Reading Aloud - Poem by Christopher Morley
ONCE we read Tennyson aloud
In our great fireside chair;
Between the lines my lips could touch
Her April-scented hair.
How very fond I was, to think
The printed poems fair,
When close within my arms I held
A living lyric there!
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You