Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Eel-Grass

No matter what I say,
All that I really love
Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
And the eel-grass in the cove;
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.

1. There Was upon the Sill
2. Gazing upon Him Now
3. She Had a Horror
4. The Doctor Asked Her
5. So She Came Back

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