Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems

Spring rides no horses down the hill,
But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.
And all the loveliest things there be
Come simply, so, it seems to me.
...

Hard seeds of hate I planted
That should by now be grown,—
Rough stalks, and from thick stamens
A poisonous pollen blown,
...

I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields,
In converse with sweet women long since dead;
And out of blossoms which that meadow yields
I wove a garland for your living head.
...

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain,—
Dawn will find them still again;
...

These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
...

Love, if I weep it will not matter,
And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
But it is good to feel you there.
...

Listen, children:
Your father is dead.
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets;
...

I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.
...

Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.
...

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door——
Neither loud nor soft,
...