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
I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace. — 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
We were so wholly one I had not thought That we could die apart. I had not thought That I could move,—and… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind, Am urged by your propinquity to… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either. — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
You wrote me a beautiful letter, I wonder if you meant it to be as beautiful as it was. I think you… — 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
