A Few Figs from Thistles: Poems and Sonnets

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Harper & Brothers, 1922 - 39 psl.
 

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11 psl. - ... a pear, From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere; And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold, And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold. We were very tired, we were very merry, We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head, And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read; And she wept, "God bless you!
9 psl. - My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends It gives a lovely light!
39 psl. - I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow.
18 psl. - That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying! He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin, He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin, He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil, And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil! Oh, the things I haven't seen and the things I haven't known, What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown, And yanked both ways by my mother and my father, With a "Which would you better?
28 psl. - PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR gEFORE she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you'll find her A-sunning in the sun! It's long after midnight Her key's in the lock, And you never see her chimney smoke Till past ten o'clock! She digs in her garden With a shovel and a spoon, She weeds her lazy lettuce By the light of the moon.
13 psl. - Now it may be, the flower for me Is this beneath my nose; How shall I tell, unless I smell The Carthaginian rose?
16 psl. - FROM THE WOOD'S EDGE TX7HAT should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
23 psl. - The Unexplorer There was a road ran past our house Too lovely to explore. I asked my mother once - she said That if you followed where it led It brought you to the milk-man's door. (That's why I have not traveled more...
12 psl. - And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday — So much is true.
21 psl. - While her good man sleeps sound, And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue Will hear the clock strike round, For Prue she has a patient man, As asks not when or why, And Mig and Sue have naught to do But peep who's passing by, Joan is paired with a putterer That bastes and tastes and salts, And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, But my true love is false!

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