Anne Kingsmill Finch
Song - Poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
The nymph in vain bestows her pains
That seeks to thrive where Bacchus reigns;
In vain are charms, or smiles, or frowns,
All images his torrent drowns.
Flames to the head he may impart,
But makes an island of the heart,
So inaccessible and cold,
That to be his is to be old.
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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