Sonnets 01: We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend
We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;
Well, such you are, but well enough we know
How thick about us root, how rankly grow
Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,
That flourish through neglect, and soon must send
Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow
Our steady senses; how such matters go
We are aware, and how such matters end.
Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;
With lovers such as we forevermore
Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere
Receives the Table's ruin through her door,
Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,
Lets fall the colored book upon the floor.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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[Four Sonnets (1922)]
I1.
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,
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Once from a big, big building,
When I was small, small,
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I...
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An Ancient Gesture
I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
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Ashes Of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
...
Assault
I
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
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