Edna St. Vincent Millay

Hah! Grown Up Edna St. Vincent Millay 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?

Still melancholy. I think I have failed you, March. I promised thirty-one poems and I am nowhere near there. I was fretting about this a few weeks ago, when my father, in a rare occasion where he acknowledges the fact

I need a smoke. People always need a smoke when they don't know what to say. I am tongue-tied, and my hands need something to hold. Ebb Edna St. Vincent Millay I know what my heart is like        Since your love died: It is like