Edna St. Vincent Millay

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

Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems

121. The Bean-Stalk 1/13/2003
122. The Betrothal 1/1/2004
123. The Blue-Flag In The Bog 1/13/2003
124. The Concert 1/13/2003
125. The Courage That My Mother Had 1/3/2015
126. The Curse 1/13/2003
127. The Death Of Autumn 1/13/2003
128. The Dream 1/13/2003
129. The Fawn 1/13/2003
130. The Fledgling 1/13/2003
131. The Goose-Girl 1/13/2003
132. The Leaf And The Tree 1/13/2003
133. The Little Ghost 1/13/2003
134. The Little Hill 1/13/2003
135. The Penitent 1/13/2003
136. The Philosopher 1/13/2003
137. The Plaid Dress 1/13/2003
138. The Poet And His Book 1/13/2003
139. The Prisoner 7/30/2015
140. The Return From Town 1/13/2003
141. The Shroud 1/13/2003
142. The Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge 1/13/2003
143. The Snow Storm 1/13/2003
144. The Spring And The Fall 1/13/2003
145. The Suicide 1/13/2003
146. The True Encounter 1/13/2003
147. The Unexplorer 1/13/2003
148. The Wood Road 1/13/2003
149. Think Not, Not For A Moment Let Your Mind 1/13/2003
150. Three Songs Of Shattering 1/13/2003
151. Thursday 1/1/2004
152. To A Poet That Died Young 1/13/2003
153. To A Young Poet 1/1/2004
154. To Kathleen 1/1/2004
155. To The Not Impossible Him 1/13/2003
156. To Those Without Pity 1/13/2003
157. Travel 1/13/2003
158. Two Sonnets In Memory 1/13/2003
159. Underground System 1/13/2003
160. We Talk Of Taxes... 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)

The Leaf And The Tree

When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn's call
Wearing russet, ready to fall?
Has not this trunk a deed to do

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