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I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes-
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
“He is mad as a hare, poor fellow,
And should be in chains,” you say.
I haven't a doubt of your statement,
But who isn't mad, I pray?
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Be the man the nation needs,
Lead an example to the upcoming generation
Be the voice of the voiceless woman
instead of being the pain of the painless woman.
Fiction And Fact
In books I read, how men have lived and died,
With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden.
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line,
If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 'aversack,
You will understand this little song o' mine.
With rather insincere apologies to Mr. Rudyard Kipling.
I went to ask my government if they would set me free,
Alice Duer Miller
Out Of The East
When man first walked upright and soberly
Reflecting as he paced to and fro,
And no more swinging from wide tree to tree,
Or sheltered by vast boles from sheltered foe,
A barge adrift the Perfumed River-
reclining beneath a parasol
is the courtesan Tigress waving her fan
-barge floats past village and pagoda,
S. K. Kelen
Never Bite A Married Woman On The Thigh
Never bite a married woman on the thigh oh my
Cause she just can't rub it off no matter how she'll try
And when she gets home at night her man will ask her why
Then she'll say it's just a birthmark or some other silly lie
The Love Page
Your Voice is like the strings of
Lucifer, I listen
Lullaby in a dark night
The way I feel about you
He rode through the woods on a big blue ox,
He had fists as hard as choppin' blocks,
Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall...that's Paul.
You are the town and we are the clock.
We are the guardians of the gate in the rock.
On your left and on your right
W. H. Auden
Voltaire At Ferney
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
W. H. Auden
The Italian In England
That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds through the countryside,
Walking The Ties
This was the old woman who ate canned dog food
This the red wagon she pulled through the alleys
This the pack of stray dogs that went with her
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
The three stood listening to a fresh access
Of wind that caught against the house a moment,
Gulped snow, and then blew free again-the Coles
Dressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep,
A lantern light from deeper in the barn
Shone on a man and woman in the door
And threw their lurching shadows on a house
Near by, all dark in every glossy window.
I let myself in at the kitchen door.
“It's you,” she said. “I can't get up. Forgive me
Not answering your knock. I can no more
Let people in than I can keep them out.
“Willis, I didn't want you here to-day:
The lawyer's coming for the company.
I'm going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet.
Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know.”
Endymion: Book Iv
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
I weep for Adonais-he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
Percy Bysshe Shelley
A Woman Waits For Me
A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.
From Pent-up Aching Rivers
From pent-up aching rivers,
From that of myself without which I were nothing,
From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole
I Sing The Body Electric
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
Song Of Myself
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams,
I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands;
Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies,
costume, crimes, dissipate away from you,
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As though shedding an old skin,
Fall Creek slips free from fall's weight,
clots of leaves blackening snags,
back of pool where years ago
Between Wytheville, Virginia
and the North Carolina line,
he meets a wagon headed
where he's been, seated beside
Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!”
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature's solitary boast;