Creak, little wood thing, creak, When I touch you with elbow or knee; That is the way you speak Of one who gave you to me! You, little table, she brought - Brought me with her own hand, As she looked at me with a thought That I did not understand. - Whoever owns it... Continue Reading →
“The Passer-by” a poem by Thomas Hardy
(L. H. RECALLS HER ROMANCE) He used to pass, well-trimmed and brushed, My window every day, And when I smiled on him he blushed, That youth, quite as a girl might; aye, In the shyest way. Thus often did he pass hereby, That youth of bounding gait, Until the one who blushed was I, And... Continue Reading →
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