#AmericanWriters #Aphorism #Epigram
In April, in April, My one love came along, And I ran the slope of my high hi… To follow a thread of song. His eyes were hard as porphyry
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…
They say of me, and so they should… It’s doubtful if I come to good. I see acquaintances and friends Accumulating dividends, And making enviable names
This is what I vow; He shall have my heart to keep, Sweetly will we stir and sleep, All the years, as now. Swift the measured sands may run;
Oh, both my shoes are shiny new, And pristine is my hat; My dress is 1922.... My life is all like that.
Go I must along my ways Though my heart be ragged, Dripping bitter through the days, Festering, and jagged. Smile I must at every twinge,
A single flow’r he sent me, since… All tenderly his messenger he chos… Deep-hearted, pure, with scented d… One perfect rose. I knew the language of the flowere…
Daily I listen to wonder and woe, Nightly I hearken to knave or to… Telling me stories of lava and sno… Delicate fables of ribbon and lace… Tales of the quarry, the kill, the…
Back of my back, they talk of me, Gabble and honk and hiss; Let them batten, and let them be– Me, I can sing them this: “Better to shiver beneath the star…
In May my heart was breaking– Oh, wide the wound, and deep! And bitter it beat at waking, And sore it split in sleep. And when it came November,
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
Accursed from their birth they be Who seek to find monogamy, Pursuing it from bed to bed– I think they would be better dead.
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, mercifullest one of all, Oh, generous as dear, None lived so lowly, none so small… Thou couldst withhold thy tear: How swift, in pure compassion,
I know I have been happiest at yo… But what is done, is done, and all… And small the good, to linger dole… Gayly it lived, and gallantly it d… I will not make you songs of heart…