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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"The rain to the wind said, 'You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed. That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged — though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.
Unless I'm wrong I but obey The urge of a song: I'm—bound—away! And I may return If dissatisfied With what I learn From having died.
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, So that in guys it gently sways at ease.
