1 min read
Слушать(AI)Kin To Sorrow
Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft Falls the knocker of my door — Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow — And what does Sorrow care For the rosemary Or the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
Are we kin?
That so oft upon my door — Oh, come in!
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
First Fig
My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends — It gives a lovely light
Witch-Wife
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 bea...
Song Of A Second April
April this year, not Than April of a year ago, Is full of whispers, full of sighs, Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart People twist and scream in pain, — Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair All my thought...