#Americans #Women
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,
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…
I know I have been happiest at yo… But what is done, is done, and all… And small the good, to linger dole… Gayly it lived, and gallantly it d… I will not make you songs of heart…
Should they whisper false of you. Never trouble to deny; Should the words they say be true, Weep and storm and swear they lie.
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;
There’s little to have but the thi… There’s little to bear but the thi… There’s nothing to carry and naugh… And glory to Heaven, I paid the s… There’s little to do but I did be…
If, with the literate, I am Impelled to try an epigram, I never seek to take the credit; We all assume that Oscar said it.
For one, the amaryllis and the ros… The poppy, sweet as never lilies a… The ripen’d vine, that beckons as… The dancing star. For one, the trodden rosemary and…
If I had a shiny gun, I could have a world of fun Speeding bullets through the brain… Of the folk who give me pains; Or had I some poison gas,
They laid their hands upon my head… They stroked my cheek and brow; And time could heal a hurt, they s… And time could dim a vow. And they were pitiful and mild
Carlyle combined the lit’ry life With throwing teacups at his wife, Remarking, rather testily, “Oh, stop your dodging, Mrs. C.!”
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
When first we saw the apple tree The boughs were dark and straight, But never grief to give had we, Though Spring delayed so late. When last I came away from there
Tonight my love is sleeping cold Where none may see and none shall… The daisies quicken in the mold, And richer fares the meadow grass. The warding cypress pleads the ski…
Daily I listen to wonder and woe, Nightly I hearken to knave or to… Telling me stories of lava and sno… Delicate fables of ribbon and lace… Tales of the quarry, the kill, the…
