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American Annals of the Deaf

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Sweet Bells Jangled

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II.

I’m sick of hearing so much about love!
I can’t take up a magazine or journal
But ‘t is the same old story,― Love! Love! Love!
Whether in poem, prose, essay or tale;
And all my music’s set to silly words.
There’s too much harping on this same old-string,
I’m tired of listening to it everyday.
The boys and girls can talk of nothing else;
And ‘t is the same with grown-up men and women.
I used to like such stuff when I was callow,
But now it palls upon me when I think
There are so many other things to talk of,
So many other things to think about,
So many more to pray for, do, and suffer!
And― the stupidest of all!― if any woman
Dares call a man her friend, and treat him so,
Straightway around her rises a great babbling;
And all the babbling is of― Love! Love! Love!
Now, Clarence Dale has been my friend a year.
We’ve read together, walked and talked together;
Both understanding that we were but friends.
He’s all friend that I have ever had.
(I have no fancy for fine school-girl frenzies.)
Older than me he is, by several years;
Wiser than me he is, beyond compare.
He has the answers for my questionings;
He helps me solve my problems, lets me lean
Upon his strength, and does not like me less
Because I am unlike other girls.
He smiles― a little sadly― when I talk
Of the grand things that I would like to do,
But says a man should never try to hinder
A woman in her climbing,― rather help her.
Ah, how I bless and honor him for that!
How proud I am to have him for my friend!
And then to think that they should are to talk
Of anything like Love ‘twixt him and me,―
I can’t endure to think of it a moment!


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