Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well; why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell. — 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
What the customer demands is last year's model, cheaper. To find out what the customer needs you have to understand what the… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
And what are you that, missing you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
One things there's no getting by, I've been a wicked girl, Says I... But, if I can't be sorry I might as… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
So up I got in anger, And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair To please a… — Edna St. Vincent Millay Copy Share Image
I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome… — 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
