By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands, that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do,—and, oh,
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favorite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled,—there was no hint
Of sadness in her face;
She held her gown on either side,
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go;
And where the wall is built in new,
And is of ivy bare,
She paused,—then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
ROSES IN THE SUBWAY
A wan-cheeked girl with faded eyes
Came stumbling down the crowded car,
Clutching her burden to her breast
As though she held a star.
Roses, I swear it! Red and sweet
And struggling from her pinched white hands,
Roses ... like captured hostages
From far and fairy lands!
The thunder of the rushing train
Was like a hush.... The flower scent
Breathed faintly on the stale, whirled air
Like some dim sacrament—