Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There's something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.
The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are colored like the sun, Her breast is colored like the moon. - Elinor Wylie
The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are colored like the sun, Her breast is colored like the moon.
- Elinor Wylie
An old earthen pipe like myself is dry and thirsty and so a most voracious drinker of life at its source; I'm no more to be split by the vital stream… - Elinor Wylie
An old earthen pipe like myself is dry and thirsty and so a most voracious drinker of life at its source; I'm no more to be split by the vital stream…
Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There's something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn … - Elinor Wylie
Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There's something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn …
Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter's over. - Elinor Wylie
Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter's over.
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. - Elinor Wylie
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.
I bear a little more than I can bear. - Elinor Wylie
I bear a little more than I can bear.
If you would keep your soul From spotted sight or sound, Live like the velvet mole; Go burrow underground. - Elinor Wylie
If you would keep your soul From spotted sight or sound, Live like the velvet mole; Go burrow underground.
If any have a stone to throw It is not I, ever or now. - Elinor Wylie
If any have a stone to throw It is not I, ever or now.
When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, We shall live well--we shall live very well. - Elinor Wylie
When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, We shall live well--we shall live very well.
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