If I grow bitterly, Like a gnarled and stunted tree, Bearing harshly of my youth Puckered fruit that sears the mout… If I make of my drawn boughs

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for D… I hear him leading his horse out o… I hear the clatter on the barn-flo… He is in haste; he has business in…

Death, I say, my heart is bowed Unto thine,—O mother! This red gown will make a shroud Good as any other! (I, that would not wait to wear

I looked in my heart while the wil… And what did I see I had not seen… Only a question less or a question… Nothing to match the flight of wil… Tiresome heart, forever living and…

Still must the poet as of old, In barren attic bleak and cold, Starve, freeze, and fashion verses… Such things as flowers and song an… Still as of old his being give

ALL right, Go ahead! What’s in a name? I guess I’ll be locked into As much as I’m locked out of!

April this year, not otherwise Than April of a year ago, Is full of whispers, full of sighs… Of dazzling mud and dingy snow; Hepaticas that pleased you so

As to some lovely temple, tenantle… Long since, that once was sweet wi… Knowing well its altars ruined and… Grown up between the stones, yet f… Of grief hard driven, or great lon…

Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that… Give me back my book and take my k… Was it my enemy or my friend I he… “What a big book for such a little… Come, I will show you now my newe…

(Nicola Sacco—Bartolomeo Vanzett… Executed August 23, 1927 As men have loved their lovers in… And sung their wit, their virtue a… So have we loved sweet Justice to…

I had a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within; And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said…

This door you might not open, and… So enter now, and see for what sli… You are betrayed.... Here is no t… No cauldron, no clear crystal mirr… The sought-for truth, no heads of…

Oh, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-h… But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese

Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well: Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell? She is happy where she lies