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Edna St. Vincent Millay · Early Poems

Poem 113 of 141 · The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems

Hyacinth

— ✻ —

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.

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