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

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

The true poem rests between the words.

The true poem rests between the words.

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.