Born in September 7, 1885 / Died in December 16, 1928 / United States / English
I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose.
If any have a stone to throw It is not I, ever or now.
In masks outrageous and austere, The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.
That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath, Summer, so much too beautiful to stay,...
I shall lie folded like a saint, Lapped in a scented linen sheet,...
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