[Poems by Whittier in] John Greenleaf Whittier | ||
387
[Ah, ladies, you love to levy a tax]
“Ah, ladies, you love to levy a taxOn my poor little paper parcel of fame;
Yet strange it seems that among you all
No one is willing to take my name—
To write and rewrite till the angels pity her,
The weariful words,
Thine truly, Whittier.”
[Poems by Whittier in] John Greenleaf Whittier | ||