I was, being human, born alone;
I am, being woman, hard beset;
I live by squeezing from a stone
The little nourishment I get.

Elinor Wylie

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I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees, Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.

Elinor Wylie

Mots clés words

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I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose.

Elinor Wylie

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