Portrait from Wikimedia Commons. Credit: Fred Palumbo, World Telegram staff photographer. Used under Public domain / CC0. Processed and styled by Quotewise.
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This was no playhouse but a house in earnest. Your destination and your destiny's A brook that was the water of the house, Cold as a spring as yet so near its source, Too lofty and original to rage. (We know the valley streams that when aroused Will leave their tatters hung on barb and thorn.)
Nobody was ever meant to remember or invent what he did with every cent.
My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
