Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/131
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Thalia knows how rare a thing
Is it, to grow old and sing.
When the brown and tepid tide
Closes in on every side;
Who shall say if Shelley's gold
Had withered it to grow old?
Is it, to grow old and sing.
When the brown and tepid tide
Closes in on every side;
Who shall say if Shelley's gold
Had withered it to grow old?
The New RepublicEdna St. Vincent Millay
SONNET
I see so clearly now my similar years
Renew each other, shod in rusty black,
Like one hack following another hack
In meaningless procession, dry of tears
Driven empty, lest the noses, sharp as shears,
Of gutter urchins at a hearse's back
Should sniff a man died friendless, and attack
With silly scorn his deaf, triumphant ears—
Renew each other, shod in rusty black,
Like one hack following another hack
In meaningless procession, dry of tears
Driven empty, lest the noses, sharp as shears,
Of gutter urchins at a hearse's back
Should sniff a man died friendless, and attack
With silly scorn his deaf, triumphant ears—
I see so clearly how my life must run,
One year behind another year, until
At length these bones that leap into the sun
Are lowered into the gravel and lie still,
I would at times the funeral were done
And I abandoned on the ultimate hill.
One year behind another year, until
At length these bones that leap into the sun
Are lowered into the gravel and lie still,
I would at times the funeral were done
And I abandoned on the ultimate hill.
The CenturyEdna St. Vincent Millay
KEATS
(1821—1921)
When sometimes, on a moony night, I've passed
A street-lamp, seen my doubled shadow flee,
I've noticed how much darker, clearer cast,
The full moon poured her silhouette of me.
A street-lamp, seen my doubled shadow flee,
I've noticed how much darker, clearer cast,
The full moon poured her silhouette of me.
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