WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years.
Sonnet XXIV
Sonnet XXIV by William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585-1649) If crost with all mishaps be my poor life, If one short day I never spent in mirth, If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, If sorrows' death is but new sorrows' birth; If this vain world would be but a mournful stage, Where slave-born man … Continue reading Sonnet XXIV
A Bend In The Road
The End Of The Road Is But A Bend In The Road A poem by Helen Steiner Rice When we feel we have nothing left to giveAnd we are sure that the "song has ended"--When our day seems over and the shadows fallAnd the darkness of night has descended,Where can we go to find the … Continue reading A Bend In The Road
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Ashley Kleinsmith 