I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Father, I beg of Thee a little task To dignify my days, 'tis all I ask. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“ Ebb I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little trousers From his… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Stranger, pause and look; From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let… — 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
