#Americans #Women
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,
Upon the work of Walter Landor I am unfit to write with candor. If you can read it, well and good; But as for me, I never could.
Because my love is quick to come a… A little here, and then a little t… What use are any words of mine to… My heart is stubborn, and my spiri… Of weathering the drip and drive o…
Star, that gives a gracious dole, What am I to choose? Oh, will it be a shriven soul, Or little buckled shoes? Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
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
Lady, lady, never start Conversation toward your heart; Keep your pretty words serene; Never murmur what you mean. Show yourself, by word and look,
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
Because your eyes are slant and sl… Because your hair is sweet to touc… My heart is high again; but oh, I doubt if this will get me much.
The days will rally, wreathing Their crazy tarantelle; And you must go on breathing, But I’ll be safe in hell. Like January weather,
Secrets, you said, would hold us t… You’d have me know of you your lea… And so the intimate places of your… Kneeling, you bared to me, as in c… Softly you told of loves that went…
Should Heaven send me any son, I hope he’s not like Tennyson. I’d rather have him play a fiddle Than rise and bow and speak an idy…
The same to me are sombre days and… Though joyous dawns the rosy morn,… Because my dearest love is gone aw… Within my heart is melancholy nigh… My heart beats low in loneliness,…
Unto seventy years and seven, Hide your double birthright well– You, that are the brat of Heaven And the pampered heir to Hell. Let your rhymes be tinsel treasure…
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
Oh, let it be a night of lyric rai… And singing breezes, when my bell… I have so loved the rain that I w… Last in my ears its friendly, dim… I shall lie cool and quiet, who ha…
