I’d rather have him play a fiddle
Than rise and bow and speak an idyll.
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‘Then we will have tonight!’ we said.
The morrow touched our eyes, and foundUs walking firm above the ground,Our pulses quick, our blood alight.Tomorrow’s gone- we’ll have tonight!
Woman wants monogamy;
Love is woman’s moon and sun;Man has other forms of fun.Woman lives but in her lord;Count to ten, and man is bored.With this the gist and sum of it,What earthly good can come of it?
Little things that no one needs —
Little landscapes, done in beads.Little morals, woven out,Little wreaths of gilded grass,Little brigs of whittled oakBottled painfully in glass;These are made by lonely folk.Lonely folk have lines of daysLong and faltering and thin;Therefore — little wax bouquets,Prayers cut upon a pin,Little maps of pinkish lands,Little charts of curly seas,Little plats of linen strands,Little verses, such…
Long I fought the driving lists,
Link on link, between my wrists,Now my heavy freedom’s hanging.
A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Nor seek to know the look of that which diesImportuning Life for life. Walk not in woe,But, for a little, let your step be slow.And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wiseWith words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies.A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know:Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree-Though white…
The sun’s gone dim, and
For I loved him, andHe didn’t love back.