The Fabric Of My Faithful Love No

One Things There's No Getting By, I've Been A Wicked Girl, Says I... But, If I Can't Be Sorry I Might As Well Be Glad !

I Drank At Every Vine, The Last Was Like The First. I Came Upon No Wine So Wonderful As Thirst.

Strange How Few, After Alls Said And Done, The Things That Are Of Moment.

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.

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?