Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

Whereas at morning in a Jeweled Crown
I bit my fingers and was hard to please,
Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down
I feel tonight more happy and at ease:
Feet running in the corridors, men quick— 
Buckling their sword-belts, bumping down the stair,
Challenge, and rattling bridge-chain, and the click
Of hooves on pavement—this will clear the air.
Private this chamber as it has not been
In many a month of muffled hours; almost,
Lulled by the uproar, I could lie serene
And sleep, until all’s won, until all’s lost,
And the door’s opened and the issue shown,
And I walk forth Hell’s Mistress—or my own.

1. Assault
2. Tavern
3. Sonnets 11: As To Some Lovely Temple, Tenantless
4. Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau!
5. Witch-Wife

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