Earth Does Not Understand Her Child, Who

A Poem From Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was It For This I Uttered Prayers, And Sobbed And Cursed And Kicked The Stairs, That Now, Domestic As A Plate, I Should Retire At Half-past Eight?

Lord, I Do Fear Thou'st Made The World Too Beautiful This Year My Soul Is All But Out Of Me-let Fall No Burning Leaf; Prithee, Let No Bird Call.

The First Rose On My Rose-tree Budded, Bloomed, And Shattered, During Sad Days When To Me Nothing Mattered. Grief Or Grief Has Drained Me Clean; Still It Seems A Pity No One Saw,—it Must Have Been Very Pretty.

If I Could Have Two Things In One: The Peace Of The Grave, And The Light Of The Sun.

I, Being Born A Woman And Distressed By All The Needs And Notions Of My Kind.