You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.
Without music I should wish to die.
I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either.
What should I be but just what I am?
Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?
The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now
God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.
Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.
Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me
Marriage...one of the most civilized institutions in the world...But...swimming is one of the most wonderful of sports, and yet there are always some people who cannot swim who insist on going into the water and getting drowned. Many people spoil marriage in a like manner. One should be sure she knows how to be married before rushing into it.
The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.
Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.
Stranger, pause and look; From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again; Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide! There are a hundred places where I fear To go,--so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, 'There is no memory of him here!' And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
Life isn't all beer and skittles; few of us have touched a skittle in years.
SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
I dread no more the first white in my hair, Or even age itself, the easy shoe, The cane, the wrinkled hands, the special chair: Time, doing this to me, may alter too My anguish, into something I can bear
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