and measured line, one af… This is no sea of mine, that humbl…
This is what I vow; He shall have my heart to keep, Sweetly will we stir and sleep, All the years, as now. Swift the measured sands may run;
Little white love, your way you’ve… Now I am left alone, alone. Little white love, my heart’s fors… (Whom shall I get by telephone?) Well do I know there’s no returni…
Needle, needle, dip and dart, Thrusting up and down, Where’s the man could ease a heart Like a satin gown? See the stitches curve and crawl
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of so… A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never… And I am Marie of Roumania.
[and scarcely worth the trouble, a… The same to me are somber days and… Though Joyous dawns the rosy morn… Because my dearest love is gone aw… Within my heart is melancholy nigh…
Who was there had seen us Wouldn’t bid him run? Heavy lay between us All our sires had done. There he was, a-springing
In youth, it was a way I had To do my best to please, And change, with every passing lad… To suit his theories. But now I know the things I know,
She that begs a little boon (Heel and toe! Heel and toe!) Little gets– and nothing, soon. (No, no, no! No, no, no!) She that calls for costly things
I cannot rest, I cannot rest In straight and shiny wood, My woven hands upon my breast— The dead are all so good! The earth is cool across their eye…
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine; Refresh your recollection, And sit a moment, to define His means of self-protection. How truly fortified is he!
Some men, some men Cannot pass a Book shop. (Lady, make your mind up, and wait… Some men, some men
If she had been beautiful, even, Or wiser than women about her, Or had moved with a certain defian… If she had had sons at her sides, And she with her hands on their sh…
And if, my friend, you’d have it e… There’s naught to hear or tell. But need you try to black my eye In wishing me farewell. Though I admit an edged wit
Back of my back, they talk of me, Gabble and honk and hiss; Let them batten, and let them be– Me, I can sing them this: “Better to shiver beneath the star…