Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.
Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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?