He That Would Eat Of Love Must

After All My Erstwhile Dear, My No Longer Cherished; Need We Say It Was Not Love, Just Because It Perished?

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?

But You, You Foolish Girl, You Have Gone Home To A Leaky Castle Across The Sea To Lie Awake In Linen Smelling Of Lavender, And Hear The Nightingale, And Long For Me.

Beautiful As A Dandelion-blossom Golden In The Green Grass, This Life Can Be.

Soar, Eat Ether, See What Has Never Been Seen; Depart, Be Lost, But Climb.