Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass,… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be. — 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
Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace. — 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
