PolyArchive

Niagara Vachel Lindsay I Within the town of Buffalo Are prosy men with leaden eyes. Like ants they worry to and fro, (Important men, in Buffalo.) But only twenty miles away A deathless glory is at play: Niagara, Niagara. The women buy their lace and cry: — “O such a delicate design,” And over ostrich […]

But Not To Me Sara Teasdale The April night is still and sweet With flowers on every tree; Peace comes to them on quiet feet, But not to me. My peace is hidden in his breast Where I shall never be; Love comes to-night to all the rest, But not to me.