They tossed me petals, they wreathed me fern, they weighted me down with a marble urn

My door is grave in oaken strength, the cool of linen calms my bed, and there at night I stretch my length, and envy no one but the dead

And what goes on, my love, while you're away...you'll never know

When you're awake, all the men go and fall for you,— Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance.

One who keeps assuring you that he never was untrue, never loved another one ... Lady, lady, better run!

Nevertheless, a girl must live.

Just because some words were true?...Lady, I was told them, too!

She's passing fair; but so demure is she

And all the straining things within my heart...you'll never know

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

Who flings me silly talk of May shall meet a bitter soul; For June was nearly spent away before my heart was whole.

She constantly uttered what was not true; she flirted and petted, or what have you

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

And though we lie forever enemies, shall rank with Abélard and Héloïse

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

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

But I am writing little songs, as little ladies will

The thorn, so to say, is revealed by the rose. The best that she gets is a sock in the nose. These authors and playwrights, I'm forced to suppose...don't get around much

The thorn, so to say, is revealed by the rose. The best that she gets is a sock in the nose. These authors and playwrights, I'm forced to suppose...don't get around much

Now it's over, and now it's done; why does everything look the same? Just as bright, the unheeding sun

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

None walks slow, for the love that's through,— I might mention, my recent dear, I've reverted to normal, too

But I am writing little songs, as little ladies will

That I am gay as morning, light as snow, and all the straining things within my heart...you'll never know

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

This is what I know: Lovers' oaths are thin as rain; Love's a harbinger of pain—Would it were not so! Ever is my heart a-thirst, ever is my love accurst; He is neither last nor first—

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

Love is woman's moon and sun; man has other forms of fun.

Love has had his way with me. This my heart is torn and maimed

One who keeps assuring you that he never was untrue, never loved another one ... Lady, lady, better run!

I sit and say, the world is so.

I shall tread, another year, ways I walked with Grief, Past the dry, ungarnered ear and the brittle leaf

Oh, is it, then, Utopian to hope that I may meet a man?

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

So silent I, when love was by...He yawned, and turned away.

Sorrow clings to my apron-strings, I have so much to say.

I do not like my state of mind; I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.

The world is so; and he is wise who lets it go

Why is it no one ever sent me yet one perfect limousine, do you suppose?

The years will bite and smart, and pull your bones together to wrap your chattering heart.

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

Kinder the busy worms than ever love; It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed

The thousand little deaths my heart has died

Sorrow clings to my apron-strings, I have so much to say.

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

But I, despite expert advice, Keep doing things I think are nice

They tossed me petals, they wreathed me fern, they weighted me down with a marble urn

Tender though the love he bore, you had loved a little more....

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

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