Eight Sonnets (Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems)
I When you, that at this moment are to me Dearer than words on paper, shall ...
I When you, that at this moment are to me Dearer than words on paper, shall ...
This is the spell of the Orient &mdashThe lure of the far, far East,A lure that is soft and luxuriant ...
Ars LongaOur hopes are wild imaginings, Our schemes are airy castles,Yet these, on earth, are lords and ...
It is the sinners' dust-tongued bell claps me to churchesWhen, with his torch and hourglass, like a sulpher priest,His beast ...
The russet pear-tree stands there all alone; How bright the growth of fruit upon it shown! The King's affairs no ...
I know not where it was I saw them sit, For in my dreams I had outwandered far That endless ...
Those who say my country means Meadows, flowers and fields of wheat, Hamlets and trenches, must confessThese are her feet.The ...
What shall it avail me that I plant me gardens Now that my beloved's eyes are closed in sleep?From among ...
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone ...
I ENCHANTER of Erin, whose magic has bound us, Thy wand for one moment we fondly would claim, Entranced while ...
Felix Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? my duty all ended, Who have watched his mould of man, ...
Oh, I know, so well the words of John I am so unworthy not even to touch the thong of ...
The only Ghost I ever saw Was dressed in Mechlin -- so -- He wore no sandal on his foot ...
Breeze soft, sun frail, spring still early. In a new lined dress my heart was refreshed, But when I rose ...
Straw sandal half sunk in an old pond in the sleety snow. (Yosa Buson)
Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun Up to the people: ...
Morn in the wake of the morning star Came furrowing all the orient into gold. We rose, and each by ...
At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array, In its halls renowned in old story, At the coronation banquet so gay King Rudolf ...
Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls, A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair The costly band ...
(Parvati at her lattice) O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine among my tresses, A jewelled clasp of shining ...
LIKE this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, Carven with delicate dreams and wrought ...
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