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Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.
The pain and hurt which i feel,
go as deep as it is real;
to be around and read more
The pain and hurt which i feel,
go as deep as it is real;
to be around and yet unseen,
takes the water out of the steam.
The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace,
The smoke of hell,--that monster called Paine.
The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace,
The smoke of hell,--that monster called Paine.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
Never a lip is curved with pain That can't be kissed into smiles again.
Never a lip is curved with pain That can't be kissed into smiles again.
He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
It's odd that you can get so anesthetized by your own pain or your own problem that you don't quite read more
It's odd that you can get so anesthetized by your own pain or your own problem that you don't quite fully share the hell of someone close to you.
Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other.
Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other.
They can't hurt you unless you let them.
They can't hurt you unless you let them.
