Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind…
And why should I be cold, my lad,
And why should you repine,
Because I love a dark head
That never will be mine?
Love has gone and left me, — and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
I, having loved ever since I was a child a few things, never having wavered In these affections; never through shyness in the houses of the rich or in the … Continue reading
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over. And what did I see I had not seen before? Only a question less or a question more; Nothing … Continue reading
White with daisies and red with sorrel And empty, empty under the sky!— Life is a quest and love a quarrel— Here is a place for me to lie. Daisies … Continue reading
Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten. When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements, The window-sills were wet from rain in the night, Birds scattered and settled over … Continue reading
Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through. Suffer me to take your hand. Death comes in a day or two. All the things we ever knew … Continue reading
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts … Continue reading
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain, Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and … Continue reading