Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay

"THIN Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
--Surely it is not I she's wantin...

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fair...

I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
...

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old--
October--November--
How she disliked the cold!...

Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
D...

These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath t...

DEATH devours all lovely things;
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness--presently
Every...

If it were only still!--
With far away the shrill
Crying of a cock;
Or the shaken bell
From ...

I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us ...

Down, you mongrel, Death!
Back into your kennel!
I have stolen breath
In a stalk of fennel!
...

DEATH, I say, my heart is bowed
Unto thine--O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
Good ...

What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a f...

APRIL this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,...

The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a...

How shall I know, unless I go
To Cairo and Cathay,
Whether or not this blessed spot
Is blest...