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
an earlier draft of this barely satisfactory missive ex post facto, i chomped asper with upper dentures upon evincing a couple of typographical errors, in up rye or draft, and did not wanna dodge being a spell bound stickler for typing words correctly.
though no obligation to trot out this fixation sans zero misspelling tolerance, a compulsion with any concomitant obsession found me reposting before a repast of dessert - so there Ghost of Marie Antoinette, wherever you might be hiding......
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