But I've got a blank space, babyAnd I'll write your name

Got a long list of ex-lovers

So it's gonna be foreverOr it's gonna go down in flames

So hey, let's be friendsI'm dying to see how this one ends

New money, suit and tieI can read you like a magazine

Saw you there and I thought"Oh, my God, look at that faceYou look like my next mistakeLove's a game, wanna play?" Ay

Nice to meet you, where you been?I could show you incredible things

Nice to meet you, where you been?

Blank Space

Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eyeAnd I got that red lip classic thing that you likeAnd when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Take me homeJust take me homeYeah, just take me home

'Cause you got that James Dean daydream look in your eyeAnd I got that red lip classic thing that you likeAnd when we go crashing down, we come back every time'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of styleYou got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirtAnd I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt (a tight little skirt)And when we go crashing down, we come back every time'Cause we never go out of style (we never go), we never go out of style

He says, "What you heard is true, but ICan't stop thinkin' 'bout you and I"I said, "I've been there too a few times"

That you've been out and about with some other girl, some other girl"

He can't keep his wild eyes on the road, mm

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirtAnd I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye

Could end in burning flames or paradise

MidnightYou come and pick me up, no headlights

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Good fences make good neighbors.’

And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go.

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun

that doesn't love a wall,

Mending Wall

It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Even losing you

but it wasn’t a disaster.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

None of these will bring disaster.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent

Lose something every day

so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

One Art

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

austere

driven out the cold

Speaking indifferently

slowly

breaking.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

No one ever thanked him.

cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday

Sundays too my father got up early

Those Winter Sundays

and filling the lanes in tandem, moving    together as brothers passing the ball

both forwards racing down the court the way that forwards should, fanning out

in slow motion, almost exactly like a coach’s drawing on the blackboard,

who looks stunned and nailed to the floor    in the wrong direction, trying to catch sight

an underhand pass toward the other guard    scissoring past a flat-footed defender

and spinning around to throw a strike    to the outlet who is already shoveling

perfectly, gathering the orange leather    from the air like a cherished possession

A hook shot kisses the rim and hangs there, helplessly, but doesn’t drop

and for once our gangly starting center    boxes out his man and times his jump