Tea was sucha comfort. - Edna St. Vincent Millay

The undercurrent of my every thought:
To seek you, find you, have you for my own.

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Siege

This I do, being mad:
Gather baubles about me,
Sit in a circle of toys, and all the time
Death beating the door in.

White jade and an orange pitcher,
Hindu idol, Chinese god, — Maybe next year, when I’m richer — Carved beads and a lotus pod...

And all this time
Death beating the door in.