And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

Ah, drink again This river that is the taker-away of pain, And the giver-back of beauty! In these cool waves What can be lost?-- Only the sorry cost Of the lovely thing, ah, never the thing itself! The level flood that laves The hot brow And the stiff shoulder Is at our temples now. Gone is the fever, But not into the river; Melted the frozen pride, But the tranquil tide Runs never the warmer for this, Never the colder. Immerse the dream. Drench the kiss. Dip the song in the stream.

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.

Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.

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?

Youth, have no pity; leave no farthing here For age to invest in compromise and fear.