Oh, my hat? Oh, I ‘Not you! where’s don’t need it! I must get out of here. I must get air. I know rightly whether any man don’t can.’ go to someone else this time. ‘Amy! Don’t Listen to me. I come down the won’t stairs.’ He sat and fixed his chin between his fists. something I should like to ask you, ‘There’s dear.’ know how to ask ‘You don’t it.’ me, ‘Help then.’ Her fingers moved the latch for all reply. are nearly always an offense. ‘My words I know how to speak of anything don’t So as to please you. But I might be taught I should suppose. I say I see how. can’t A man must partly give up being a man With women-folk. We could have some arrangement By which myself to keep hands off I’d bind to name. Anything special you’re a-mind Though I like such things those that love. don’t ’twixt Two that love live together without them. don’t can’t But two that do live together with can’t them.’ She moved the latch a little. ‘Don’t—don’t go. it to someone else this time. Don’t carry Tell me about it if something human. it’s Let me into your grief. not so much I’m Unlike other folks as your standing there Apart would make me out. Give me my chance. I do think, though, you overdo it a little. What was it brought you up to think it the thing To take your mother-loss of a first child So inconsolably—in the face of love. think his memory might be satisfied—’ You’d you go ‘There sneering now!’ not, not! ‘I’m I’m You make me come down to you. angry. I’ll God, what a woman! And come to this, it’s A man of his own child can’t speak that’s dead.’
‘Not you! Oh, where’s my hat? Oh, I don’t need it! I must get out of here. I must get air. I don’t know rightly whether any man can.’ ‘Amy! Don’t go to someone else this time. Listen to me. I won’t come down the stairs.’ He sat and fixed his chin between his fists. ‘There’s something I should like to ask you, dear.’ ‘You don’t know how to ask it.’ ‘Help me, then.’ Her fingers moved the latch for all reply. ‘My words are nearly always an offense. I don’t know how to speak of anything So as to please you. But I might be taught I should suppose. I can’t say I see how. A man must partly give up being a man With women-folk. We could have some arrangement By which I’d bind myself to keep hands off Anything special you’re a-mind to name. Though I don’t like such things ’twixt those that love. Two that don’t love can’t live together without them. But two that do can’t live together with them.’ She moved the latch a little. ‘Don’t—don’t go. Don’t carry it to someone else this time. Tell me about it if it’s something human. Let me into your grief. I’m not so much Unlike other folks as your standing there Apart would make me out. Give me my chance. I do think, though, you overdo it a little. What was it brought you up to think it the thing To take your mother-loss of a first child So inconsolably—in the face of love. You’d think his memory might be satisfied—’ ‘There you go sneering now!’ ‘I’m not, I’m not! You make me angry. I’ll come down to you. God, what a woman! And it’s come to this, A man can’t speak of his own child that’s dead.’
WeeklyPoems.docx