More quotes by Aline Murray Kilmer
Deborah danced, when she was two,
As buttercups and daffodils do;
Spirited, frail, naïvely bold,
Her hair a ruffled crest of gold.
For life seems only a shuddering breath,
A smothered, desperate cry,
And things have a terrible permanence
When people die.
If I live till my fighting days are done
I must fasten my armour on my eldest son.
I’m sorry you are wiser,
I’m sorry you are taller;
I liked you better foolish,
And I liked you better smaller.
I sing of little loves that glow
Like tapers shining through the rain.
Of little loves that break themselves
Like moths against the window-pane.
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