I Shall Forget You Presently (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) 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, or die, or move away... continue reading
I Think I Should Have Loved You (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) I think I should have loved you presently, And given in earnest words I flung in jest; And lifted honest eyes for you to see... continue reading
Love, Though For This (by: Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)) Love, though for this you riddle me with darts, And drag me at your chariot till I die, Oh, heavy prince! O, panderer of hearts! Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie... continue reading
Merry Maid, The (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) Oh, I am grown so free from care Since my heart broke! I set my throat against the air, I laugh at simple folk! continue reading
Oh, Think Not I Am Faithful (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow! Faithless am I save to love's self alone. Were you not lovely I would leave you now: After the feet of beauty fly my own. continue reading
Penitent, The (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) I had a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within... continue reading
Philosopher, The (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) And what are you that, wanting you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? continue reading
Portrait By A Neighbour (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) Before she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you'll find her A-sunning in the sun! continue reading
She Is Overheard Singing (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) Oh, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, But my true love's a rover! continue reading
Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge, The (by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)) What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water, What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter? continue reading
