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Há 1 dia · Since you did depart Out of my reach, my darling, Into the hidden, I see each shadow start With recognition, and I Am wonder-ridden. I am dazed with the farewell, But I scarcely feel your loss. You l
Há 1 dia · In 2000, A. B. McKillop, a professor of history at Carleton University, produced a book on the case, The Spinster & The Prophet: Florence Deeks, H. G. Wells, and the Mystery of the Purloined Past. According to McKillop, the lawsuit was unsuccessful due to the prejudice against a woman suing a well-known and famous male author, and he paints a detailed story based on the circumstantial evidence ...
Há 19 horas · After The Opera. Lift looks of shocked and momentous emotion up at me. And I smile. I stand and smile. They take tragedy so becomingly. Which pleases me. I am glad to go back to where I came from. Down the stone stairs Girls with their large eyes wide with tragedy Lift looks of shocked and momentous emotion up at me. And I smile.
12 de mai. de 2024 · Song Of A Man Who Has Come Through. Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me! If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift! If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed.
10 de mai. de 2024 · Silence. Since I lost you I am silence -haunted, Sounds wave their little wings. A moment, then in weariness settle. On the flood that soundless swings. Whether the people in the street. Like pattering ripples go by, Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs. With a loud, hoarse sigh:
Há 5 dias · Piano. Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me; Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see. A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings. And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings. In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song. Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to ...
9 de mai. de 2024 · Discipline. It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane, The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves; The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains. The class; over them all the dark net of my discipline weaves. It is no good, dear, gentleness and forbearance, I endured too long:
