I know what my heart is like. Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge. Holding a little pool. Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
Edna St. Vincent MillayAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 22, 1892
- Died: October 19, 1950
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Consummation Of Grief. I even hear the mountainsthe way they laughup and down their blue sidesand down in the waterthe fish cryand the water is their tears. I listen to the wateron nights I drink awayand the sadness becomes so great. I hear it in my clockit becomes knobs upon my dresserit becomes paper on the floorit becomes a shoehorna laundry ticketit becomescigarette smokeclimbing a chapel of dark vines. . . it matters littlevery little love is not so bador very little lifewhat countsis...
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There are twin Gates of Sleep. One, they say, is called the Gate of Horn and it offers easy passage to all true shades. The other glistens with ivory, radiant, flawless, but through it the dead send false dreams up toward the sky. And here Anchises, his vision told in full, escorts his son and Sibyl both and shows them out now through the Ivory Gate.
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Do I look like I have anything ?" I asked him, in a reasonable voice.He looked as unnerved as the nurse had. He said, "Sorry," and backed away. I took a step after him.I screamed, "I HAVE NOTHING!" And then I said, in a perfectly calm voice, "See, I never had anything to start with.
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