tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38373319526527631792012-02-16T20:05:40.290-08:00Because we all need more poetry in our lives.Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.comBlogger881100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-60750734850906567202012-02-16T20:01:00.000-08:002012-02-16T20:05:40.324-08:00

<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif][if gte mso 9]>

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-64696380313772002362012-02-15T20:05:00.001-08:002012-02-15T20:06:46.591-08:00

Take this kiss upon the brow!And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow --You are not wrong, who deemThat my days have been a dream;Yet if hope has flown awayIn a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less gone?All that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of the golden sand --

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-55537481496295852992012-02-15T19:36:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:49:57.929-08:00

All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-62203355204868179192012-02-13T22:23:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:49:38.390-08:00

When I too long have looked upon your face, Wherein for me a brightness unobscured Save by the mists of brightness has its place, And terrible beauty not to be endured, I turn away reluctant from your light, And stand irresolute, a mind undone, A silly, dazzled thing deprived of a sight From having looked too long upon the sun. Then is my daily life a narrow room In which a little while,

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-49819620030669068652012-01-31T22:43:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:50:14.860-08:00

<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-72236369518447777992012-01-27T23:39:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:52:19.907-08:00

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosseA persona che mai tornasse al mondo,Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.Ma percioche giammai di questo fondoNon torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-91937555733826186422012-01-10T21:57:00.000-08:002012-01-10T21:59:18.478-08:00

Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud Life doesn’t frighten me at all Mean old Mother Goose Lions on the loose They don’t frighten me at all Dragons breathing flame On my counterpane That doesn’t frighten me at all. I go boo Make them shoo I make fun Way they run I won’t cry So they fly I just smile They go

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-57383541762011663122012-01-07T22:24:00.000-08:002012-01-07T22:30:07.426-08:00

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-79116972724219383392011-12-02T23:35:00.000-08:002012-01-07T22:29:56.088-08:00

The art of losing isn't hard to master;so many things seem filled with the intentto be lost that their loss is no disaster.Lose something every day. Accept the flusterof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.The art of losing isn't hard to master.Then practice losing farther, losing faster:places, and names, and where it was you meantto travel. None of these will bring disaster.I lost my mother's

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-89341271365935906742011-08-18T22:54:00.000-07:002012-01-07T22:29:33.457-08:00

there's a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I'm too tough for him,I say, stay in there, I'm not goingto let anybody seeyou.there's a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I pour whiskey on him and inhalecigarette smokeand the whores and the bartendersand the grocery clerksnever know thathe'sin there.there's a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I'm too tough for him,I

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-91596093873153697922011-08-13T18:27:00.000-07:002011-08-14T18:36:51.962-07:00

The elephant, the huge old beast, is slow to mate; he finds a female, they show no haste they wait for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts slowly, slowly to rouse as they loiter along the river-beds and drink and browse and dash in panic through the brake of forest with the herd, and sleep in massive silence, and wake together, without a word. So slowly the great hot elephant hearts grow

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-86854452642646358692011-06-19T17:01:00.000-07:002011-06-19T21:28:13.612-07:00

Twelve o'clock.Along the reaches of the streetHeld in a lunar synthesis,Whispering lunar incantationsDissolve the floors of memoryAnd all its clear relationsIts divisions and precisions,Every street lamp that I passBeats like a fatalistic drum,And through the spaces of the darkMidnight shakes the memoryAs a madman shakes a dead geranium.Half-past one,The street-lamp sputtered.The street-lamp

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-60421877471647702142011-05-24T22:05:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:05:48.740-07:00

Meet me in Cognito, baby.In Cognito we’ll have nothing to hide.Let’s go incognito, honey,And let the world believe that we’ve died.Meet me in Cognito, baby,Of course we’ll have to color our hair.The best thing about life in CognitoIs that everybody’s nobody there.Meet me in Cognito, darling,Sure, some may think that it’s rash,But you’ll look chic incognitoWith your fake nose and Groucho

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-57289266820052457632011-03-23T00:20:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:05:24.701-07:00

An omnibus across the bridgeCrawls like a yellow butterflyAnd, here and there, a passer-byShows like a little restless midge.Big barges full of yellow hayAre moored against the shadowy wharf,And, like a yellow silken scarf,The thick fog hangs along the quay.The yellow leaves begin to fadeAnd flutter from the Temple elms,And at my feet the pale green ThamesLies like a rod of rippled jade.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-21919170602891454812011-03-07T22:56:00.000-08:002011-06-19T18:04:22.728-07:00

IArethusa aroseFrom her couch of snowsIn the Acroceraunian mountains,---From cloud and from crag,With many a jag,Shepherding her bright fountains.She leapt down the rocks,With her rainbow locksStreaming among the streams;---Her steps paved with greenThe downward ravineWhich slopes to the western gleams;And gliding and springingShe went, ever singing,In murmurs as soft as sleep;The Earth seemed to

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-86691256723133341152010-12-13T08:18:00.000-08:002011-06-19T18:04:01.942-07:00

Starry, starry nightPaint your palette blue and grayLook out on a summer's dayWith eyes that know the darkness in my soulShadows on the hillsSketch the trees and daffodilsCatch the breeze and winter chillsIn colors on the snowy linen land.Now I understand what you tried to say to meAnd how you suffered for your sanityHow you tried to set them freeThey would not listenThey did not know howPerhaps

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-85429397305239596352010-11-21T14:38:00.000-08:002011-06-19T18:03:43.531-07:00

Dark Is the sky,The sun sinks wearily;My trembling heart, with sorrow filled,Aches drearily !My sweet child at my songs is smiling still,While at his tender heart the icicles lie chill.Child of my dreams IThy love doth cheer me;The cruel biting frost I braveBut to be near thee!Ah me, Ah me, could these hot tears of mineBut melt the icicles around that heart of thine!Could we once moreMeet heart

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-79154771922277177442010-10-20T22:10:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:03:32.148-07:00

I am two fools, I know,For loving, and for saying soIn whining poetry ;But where's that wise man, that would not be I,If she would not deny ?Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanesDo purge sea water's fretful salt away,I thought, if I could draw my painsThrough rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,For he tames it, that fetters it in verse. But

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-10573847408951371102010-10-11T09:03:00.001-07:002011-06-19T18:03:21.820-07:00

I DO not own an inch of land,But all I see is mine,--The orchard and the mowing fields,The lawns and gardens fine.The winds my tax-collectors are,They bring me tithes divine,--Wild scents and subtle essences,A tribute rare and free;And, more magnificent than all,My window keeps for meA glimpse of blue immensity,--A little strip of sea.Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; I have

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-78554821923661835012010-10-02T20:22:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:03:12.514-07:00

I stood on the bridge at midnight,As the clocks were striking the hour,And the moon rose o'er the city,Behind the dark church-tower.I saw her bright reflectionIn the waters under me,Like a golden goblet fallingAnd sinking into the sea.And far in the hazy distanceOf that lovely night in June,The blaze of the flaming furnaceGleamed redder than the moon.Among the long, black raftersThe wavering

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-69434709030146950362010-08-13T22:46:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:03:01.250-07:00

All attempts have failedAll my heads are tailsShe's got teary eyesI've got reasons whyI'm losing ground and gaining speedI've lost myself or most of meI'm headed for the final precipiceBut you haven't lost me yetNo, you haven't lost me yetI'll sing until my heart caves inNo, you haven't lost me yet, yetThese day pass me byI dream with open eyesNightmares haunt my daysVisions blur my nightsI'm so

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-60087792916859022762010-08-05T21:53:00.001-07:002011-06-19T18:02:44.545-07:00

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-34284723901213493322010-06-26T08:40:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:02:29.519-07:00

Do you know you have asked for the costliest thingEver made by the hand above —A woman's heart, and a woman's lifeAnd a woman's wonderful love? Do you know you have asked for this priceless thingAs a child might ask for a toy,Demanding what others have died to win,With the reckless dash of a boy? You have written my lesson of duty out,Man-like you have questioned me;Now stand at the bar of my

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-34796837879708073462010-06-24T23:11:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:02:12.771-07:00

The hum of the caris deadening.It could sing meto sleep.I like to be sung to:deep-throated musicof the south, horse songs,of the bare feet soundof my son walking in his sleep.Or wheels turning,spinningspinning.Sometimes I am afraidof the soundof soundlessness.Like driving away from youas you watched me wordlesslyfrom your sunglasses.Your face opened up then,a dark fevered bird.And dived into

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-35823345748776500672010-06-22T00:59:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:02:01.017-07:00

The solitary looks for the favor of fortune,For serene waters and a welcoming haven.But his lot is to plough the wintry seas.An exile's fate is decreed for him.Each dawn stirs old sorrows.The slaughter of lord, kin, village, and keep.Best to swallow grief, to blot out memories.Best to seal up the heart's wretchedness.There is none with whom to speak,No one alive who will understand.Best to hide

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-74535580267889506812010-06-20T23:22:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:01:39.221-07:00

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-80275330575339309332010-06-13T20:47:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:01:25.352-07:00

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame.With conquering limbs astride from land to land;Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall standA mighty woman with a torch, whose flameIs the imprisoned lightning, and her nameMother of Exiles. From her beacon-handGlows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes commandThe air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame."Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-48759307557978703352010-06-11T21:10:00.001-07:002011-06-19T18:05:03.793-07:00

I arise from dreams of theeIn the first sweet sleep of night,When the winds are breathing low,And the stars are shining bright.I arise from dreams of thee,And a spirit in my feetHath led me -- who knows how?To thy chamber window, Sweet!The wandering airs they faintOn the dark, the silent stream--And the Champak's odoursLike sweet thoughts in a dream;The nightingale's complaint,It dies upon her

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-11034608849624679802010-06-07T21:37:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:00:55.168-07:00

All men go to God in their distress,seek help and pray for bread and happiness,deliverance from pain, guilt and death,All men do, Christians and othersAll men go to God in His distressfind Him poor, reviled, without shelter or bread,watch Him tormented by sin, weakness and death.Christians stand by God in His hour of grievingGod goes to all men in their distress,satisfies body and soul with His

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-22619587997968108782010-06-01T20:27:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:00:38.138-07:00

I went to Satan's house. His mailbox was painted blackA fleet of bonecrusherswas parked in his driveway.The thorns on his rosebusheswere longer than shivs.And sixty-six roosters scratchedin his front yard, their spurssmoldering like cheap cigars.I went to Satan's house.It was supposed to be an Amway party.I wanted one of thosehard as hell steak knives.The ones that can't tell the

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-33128700573475034062010-05-31T11:40:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:00:25.495-07:00

For whomThe milk ungiven in the breastWhen the child is gone?For whom the love locked up in the heartThat is left alone?That golden yieldSplit sod once, overflowed an August field,Threshed out in pain upon September's floor,Now hoarded high in barns, a sterile store.Break down the bolted door;Rip open, spread and pourThe grain upon the barren groundWherever crack in clod is found.There is no

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-24185682929671509682010-05-29T22:55:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:00:01.981-07:00

If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you;If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-56484326999945364752010-05-20T22:46:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:58:05.090-07:00

From the desert I come to thee,On a stallion shod with fire,And the winds are left behindIn the speed of my desire.Under thy window I stand,And the midnight hears my cry:I love thee, I love but thee,With a love that never shall die.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-88924675127009818732010-05-16T09:34:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:57:52.977-07:00

My Lord, My Lord,Long have I cried out to TheeIn the heat of the sun,The cool of the moon,My screams searched the heavens for Thee.My God,When my blanket was nothing but dew,Rags and bonesWere all I owned.I chanted your nameJust like Job.Father, Father,My life give I gladly to TheeDeep rivers aheadHigh mountains aboveMy soul wants only Your loveBut fears gather round like wolves in the darkHave

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-56153099382912001802009-12-29T20:13:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:57:41.733-07:00

Had a bit partAn endless reelIt always played in slow-moBut now it's fastA spinning wheelI know the dynamoMy heartIs castSpeedy MarieAhead of the nowShe's better built that's howShe's built for speedSpeedy MarieSpeedy MarieOh yes, indeedI said to meAnd so I sing this romauntIt's not enoughMy libertyThere is a thing I wantI needI loveJuxtaposed in each moment's sightEverything that I ever sawAnd

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-85248660944699007402009-10-07T14:42:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:57:16.848-07:00

no man,if men are gods;but if gods mustbe men,the sometimes only man is this(most common,for each anguish is his grief;and,for his joy is more than joy,most rare)a fiend,if fiends speak truth;if angels burnby their own genereous completely light,an angel;or(as various worlds he'll spurnrather than fail immeasurable fate)coward,clown,traitor,idiot,dreamer,beast --such was a poet and shall be and

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-36344014728453836882009-10-01T00:48:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:57:00.757-07:00

Away with silks, away with lawn,Iʼll have no scenes or curtains drawn;Give me my mistress as she is,Dressed in her naked simplicities:For as my heart, even so my eyeIs won with flesh, not drapery.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-44652538604809683532009-05-27T08:20:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:56:50.130-07:00

I tell this blackguywho sits down at the table next to me in Kipshey man you dropped your matches,he just nods, big felt hatbrim over all but his beard and his nod,and he sees my half-full pitcher of beer and he sayshey man can I have a shot of your beer?and I nod yes and start to give him a drink from my glasswhen this dude gets up and says,I’ll get my own glass,sits down, pours it full and then

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-65247327840169080642009-05-06T16:12:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:56:37.380-07:00

I was thinking of a series of dreamsWhere nothing comes up to the topEverything stays down where it's woundedAnd comes to a permanent stopWasn't thinking of anything specificLike in a dream, when someone wakes up and screamsNothing too very scientificJust thinking of a series of dreamsThinking of a series of dreamsWhere the time and the tempo flyAnd there's no exit in any direction'Cept the one

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-87061802289150544432009-04-23T00:39:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:56:21.791-07:00

The spirit has infinite facets, but the bodyconfiningly few sides.There is the left,the right, the back, the belly, and temptingin-betweens, northeasts and northwests,that tip the heart and soon pinch circulationin one or another arm.Yet we turn each timewith fresh hope, believing that sleepwill visit us here, descending like an angeldown the angle our flesh’s sextant sets,tilted toward that

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-68888567726370535992009-04-23T00:30:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:56:08.700-07:00

And then the day came,when the riskto remain tightin a budwas more painfulthan the riskit tookto Blossom.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-16174710916183697032009-03-12T23:57:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:55:42.878-07:00

Birds singingin the dark—Rainy dawn.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-5698201843932610432009-01-16T21:35:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:55:28.660-07:00

Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother's bed;the rising sun in war paint dyes us red;in broad daylight her gilded bed-posts shine,abandoned, almost Dionysian.At last the trees are green on Marlborough Street,blossoms on our magnolia ignitethe morning with their murderous five days' white.All night I've held your hand,as if you hada fourth time faced the kingdom of the mad--its hackneyed speech, its

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-26571931574172210362008-12-30T20:10:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:55:16.787-07:00

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-13364439901189525442008-12-16T23:39:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:55:01.442-07:00

Standing by my bedin gold sandalsDawn that verymoment awoke me

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-24796441999545721932008-12-14T19:43:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:54:47.459-07:00

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;I fled Him, down the arches of the years;I fled Him, down the labyrinthine waysOf my own mind; and in the mist of tearsI hid from Him, and under running laughter.Up vistaed hopes I sped;And shot, precipitated,Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.But with unhurrying chase,And unperturbèd pace,

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-42424133347599736542008-11-18T23:02:00.001-08:002011-06-19T17:54:32.958-07:00

Your children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.You may give them your love but not your thoughts,For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,which you cannot visit, not

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-51802044712211538612008-11-11T16:54:00.000-08:002011-06-19T17:54:01.200-07:00

I looked into your face and knewthat you were true;those clear, deep eyes awoke in mea trust in you.I’d dreamt of shoulders broad and straight,one built to lead;I met you once and knew that youwere all I need.You did not have to say a wordto make me feelthat will, completely in control,was made of steel.I’d dreamt of dashing love and bold,life wild with zest;but when with you my heart was

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-89943640373892387672008-10-25T20:16:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:54:15.901-07:00

Hard light bathed them-a whole nation of eyeless men,Dark bipeds not aware how they were maimed. A longProcess, clearly, a slow curse,Drained through centuries, left them thus.At some transitional stage, then, a luckless few,No doubt, must have had eyes after the up-to-date,Normal type had achieved snugDarkness, safe from the guns of heavn;Whose blind mouths would abuse words that belonged to

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-35701227725763971952008-10-23T22:27:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:53:30.106-07:00

Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;Mock on, mock on; 'tis all in vain!You throw the sand against the wind,And the wind blows it back again.And every sand becomes a gemReflected in the beams divine;Blown back they blind the mocking eye,But still in Israel's paths they shine.The Atoms of DemocritusAnd Newton's Particles of LightAre sands upon the Red Sea shore,Where Israel's tents do shine so

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-52978896922259492812008-10-19T19:24:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:53:18.172-07:00

The old Chimaeras, old receiptsFor making "happy land,"The old political beliefsSwam close before my hand.The grand old communistic mythsIn a middle state of grace,Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell,And walking for a space,Quite dead, and looking it, and yetAll eagerness to showThe Social-Contract forgeriesBy Chatterton - Rousseau -A hundred such as these I tried,And hundreds after that,I

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-39168018064238334062008-10-13T16:13:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:53:05.559-07:00

More and more frequently the edgesof me dissolve and I becomea wish to assimilate the world, includingyou, if possible through the skinlike a cool plant's tricks with oxygenand live by a harmless green burning.I would not consumeyou or everfinish, you would still be theresurrounding me, completeas the air.Unfortunately I don't have leaves.Instead I have eyesand teeth and other non-greenthings

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-1908322361676069582008-10-08T08:33:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:52:51.834-07:00

Day to day bequeathes a glimmering sunand night laments for nightand summer after summer is gathered up in fallen leavesand the world sings from its sorrowand tomorrow we shall die speechlessand upon the day of our leaving, we shall stand before the gate at closing timeand when the heart rejoices that indeed God has brought us close to Him -it will then repent from joy and will tremble in fear

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-62257838622495747282008-10-01T00:18:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:52:31.263-07:00

so much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the whitechickens.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-40160105558379763972008-09-23T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:52:16.628-07:00

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,The prettiest doll in the world;Her cheeks were so red and so white; dears,And her hair was so charmingly curled.But I lost my poor little doll, dears,As I played in the heath one day;And I cried for her more than a week, dears;But I never could find where she lay.I found my poor little doll, dears,As I played in the heath one day:Folks say she is terrible

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-56002200902694327982008-09-16T09:45:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:52:04.036-07:00

The sea was sapphire coloured, and the skyBurned like a heated opal through the air;We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fairFor the blue lands that to the eastward lie.From the steep prow I marked with quickening eyeZakynthos, every olive grove and creek,Ithaca's cliff, Lycaon's snowy peak,And all the flower-strewn hills of Arcady.The flapping of the sail against the mast,The ripple of the

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-21318593999765982682008-09-07T14:32:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:51:50.541-07:00

She wakes from the pillowbody hammering to the hoveringabove herthe withheld beating of wingsdon't moveit is a whispershe can't quite hearshe goes rigid with its certaintya child's fatal senseof proportiondon't movea careless move will unhingethe universein a network of nerves like wiresshe lies rigid waitingfor the presence to withdrawfor the withdrawal of the vibratingof dim sacred words

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-22663995100707961552008-09-06T21:00:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:51:37.618-07:00

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,Feels the sun with terror,One unwilling step she takes,Shuddering to the mirror.Miranda in Miranda's sightIs old and gray and dirty;Twenty-nine she was last night;This morning she is thirty.Shining like the morning star,Like the twilight shining,Haunted by a calendar,Miranda is a-pining.Silly girl, silver girl,Draw the mirror toward you;Time who makes the years to

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-50030885074544868252008-09-05T12:53:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:51:24.327-07:00

Once from a big, big building,When I was small, small,The queer folk in the windowsWould smile at me and call.And in the hard wee gardensSuch pleasant men would hoe:"Sir, may we touch the little girl's hair!"—It was so red, you know.They cut me coloured astersWith shears so sharp and neat,They brought me grapes and plums and pearsAnd pretty cakes to eat.And out of all the windows,No matter where

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-23712621206437825712008-08-20T11:34:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:51:09.637-07:00

`Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe."Beware the Jabberwock, my son!The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!"He took his vorpal sword in hand:Long time the manxome foe he sought --So rested he by the Tumtum tree,And stood awhile in thought.And, as in

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-56736975325791391472008-08-13T10:06:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:50:37.433-07:00

My dad gave me one dollar bill'Cause I'm his smartest son,And I swapped it for two shiny quarters'Cause two is more than one!And then I took the quartersAnd traded them to LouFor three dimes-I guess he don't knowthat three is more than two!Just then, along came old blind BatesAnd just 'cause he can't seeHe gave me four nickels for my three dimes,And four is more than three!And I took the nickels

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-16985274736933756242008-07-25T23:37:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:07:49.202-07:00

I've found a wayA way to make you smileI read bad poetryInto your machineI save your messagesJust to hear your voiceYou always listen carefullyTo awkward rhymesYou always say your name,Like I wouldn't know it's you,At your most beautifulAt my most beautifulI count your eyelashes, secretlyWith every one, whisper I love youI let you sleepI know you're closed eye watching me,ListeningI thought I saw

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-34057093076145619812008-07-18T12:33:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:49:55.247-07:00

The green catalpa tree has turnedAll white; the cherry blooms once more.In one whole year I haven't learnedA blessed thing they pay you for.The blossoms snow down in my hair;The trees and I will soon be bare.The trees have more than I to spare.The sleek, expensive girls I teach,Younger and pinker every year,Bloom gradually out of reach.The pear tree lets its petals dropLike dandruff on a

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-51807465895663952592008-07-15T16:32:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:49:40.865-07:00

I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glance,Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.The

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-16602502033309605672008-07-11T13:55:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:49:25.290-07:00

As into the garden Elizabeth ran,Pursued by the just indignation of Ann,she trod on an object that lay in her road,She trod on an object that looked like a toad.It looked like a toad, and it looked so becauseA toad was the actual object it was;And after supporting Elizabeth's treadIt looked like a toad that was visibly dead.Elizabeth, leaving her footprint behind,Continued her flight on the

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-43411101264525044262008-06-09T19:31:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:49:12.178-07:00

You were the jailer of your murderer --Which imprisoned you.And since I was your nurse and your protectorYour sentence was mine too.You played at feeling safe. As I fed youYou ate and drank and swallowedSliding me sleepy looks, like a suckling babe,From under your eyelids.You fed your prisoner's rage, in the dungeon,Through the keyhole --Then, in a single, stung bound, came back upThe coiled,

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-36186270087840580252008-06-02T07:48:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:48:57.483-07:00

A small green valley where a slow stream flowsAnd leaves long strands of silver on the brightGrass; from the mountaintop stream the Sun'sRays; they fill the hollow full of light.A soldier, very young, lies open-mouthed,A pillow made of fern beneath his head,Asleep; stretched in the heavy undergrowth,Pale in his warm, green, sun-soaked bed.His feet among the flowers, he sleeps. His smileIs like an

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-89824907035586869272008-05-29T08:47:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:48:42.644-07:00

Today I amA small blue thingLike a marbleOr an eyeWith my knees against my mouthI am perfectly roundI am watching youI am cold against your skinYou are perfectly reflectedI am lost inside your pocketI am lost againstYour fingersI am falling down the stairsI am skipping on the sidewalkI am thrown against the skyI am raining down in piecesI am scattering like lightScattering like lightScattering

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-41957247585444453432008-05-28T08:36:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:48:20.021-07:00

The lateral vibrations caress me,They leap and caress me,They work pathetically in my favour,They seek my financial good.She of the spear stands present.The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis,These are they of thy company.With a pathetic solicitude they attend me;Undulant,Their realm is the lateral courses.Light!I am up to follow thee, Pallas.Up and out of their caresses.You were gone up

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-26731453153961974882008-05-21T09:59:00.001-07:002011-06-19T17:48:04.815-07:00

As I walked out one evening,Walking down Bristol Street,The crowds upon the pavementWere fields of harvest wheat.And down by the brimming riverI heard a lover singUnder an arch of the railway:'Love has no ending.I'll love you, dear, I'll love youTill China and Africa meet,And the river jumps over the mountainAnd the salmon sing in the street.I'll love you till the oceanIs folded and hung up to

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-24045515001175161612008-05-20T09:03:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:47:48.027-07:00

We wear the mask that grins and lies,It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--This debt we pay to human guile;With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,And mouth with myriad subtleties.Why should the world be overwise,In counting all our tears and sighs?Nay, let them only see us, whileWe wear the mask.We smile, but, O great Christ, our criesTo thee from tortured souls arise.We sing, but oh the clay

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-92212422577852187512008-05-15T08:31:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:47:33.457-07:00

you've seen a strawberrythat's had a struggle; yetwas, where the fragments met,a hedgehog or a star-fish for the multitudeof seeds. What better foodthan apple seeds - the fruitwithin the fruit - locked inlike counter-curved twinhazelnuts? Frost that killsthe little rubber-plant -leaves of kok-sagyyz-stalks, can'tharm the roots; they still growin frozen ground. Once wherethere was a prickley-pear

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-67544567425129484582008-05-14T09:33:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:47:17.094-07:00

JANE, Jane,Tall as a crane,The morning light creaks down again;Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,Jane, Jane, come down the stair.Each dull blunt wooden stalactiteOf rain creaks, hardened by the light,Sounding like an overtoneFrom some lonely world unknown.But the creaking empty lightWill never harden into sight,Will never penetrate your brainWith overtones like the blunt rain.The light would show (

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-85168320800614621462008-05-13T14:29:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:47:03.009-07:00

People are putting up storm windows now,Or were, this morning, until the heavy rainDrove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,I saw storm windows lying on the ground,Frame-full of rain; through the water and glassI saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to streamAway in lines like seaweed on the tideOr blades of wheat leaning under the wind.The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glassSeemed

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-50807211020590267932008-05-09T07:59:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:46:46.489-07:00

All profits disappear: the gainOf ease, the hoarded, secret sum;And now grim digits of old painReturn to litter up our home.We hunt the cause of ruin, add,Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;For all our scratching on the pad,We cannot trace the error down.What we are seeking is a fareOne way, a chance to be secure:The lack that keeps us what we are,The penny that usurps the poor.

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-62499429896225995622008-05-07T13:49:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:46:11.460-07:00

The speaker in this caseis a middle-aged witch, me-tangled on my two great arms,my face in a bookand my mouth wide,ready to tell you a story or two.I have come to remind you,all of you:Alice, Samuel, Kurt, Eleanor,Jane, Brian, Maryel,all of you draw near.Alice,at fifty-six do you remember?Do you remember when youwere read to as a child?Samuel,at twenty-two have you forgotten?Forgotten the ten

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-51595302564473063632008-05-06T10:52:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:43:45.498-07:00

IDawn is dim on the dark soft water,Soft and passionate, dark and sweet.Love's own self was the deep sea's daughter,air and flawless from face to feet,Hailed of all when the world was golden,Loved of lovers whose names beholdenThrill men's eyes as with light of oldenDays more glad than their flight was fleet.So they sang: but for men that love her,Souls that hear not her word in vain,Earth beside

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-80893904548061227802008-05-05T11:58:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:43:26.423-07:00

Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,Sleeping at last.No more a tired heart downcast or overcast,No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover,Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast.Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy coverCannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-60163686137952703272008-05-03T18:40:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:43:02.675-07:00

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-64611576151394457332008-05-02T17:31:00.000-07:002011-06-19T18:06:47.566-07:00

When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,Love in her gear is slowly through the house,Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,Hauled to the dome,Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age,Deliver me who timid in my tribe,Of love am barer than Cadaver's trapRobbed of the foxy tongue, his footed tapeOf the bone inchDeliver me, my masters, head and

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-70889379735097079242008-04-30T15:02:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:41:59.624-07:00

Hast thou no scar?No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,Hast thou no scar?No wound? No scar?Yet, as the Master shall the servant be,And pierced are the feet that follow Me;But thine are whole. Can he have followed farWho has nor wound nor scar?

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-53770337563719201582008-04-29T08:14:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:38:29.499-07:00

ITo-night, a first movement, a pulse,As if the rain in bogland gathered headTo slip and flood: a bog-burst,A gash breaking open the ferny bed.Your back is a firm line of eastern coastAnd arms and legs are thrownBeyond your gradual hills. I caressThe heaving province where our past has grown.I am the tall kingdom over your shoulderThat you would neither cajole nor ignore.Conquest is a lie. I grow

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-71831923484261053142008-04-28T10:25:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:38:00.710-07:00

thrusting and moaningin the bedroom: the delivery men

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-86295455089359187952008-04-26T17:29:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:37:08.231-07:00

I'm blind, all of you out there; that's a curse,a repulsive something, a contradiction,a daily heavy burden.I lay my hand on the arm of a woman,my grey hand on her greyest grey,and she guides me through nothing but more emptiness.You push and pull and imagine yourselvesto sound differently than just stone against stone,but you are wrong: only Ilive and suffer and complain.In me is an endless

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-66903951187402535932008-04-25T09:30:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:36:49.291-07:00

They are the last romantics, these candles:Upside-down hearts of light tipping wax fingers,And the fingers, taken in by their own haloes,Grown milky, almost clear, like the bodies of saints.It is touching, the way they'll ignoreA whole family of prominent objectsSimply to plumb the deeps of an eyeIn its hollow of shadows, its fringe of reeds,And the owner past thirty, no beauty at all.Daylight

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-58691886330979064432008-04-24T11:16:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:36:33.004-07:00

Always I knew that it could not last(Gathering clouds, and the snowflakes flying),Now it is part of the golden past(Darkening skies, and the night-wind sighing);It is but cowardice to pretend.Cover with ashes our love's cold crater-Always I've known that it had to endSooner or later.Always I knew it would come like this(Pattering rain, and the grasses springing),Sweeter to you is a new love's

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-47407495965012570572008-04-23T11:17:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:37:23.635-07:00

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is longand I will be waiting for you, as in an empty stationwhen the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.Don't leave me, even for an hour, becausethen the little drops of anguish will all run together,the smoke that roams looking for a home will driftinto me, choking my lost heart.Oh, may your

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3837331952652763179.post-27980541725363101392008-04-22T12:54:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:34:50.625-07:00

I.That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,And the blue eyeDear and dewy,And that infantine fresh air of hers!II.To think men cannot take you, Sweet,And enfold you,Ay, and hold you,And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!IIIYou like us for a glance, you know---For a word's sakeOr a sword's sake,All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know.IV.And in turn we make you ours, we say---You and youth too,

Tashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09210291258114848329noreply@blogger.com0