The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I 'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Mots clés sky



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I dread no more the first white in my hair,
Or even age itself, the easy shoe,
The cane, the wrinkled hands, the special chair:
Time, doing this to me, may alter too
My anguish, into something I can bear

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Mots clés old-age



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Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost, but climb.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one going mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
and present, and forevermore.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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Strange how few,
After all’s said and done, the things that are
Of moment.
Few indeed! When I can make
Of ten small words a rope to hang the world!
“I had you and I have you now no more.”
There, there it dangles,—where’s the little truth
That can for long keep footing under that
When its slack syllables tighten to a thought?
Here, let me write it down! I wish to see
Just how a thing like that will look on paper!

“I had you and I have you now no more.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Mots clés grief



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And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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But you were something more than young and sweet
And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


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