Three Lyrics of Edna St. Vincent Millay

O World, I cannot hold thee close enough!
    Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
  Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour!  That gaunt crag
To crush!  To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
              But never knew I this;
              Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart, -- 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.

"Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
-- Surely it is not I she's wanting;
Someone living here before --
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers, --
Have you seen her, any of you? --
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes, -- and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her. --

Ever see her, any of you? --
Strangest thing I've ever known, --
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious, how she tried the window, --
Odd, the way she tries the door, --
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before . . .

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun,
I will touch a hundred flowers
And [not pick one.]1

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine
And then start down.