Elinor Morton Wylie

(7 September 1885 – 16 December 1928 / Somerville, New Jersey)

Quarrel - Poem by Elinor Morton Wylie

Let us quarrel for these reasons:
You detest the salt which seasons
My speech . . . and all my lights go out
In the cold poison of your doubt.
I love Shelley . . . you love Keats
Something parts and something meets.
I love salads . . . you love chops;
Something goes and something stops.
Something hides its face and cries;
Something shivers; something dies.
I love blue ribbons brought from fairs;
You love sitting splitting hairs.
I love truth, and so do you . . .
Tell me, is it truly true?


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Read poems about / on: truth, love



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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