#Americans #Women
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
Oh, lead me to a quiet cell Where never footfall rankles, And bar the window passing well, And gyve my wrists and ankles. Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,
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.
Always I knew that it could not l… (Gathering clouds, and the snowfla… Now it is part of the golden past (Darkening skies, and the night-wi… It is but cowardice to pretend.
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
Daily dawns another day; I must up, to make my way. Though I dress and drink and eat, Move my fingers and my feet, Learn a little, here and there,
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…
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…
Lady, if you’d slumber sound, Keep your eyes upon the ground. If you’d toss and turn at night, Slip your glances left and right. Would the mornings find you gay,
He’d have given me rolling lands, Houses of marble, and billowing fa… Pearls, to trickle between my hand… Smoldering rubies, to circle my ar… You– you’d only a lilting song,
I’m wearied of wearying love, my f… Of worry and strain and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the e… And maybe I’ll do without. There’s never the pang that was wo…
Once, when I was young and true, Someone left me sad– Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk,
My garden blossoms pink and white, A place of decorous murmuring, Where I am safe from August night And cannot feel the knife of Spri… And I may walk the pretty place
So silent I when Love was by He yawned, and turned away; But Sorrow clings to my apron-str… I have so much to say.
Carlyle combined the lit’ry life With throwing teacups at his wife, Remarking, rather testily, “Oh, stop your dodging, Mrs. C.!”