If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I’d wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls.
Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day. Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times, A messenger from radiant climes, And smile on thy new world, and be As
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow’s soar
Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me, Then I, my thoughts, will dim. Haste! lest while you’re lagging I may remember him! ~ Emily Dickinson
Lying asleep between the strokes of night I saw my love lean over my sad bed, Pale as the duskiest lilly’s leaf or head, Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite, Too wan for blushing and too warm for white, But perfect-coloured without white or red. And her
I did not choose thee, dearest. It was Love That made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blind As a rude shepherd’s who to some lone grove His offering brings and cares not at what shrine He bends his knee. The gifts alone were mine; The rest was Love’s.
I see you, Juliet, still, with your straw hat Loaded with vines, and with your dear pale face, On which those thirty years so lightly sat, And the white outline of your muslin dress. You wore a little fichu trimmed with lace And crossed in front, as was the fashion