#Americans #Women
There’s many and many, and not so… Is willing to dry my tears away; There’s many to tell me what you a… And never a lie to all they say. It’s little the good to hide my he…
Oh, when I flung my heart away, The year was at its fall. I saw my dear, the other day, Beside a flowering wall; And this was all I had to say:
I dunno yer highfalutin’ words, bu… When I’m peekin’ out th’ winder o… I’ve been lookin’ 'roun’ this big… An’ I want t’ tell ye, neighbor m… I’ve ben settin’ here, a-thinkin’…
When you are gone, there is nor bl… Nor singing sea at night, nor silv… And I can only stare, and shape m… In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to dr…
They hurried here, as soon as you… Their faces damp with haste and sy… And pressed my hand in theirs, and… And clicked their tongues, and wat… Gently they told me of that Other…
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…
In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave.
The Lives and Times of John Keat… Percy Bysshe Shelley, and George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron Byron and Shelley and Keats Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
I always say, I always said If I were grown and free, I’d have a gown of reddest red As fine as you could see, To wear out walking, sleek and slo…
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine; Refresh your recollection, And sit a moment, to define His means of self-protection. How truly fortified is he!
Little things that no one needs— Little things to joke about— Little landscapes, done in beads. Little morals, woven out, Little wreaths of gilded grass,
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
Although I work, and seldom cease… At Dumas pere and Dumas fils, Alas, I cannot make me care For Dumas fils and Dumas pere.
Here in my heart I am Helen; I’m Aspasia and Hero, at least. I’m Judith, and Jael, and Madame… I’m Salome, moon of the East. Here in my soul I am Sappho;
You know the bloom, unearthly whit… That none has seen by morning ligh… The tender moon, alone, may bare Its beauty to the secret air. Who’d venture past its dark retrea…
