Life Is A Quest And Love A

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?

I Drank At Every Vine, The Last Was Like The First. I Came Upon No Wine So Wonderful As Thirst.

The First Rose On My Rose-tree Budded, Bloomed, And Shattered, During Sad Days When To Me Nothing Mattered. Grief Or Grief Has Drained Me Clean; Still It Seems A Pity No One Saw,—it Must Have Been Very Pretty.

I Love Humanity But I Hate People.

Father, I Beg Of Thee A Little Task To Dignify My Days, 'tis All I Ask.