Monday, October 27, 2003
Now Let No Charitable Hope
by- Elinor Wylie - 1885-1928
Now let no charitable hope
Confuse my mind with images
Of eagle and of antelope;
I am in nature none of these.
I was, being human, born alone;
I am, being woman, hard beset;
I live by squeezing from a stone
The little nourishment I get.
In masks outrageous and austere
The years go by in single file;
But none has merited my fear,
And none has quite escaped my smile.
Who am i, what am i
A picture's worth
moon phases |
I stand on the sand, and I'm rocking
grief to sleep in my arms.
issues
Poetry roll
Comments by: YACCS