Author: Lizette Woodworth Reese

When I consider Life and its few years A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to […]

Oh, gray and tender is the rain, That drips, drips on the pane! A hundred things come in the door, […]

The spicewood burns along the gray, spent sky, In moist unchimneyed places, in a wind, That whips it all before, […]

Such special sweetness was about That day God sent you here, I knew the lavender was out, And it was […]

Love came back at fall o’ dew, Playing his old part; But I had a word or two That would […]

A rhyme of good Death’s inn! My love came to that door; And she had need of many things, The […]