Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there. I will touch a hundred flowers… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Earth does not understand her child, Who from the loud gregarious town Returns, depleted and defiled, To the still woods, to fling… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Spring TO what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
There are a hundred places where I fear To go, --so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has drained me… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“And you as well must die, beloved dust, And all your beauty stand you in no stead; This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Oh, children, growing up to be Adventurers into sophistry, Forbear, forbear to be of those That read the rood to learn the rose. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Some of us have been thinking and talking too long without doing anything. Poems are perfect; picketing, sometimes, is better. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I'll lie And look my… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
pity me that the heart is slow to learn what the swift mind beholds at every turn. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
