Sometimes with One I Love
by Walt Whitman
fear I effuse unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay
is certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
Friday, February 15, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
by Amy Lowell
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the bare floor
Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.