Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry read more

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

The true poem rests between the words.

The true poem rests between the words.

The novel is born of disillusionment; the poem, of despair.

The novel is born of disillusionment; the poem, of despair.

A poem might be defined as thinking about feelings - about human feelings and frailties.

A poem might be defined as thinking about feelings - about human feelings and frailties.