Edna St. Vincent Millay (22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950 / Rockland / Maine / United States)
"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 the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."
Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—
Have you seen her, any of you?—
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?
Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her.—
Ever see her, any of you?—
Strangest thing I've ever known,—
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.
"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"
Curious, how she tried the window,—
Odd, the way she tries the door,—
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before . . .
Edna St. Vincent Millay's Other Poems
- [Four Sonnets (1922)]
- A Visit To The Asylum
- Afternoon on a Hill
- An Ancient Gesture
- And do you think that love itself
- And you as well must die, belovèd dust
- Apostrophe To Man
- Ashes Of Life
- Autumn Daybreak
- Being Young And Green
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