Last Login: 09/16/2017 6:34 pm
Registered: 07/16/2007
Gender: Male
Birthday: 02/25/1994
WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
What is love but a want for something
beautiful, something soft to the touch and
pleasing to the eyes. It is nohing more
nothing less.
Comments
View All Comments
no actually took me like ten minutes on paint