| Hyacinth
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am in love with him
To whom a hyacinth is dearer
Than I shall ever be dear.
On nights when the field-mice
Are abroad, he cannot sleep.
He hears their narrow teeth
At the bulbs of his hyacinths.
But the gnawing at my heart...
He does not hear.
Alms
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.
I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again
But it is winter with your love
The frost is thick upon the pane
I know a winter when it comes
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while
And brought my plants into the house.
I water them and turned them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.
There was a time I stood and watched
The small ill-natured sparrows' fray
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say.
I stood and watched him out of sight;
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step
My heart is what it was before.
But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill
And close the window - and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.
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