1 min read
Слушать(AI)Feast
I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst. I gnawed at every root. I ate of every plant. I came upon no fruit So wonderful as want. Feed the grape and bean To the vintner and monger; I will lie down lean With my thirst and my hunger.
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is abab..
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and playwright.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Bluebeard Sonnet VI
This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You are betrayed… Here is no treasure hid, No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain For greed like yours, no writhi...
Blight
Hard seeds of hate I planted That should by now be grown,— Rough stalks, and from thick stamens A poisonous pollen blown, And odors rank, unbreathable, From dark corollas thrown At dawn from my damp garden I shook the chilly dew; Th...
Lament
Listen, children: Your father is dead From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little trousers From his old pants There'll be in his pockets Things he used to put there, Keys and pennies Covered with tobacco; Dan sh...
Interim
The room is full of you —As I came in And closed the door behind me, all at once A something in the air, intangible, Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick — Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed Each other room's dear perso...