Edna St. Vincent Millay

(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950 / Rockland / Maine / United States)

Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems

1. [four Sonnets (1922)] 1/1/2004
2. A Visit To The Asylum 1/13/2003
3. Afternoon On A Hill 1/4/2003
4. Alms 1/13/2003
5. An Ancient Gesture 1/13/2003
6. And Do You Think That Love Itself 1/13/2003
7. And You As Well Must Die, Belovèd Dust 1/1/2004
8. Apostrophe To Man 1/13/2003
9. Ashes Of Life 1/13/2003
10. Assault 1/13/2003
11. Autumn Daybreak 1/13/2003
12. Being Young And Green 1/13/2003
13. Blight 1/13/2003
14. Bluebeard 1/1/2004
15. Burial 1/13/2003
16. Childhood Is The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies 11/28/2014
17. Chorus 1/13/2003
18. City Trees 1/13/2003
19. Conscientious Objector 1/13/2003
20. Counting-Out Rhyme 1/1/2004
21. Daphne 1/13/2003
22. Departure 1/13/2003
23. Dirge 1/13/2003
24. Dirge Without Music 1/13/2003
25. Doubt No More That Oberon 1/13/2003
26. Ebb 1/13/2003
27. Eel-Grass 1/13/2003
28. Elegy 1/13/2003
29. Elegy Before Death 1/13/2003
30. Epitaph 1/13/2003
31. Euclid Alone 1/1/2004
32. Exiled 1/13/2003
33. Feast 1/13/2003
34. First Fig 1/13/2003
35. Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau! 1/13/2003
36. God's World 1/4/2003
37. Grown-Up 1/1/2004
38. Here Is A Wound That Never Will Heal, I Know 1/13/2003
39. Humoresque 1/1/2004
40. I Do But Ask That You Be Always Fair 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Edna St. Vincent Millay

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet Xliii)

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A ...

Read the full of What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet Xliii)

Kin To Sorrow

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door——
Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow—

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