today i share one of my favorate poemsby my all time favorate poetRomanceRomance, who loves to nod and sing,With drowsy head and folded wing,Among the green leaves as they shakeFar down within some shadowy lake,To me a painted paroquetHath been- a most familiar bird-Taught me my alphabet to say-To lisp my very earliest wordWhile in the wild wood I did lie,A child- with a most knowing eye.Of late, eternal Condor yearsSo shake the very Heaven on highWith tumult as they thunder by,I have no time for idle caresThrough gazing on the unquiet sky.And when an hour with calmer wingsIts down upon my spirit flings-That little time with lyre and rhymeTo while away- forbidden things!My heart would feel to be a crimeUnless it trembled with the strings. Edgar Allan Poe
BeautySay not of beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood Her wild wings of a gull.Call her not wicked; that word's touch Consumes her like a curse; But love her not too much, too much, For that is even worse.O, she is neither good nor bad, But innocent and wild! Enshrine her and she dies, who had The hard heart of a child. Elinor Morton Wylie
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