Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To Those without Pity

Cruel of heart, lay down my song,
Your reading eyes have done me wrong,
Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written.

1. Sometimes When I Am Wearied
2. When You, That at This Moment
3. I See So Clearly Now My Similar Years
4. Lord Archer, Death
5. She Filled Her Arms with Wood

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