Mist In The Valley (Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems)
These hills, to hurt me more,That am hurt already enough,— Having left the sea behind,Having turned suddenly and left the ...
These hills, to hurt me more,That am hurt already enough,— Having left the sea behind,Having turned suddenly and left the ...
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.So it is, and so it ...
Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,That you haunt my door?—Surely it is not I she's wanting;Someone living here before—"Nobody's in ...
Oh, lay my ashes on the windThat blows across the sea.And I shall meet a fishermanOut of Capri,And he will ...
Minstrel, what have you to doWith this man that, after you,Sharing not your happy fate,Sat as England's Laureate?Vainly, in these ...
Not even my pride shall suffer much;Not even my pride at all, maybe,If this ill-timed, intemperate clutchBe loosed by you ...
If I should learn, in some quite casual way, That you were gone, not to return again- Read ...
This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing ...
I could not bring this splendid world nor any trading beastIn charge of it, to defer, no, not to give ...
Brother, that breathe the August airTen thousand years from now,And smell—if still your orchards bearTart apples on the bough—The early ...
I cannot but rememberWhen the year grows old — October — November — How she disliked the cold! She used ...
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I ...
I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst. I gnawed at every root. I ate of every plant. I came upon no fruit So wonderful as want. Feed the grape and bean To the vintner and monger; I will lie down lean With my thirst and my hunger.(Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Boys and girls that held her dear, Do your weeping now; All you loved of her lies here. Brought to earth the arrogant brow, And the withering tongue Chastened; do your weeping now. Sing whatever songs are sung, Wind whatever wreath, For a playmate perished young, For a spirit spent in death. Boys and girls that held her dear, All you loved of her lies here.(Edna St. Vincent Millay)
There will be rose and rhododendronWhen you are dead and under ground; Still will be heard from white syringasHeavy with ...
Once from a big, big building,When I was small, small,The queer folk in the windowsWould smile at me and call.And ...
In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The ...
I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:Penelope did this too.And more than once: you ...
Gazing upon him now, severe and dead, It seemed a curious thing that she had lain Beside him ...
I, having loved ever since I was a child a few things, never having waveredIn these affections; never through shyness ...
To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with ...
Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little ...
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,—no, Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair Than small white single poppies,—I ...
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring, And all the flowers that in the springtime grow, And ...
Not in this chamber only at my birth— When the long hours of that mysterious night Were over, ...
This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You ...
Love, if I weep it will not matter,And if you laugh I shall not care; Foolish am I to think ...
Oh, here the air is sweet and still,And soft's the grass to lie on;And far away's the little hillThey took ...
People that build their houses inland, People that buy a plot of ground Shaped like a house, and build a ...
Strong sun, that bleachThe curtains of my room, can you not renderColourless this dress I wear?—This violent plaidOf purple angers ...
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