Ballade at Thirty-five This, no song of an ingénue,This, no ballad of innocence;This, the rhyme of a lady whoFollowed ever her natural bents.This, a solo of sapience,This, a chantey of sophistry,This, the sum of experiments,—I loved them until they loved me.Decked in garments of sable hue,Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,Wearing shower bouquets of rue,Walk... Continue Reading →