Let it be stairways, and a splintery box Where you have thrown me, scraped me with your kiss,... Have honed me, have released me after this Cavern kindness smiled away our shocks. That is the birthright of our lovely love In swaddling clothes.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Love, then unstinted, Love did sip, And cherries plucked fresh from the lip;... On cheeks and roses free he fed; Lasses like autumn plums did drop, And lads indifferently did crop A flower and a maidenhead.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
One of the few graces of getting old--and God knows there are few graces--is that if you've worked hard and kept your nose to the ...grindstone, something happens: The body gets old but the creative mechanism is refreshed, smoothed and oiled and honed. That is the grace. That is what's happening to me.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled. Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty,... And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
When my old wife lived, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,... Both dame and servant, welcomed all, served all, Would sing her song and dance her turn, now here At upper end o'the table, now i'the middle, On his shoulder, and his, her face afire With labor, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »