Poems about shake
He And So Around The Sorrow
only god detect the sorrow
thou notice us no more
that but for love of us
and so around the words i went
and ways i knew not that i knew till then
then we shake tim and i
he and i revel
i gave myself to him
i could see it now
Anything More Than The Beauties She So Truly
the beauties she so truly sees,
for them there was really nothing sad,
it's highways, and he's got too many men
when something strange about it made me think,
that when they're gathered shake
"there, you have said it all and you feel better,
anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
and might out meddling make her more afraid,
That Brought Him To Take,
were he not gone,
that when they're gathered shake
she had to lie and hear love things made dreadful
thus till he had them almost feeling dared
saying, and she could have him, and before
and that was why it whispered and did not speak,
man came to tell it what was wrong,
what form my dreaming was about to take,
that brought him to that creaking room was age,
they knew, and just when he was at the height,
he courts the autumnal mood,
and he a winter breeze,
and the body he wore
I Saw Does Still Abide,
i felt my standpoint shaken
i'd like to get away from earth awhile
from up there always? for i want to know,"
in winter he comes back to us, i'm done,"
seek not in me the bit i capital,
i would not come in,
and tell you that i saw does still abide,
i almost think if i could do like you,
if i can change it, oh, i won't, i won't!"
i don't know where it's likely to go better,
i asked him well beforehand, `don't you get one!'
off he goes always when i need him most,
but one thing about it, it mustn't get warm,
My Dears, You Thought That�we All Thought It,
my dears, my dears, you thought that�we all thought it,
that when they're gathered shake
'this must be all,' it was all, still they stood,
and so the choice must be again,
Nothing To Leave It To, Whether The
and cut a flower beside a ground bird's nest
my breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,
when leaning with my head again a flower
and my head sways to my shoulder
dimly to have made out my secret place,
to leave it to, whether the right to hold
to take him in, and might be willing to
next to nothing for weight,
slave to a springtime passion for the earth,
to satisfy a lifelong curiosity
like a beast's stall, to ease their consciences,
and nothing to look backward to with pride,
ever to grind to soil for grass,
with shouts afar to pull the cable taught,