Hear them clack of my haste to greet him! No one other my mouth had kissed. I had dressed me in silk to meet him—False young Death would not hold the tryst.

you might as well live

The ladies men admire, I've heard, would shudder at a wicked word

The days will rally, wreathing, their crazy tarantelle. And you must go on breathing, but I'll be safe in hell.

Lady, go and curse your star, thus Love is, and thus you are

This, no song of an ingénue, this, no ballad of innocence; this, the rhyme of a lady who followed ever her natural bents

Now what should I do in this place, but sit and count the chimes, and splash cold water on my face, and spoil a page with rhymes?

Because your eyes are slant and slow, because your hair is sweet to touch, my heart is high again; but oh, I doubt if this will get me much

Helen of Troy had a wandering glance; Sappho's restriction was only the sky; Ninon was ever the chatter of France; But oh, what a good girl am I!

Little white love, forgive, forgive. Once you went out, my heart fell, broken. (Nevertheless, a girl must live.)

But I am old; and good and bad are woven in a crazy plaid.

The pretty stuff you're made of will crack and crease and dry.

Go and bless your star above, thus are you, and thus is Love

Pictures pass me in long review,— Marching columns of dead events. I was tender, and, often, true; ever a prey to coincidence

Needle, needle, dip and dart, thrusting up and down, where's the man could ease a heart like a satin gown?

If your heart had come to rest, he will flick it from his breast

Now you are finding a new joy greater,— Well, I'll be doing the same thing, too, sooner or later.

You will go faltering after the bright, imperious line, and split your throat on laughter, and burn your eyes with brine.

The ladies men admire, I've heard, would shudder at a wicked word

No more my little song comes back; And now of nights I lay. My head on down, to watch the black, and wait the unfailing gray

She's passing fair; but so demure is she

Little white love, forgive, forgive. Once you went out, my heart fell, broken. (Nevertheless, a girl must live.)

They cannot let you go your gait, they influence and educate

Death will not see me flinch; the heart is bold, that pain has made incapable of pain

Joy stayed with me a night—Young and free and fair— And in the morning light, he left me there

Four be the things I am wiser to know: idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Oh, I should like to ride the seas, A roaring buccaneer; A cutlass banging at my knees, A dirk behind my ear

The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core.

This, no song of an ingénue, this, no ballad of innocence; this, the rhyme of a lady who followed ever her natural bents

Hear them clack of my haste to greet him! No one other my mouth had kissed. I had dressed me in silk to meet him—False young Death would not hold the tryst.