Relationships and Family

Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew, And watching his luck was his light-o’-love, the lady that’s known as Lou.

No memory of having starred Atones for later disregard, Or keeps the end from being hard. Better to go down dignified With boughten friendship by your side Than none at all. Provide, provide!

Don’t join too many gangs. Join few if any. Join the United States and join the family— But not much in between unless a college.

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air.

I’d like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

Should the wide world roll away Leaving black terror Limitless night, Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand Would be to me essential If thou and thy white arms were there And the fall to doom a long way.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

What were all the world’s alarms To mighty Paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed That first dawn in Helen’s arms?

But Love has pitched his mansion in The place of excrement For nothing can be sole or whole That has not been rent.

I had wild Jack for a lover.

No man has ever lived that had enough Of children’s gratitude or woman’s love.

No man has ever lived that had enough Of children’s gratitude or woman’s love.

Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love’s pleasure drives his love away, The painter’s brush consumes his dreams.

But is there any comfort to be found? Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

And many a poor man that has roved, Loved and thought himself beloved, From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

And many a poor man that has roved, Loved and thought himself beloved, From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

Pardon, old fathers.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That’s all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.