The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“Strange how few, After all’s said and done, the things that are Of moment. Few indeed! When I can make Of ten… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“ Dirge Without Music I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is,… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain-- Dawn will find them still again; This… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“I will control myself, or go inside. I will not flaw perfection with my grief. Handsome, this day: no matter who has… — 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
