Classic poem of the day
FROM THE ITALIAN .
I.
Yes ! Pride of soul shall nerve me now,
To think of thee no more;
And coldness steel the heart and brow
That passion swayed before!
Think'st thou that I will share thy breast,
Whilst dwells a fondlier cherished guest.
Deep in its inmost core?
No;—by my hopes of Heaven! I'll be
A LL—ALL —or nothing unto thee!
II.
Thy hand hath oft been clasped i......
Member poem of the day
I wake to pure quiet;
it’s snowing again.
When flakes roll down
diagonally, with intent,
they persist for hours.
The only noise is what I cause:
clicks and pings of radiators,
the coffee pot gargling, the thrum
of my computer’s blood pressure.
A titmouse lands in the cherry tree.
Hops into the shelter
of the feeder to eat millet.
Her two-note whistle
catches the storm’s eye.
...
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