We are all ruled in what we do by impulses; and these impulses are so organized that our actions in general serve for our self preservation and that of the race.
That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.
I would blossom if I were a rose.
Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.
And he whose soul is flat – the sky Will cave in on him by and by.
I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind...
Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line...
But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, – and the long year remembers you.
I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.
If ever I said in grief or pride, I’d tired of honest things, I lied.
It’s not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.
Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do; Men a longer life than dogs do; Dogs a longer life than love does.
If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday – so much is true.
I drank at every vine, the last was like the first. I came upon no wine so wonderful as thirst.
I had a little sorrow, Born of a little sin.
All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed...
Lord, I do fear Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.