American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Modernism · Poetry

Edna St. Vincent Millay

When the Year Grows Old I cannot but remember  When the year grows old—October—November—  How she disliked the cold! She used to watch the swallows Go down across the sky,And turn from the window  With a little sharp sigh.  And often when the brown leaves  Were brittle on the ground,And the wind in the chimney … Continue reading Edna St. Vincent Millay

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