SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
“The sun that warmed our stooping backs and withered the weed uprooted- We shall not feel it again. We shall die in… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun. — 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
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
