Vincent Millay
Vincent Millay
garden like-you stalking
I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
educational lying fall
Upon this gifted age, in its dark hour falls from the sky a meteoric shower of facts; They lie unquestioned, uncombined. Wisdom enough to leech us of our ill is daily spun, But there exists no loom to weave it into fabric.
breakup sweet lying
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.
rain eye kissing
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.
rope world small-words
When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! "I had you and I have you now no more.
valentine hands mouths
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
voice sea steps
And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea.
flower heart eye
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
littles know-me swear
I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.
rain tonight ghost
... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight
sweet remembers-you years
But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.
valentine men hands
SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.
passion thinking roots
I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
life rain love-is
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again; Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.