Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love, But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one way or another, (I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd, Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
“Hyacinth” 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.
no subject
Walt Whitman
Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
“Hyacinth”
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.