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| Search results for: p | Found 8786 Poems |
| 2191. | Apostrophe To Man by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | (On reflecting that the world
is ready to go to war again)
Detestable race, continue to expunge yourself, die out.
Breed faster, crowd, encroac... |
| 2192. | The Spring And The Fall by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them ... |
| 2193. | The Ballad Of The Harp-Weaver by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | "Son," said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
"you've need of clothes to cover you,
and not a rag have I.
"There's nothing in the house
To make ... |
| 2194. | Grown Up by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?... |
| 2195. | Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
... |
| 2196. | Departure by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewher... |
| 2197. | I Shall Forget You Presently by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | IV
I SHALL forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, ... |
| 2198. | Night Is My Sister, And How Deep In Love by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | Night is my sister, and how deep in love,
How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore,
There to be fretted by the drag and shove
At the tide's ed... |
| 2199. | Pity Me Not Because The Light Of Day by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the th... |
| 2200. | Not In A Silver Casket Cool With Pearls by Edna St. Vincent Millay | | Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls
Have given their loves... |
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