You may think my life is quiet.
I find it full of change,
An ever-varied diet,
As piquant as 'tis strange.
Wild thoughts are always flying,
Like sparks across my brain,
Now flashing out, now dying,
To kindle soon again.
Fine fancies set me thrilling,
And subtle monsters creep
Before my sight unwilling:
They even haunt my sleep.
One broad, perpetual riot
Enfolds me night and day.
You think my life is quiet?
You don't know what you say.
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Comments about this poem (The Riot by Gamaliel Bradford )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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